Perfect Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Who would put drugs in her car seat? Do you have any guesses?” Nadia asks.

  “I don’t know. I’ll try to think...thanks for the update, I guess,” I say, totally deflated.

  “No problem. If anything changes, I’ll call you back.”

  I drop the phone into the passenger seat beside me and sag in my seat.

  Maybe I should go through Abby’s apartment again. What if the investigators missed something that would give us the foggiest idea what the hell’s actually going on?

  * * *

  I secure the baby gate between my tiny kitchen and the living room and then put water on the stove to boil.

  Millie climbs over the gate like a little Houdini.

  “No, ma’am! You’re too good at that but now’s not the time to impress me.” I pick her up and place her on the other side of the gate. “Stay. How old are you again?”

  “Four!”

  “Yep, new rule. No Millies in the kitchen until they’re at least five whole years old.” I hold out a hand with my fingers spread apart, smiling at her. “And only then if Aunt Reese says yes.”

  “Awww, gimme a chance, Auntie!”

  “You’ll get it the next time we sing 'Happy Birthday.'” I hold out my hand again. “Do you know why?”

  “Burn-burn,” she says glumly.

  I nod and smile at her. “That’s right. Go watch TV, bumblebee. Pick out something fun.”

  One guess what she picks.

  Frozen. Again. With the volume blasting past fifty percent.

  Sigh. Why are the adorable ones always the biggest pains in the butt?

  I spread frozen chicken nuggets across a cookie sheet and pop them in the oven.

  Someone bangs at the door.

  Millie jumps up and runs over, trying to beat me to it.

  “No, no, Millie-pede!” I yell, noticing how she’s almost as quick as a bug with a bajillion legs.

  Too slow. The door hangs open on a smirking bosshole by the time I’ve got one leg over the gate.

  “Nick!” Millie screams.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asks, those green eyes watching me like prey.

  I’m caught mid-stretch. Yikes.

  I twist backward, hiding that damnable blush he’s too good at pulling out of me.

  Act cool.

  “Just a second,” I call out.

  I quickly dump the macaroni into the boiling water before I step over the gate again. “You’re just in time for a five-star dinner: chicken nuggs and mac ’n cheese.”

  “The best!” Millie screams, throwing her little fists in the air.

  Nick hands her a juice box and a pack of snacks. “Little Miss Hangry, go watch your snow people. I need to talk to your aunt before dinner.”

  “Thank-ee!” She swipes them gratefully and plops down on the couch with the juice box and fruit snacks.

  Be still, my racing heart.

  “How did you get so good at this? I’m out of my element and she’s my niece.” I smile at him, even though he’s stone-faced and unreadable again.

  “What can I say? I know how to have a good time.” He winks at me. “If you’d let me, I’m sure I could teach you to lighten up and have fun.”

  Whoa. Dangerous territory, even as heat whips through me, courtesy of those feral green eyes.

  “In your dreams,” I spit.

  “Every night, sweetheart,” he answers far too smoothly.

  Ass.

  Oh, but heat creeps into my face, my neck, my—no.

  I laugh, brushing it off.

  “Will you stop? You’re still my boss and I’m still your charity case.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Modesty,” he growls. His voice bristles with dark thorns, equal parts frustration and desire and a promise he could prick me in so many ways—and not like that stupid nickname I feel bad about.

  I roll my eyes to keep up appearances.

  “You’re distracting me. I need to finish dinner.” But when I turn back to the kitchen, I can see angry white water boiling over.

  “Crap!” I mutter, racing to the stove to crank the heat down.

  Nick chuckles. “Need help with your pasta water?”

  “No, but we should probably get this over with. Let’s talk in here. FYI, before I went from being the fun part-time aunt to full-time mom, I never cooked. I was more of a salami on wheat kinda girl...or the Friday night taco kind.”

  He follows me into the kitchen. “Give yourself some credit. You’re doing a decent job without much practice.”

  “Puh-lease. I just overcooked boxed macaroni and our bedtime routine consists of me screaming ‘brush your teeth or no cookies forever!’”

  “You would be a hardass over cookies,” he says with a snort, reaching into my fridge—completely uninvited—and pulling out a bottled cold brew coffee. “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest,” I say, throwing up a hand.

  But seriously, how could I mind when he’s already inserted himself this deep in my life and done so much? I guess my hot, infuriating boss can steal drinks from my fridge anytime.

  “Not time for bed. I want chicken nuggies.” Millie stands behind the baby gate, her narrow little eyes fixed on me.

  A laugh tumbles out of me. “Oh, no, honey. I was just telling Nick how we go to bed. Go watch your cartoons.”

  She sucks suspiciously at her juice box. “Okay.”

  “I see you weren’t exaggerating about the bedtime routine.”

  Why would I?

  “How’s everything else? Sutton emailed me today to say he gave you an update,” Nick says, taking a pull of coffee as he gets to the point. “What’d he say?”

  “You don’t already know?” I look at him, twisting my lips.

  “Attorney-client privacy. It’s a thing. He’s your lawyer, not mine, even if he’s on my dime. Not for this.”

  I stir the macaroni. “Well, the paralegal called and said there’s some evidence that maybe she did, um, it—” I purposely avoid the words moving drugs because I don’t want Millie to hear. “She did it out of duress. But they need her to back it up, and she’s not talking.”

  “What evidence do they have?” he asks, his gaze focused, steely hot and slashing through me.

  I fill him in on the medical exam.

  “Damn. She’s not talking because she’s afraid of whoever hit her,” he says quietly.

  “That’s what I thought, too. I’m going to go search her apartment again in case something got missed the first time,” I say, but the wind goes out of me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, setting his coffee down and moving closer.

  “None of this makes any sense,” I say, lowering my voice out of Millie’s range. “If I can find a hint of who the heck would want to hit Abby...at least I’d know where to start.”

  “When are you going over? I’ll come with you.”

  I turn away from him, mixing in the powdered cheese pack and moving the macaroni off the stove. “No, you’re not. That’s way too much to expect of my boss.”

  “It’s nothing. I practically searched the place with you once, remember?”

  I tense, unsure whether I’m good riled up or actually bothered by his proximity.

  “This is a family issue...”

  I want to leave it there. I want to tell him I’m grateful, but just stay out of it for once.

  Ugh. This whole thing is awkward enough without involving my boss—who I have naughty dreams about I’m not sure I can keep blaming on the stress—in every little detail.

  “It’s not a great neighborhood and someone’s fucked Abby over, Reese. You know that. Maybe at that very apartment. I don’t want you and Millie there alone.”

  I stiffen, holding his jade-green hell-gaze. He’s not giving me a choice.

  “Would you stop me? I’ve been there hundreds of times. Abby lived there alone with Millie for years,” I throw back.

  “Yeah, and then someone beat her and landed her in jail on bullshit drug charges,�
�� he growls quietly with too much truth. “Forgive me if I lay down the law and tell you I’m coming with for peace of mind.”

  “You’re not forgiven,” I say.

  “No? Here’s a thought. If you go and they decide to mess with the other Halle sister, what happens to Millie then? I’ll certainly do what I can to keep her safe for you, but I’ll probably go to jail for kidnapping. I’m not family.”

  “That was a low blow.” I glare at him.

  “Low, but true.” He shrugs. “And necessary. I’d rather bruise your pride than see you with real bruises or worse any day, woman.”

  Oh. My. God.

  It sucks just how on-point he can be when he cares.

  “Whatever, let’s say you tag along. Maybe you can bribe the drug dealer with a fat wad of bills and a VIP pass to Jorge the Brazilian’s night club!” I spit back.

  He peels away, showing his teeth in a grimace.

  “I deserved that, I suppose. I’m just some pretty boy who can’t hold my own, huh? Only good for using my money to save a woman I care about?”

  Oh, no.

  He sounds so...so broken. I hit back below the belt because he started it, but I already regret it.

  “Were you listening? I didn’t say pretty this time.” It comes out limp, rather than caustic.

  That’s me trying to crack a joke and failing. Miserably.

  “You have before,” he grinds out, his tone too serious.

  With an exasperated rumble, Nick approaches, shoving his sleeve up to show off his tattoo.

  “Take a good look, Miss Halle. This is who I was, once upon a time. I may have spent a couple years in a submarine off Russian waters, rather than charging into ambushes, but I know a thing or two about how asses get kicked. Got it?”

  Speechless.

  For what’s probably a whole thirty seconds, all I can do is stop, stare, admire, and regret every bitter word leaking out of me tonight.

  “I guess I always wondered where the muscle came from,” I admit.

  His smirk comes back. “Not from pushing blueprints around my desk. I still do military-grade workouts three times a week.”

  The stove beeps. I open the oven and pull out the nuggets.

  “Are you staying for dinner?”

  He cocks his head, looking over the feast. “You got barbecue sauce? I never pass up nuggets. Now tell me when we’re planning to go to your sister’s place.”

  It’s hard to breathe through my laughter. When I look up, he’s back to being Mr. Congeniality, a sly smile hanging below lidded, warm eyes.

  “Just because you know how butts are kicked doesn’t mean I need you to kick any for me,” I tell him, trying to be serious again.

  “You said it yourself—you’re overwhelmed.”

  No denying that. I also need to watch what I say around this new, improved, and armed-with-endless-banter Nick Brandt.

  “Being overwhelmed doesn’t mean I need my bossman to fight my battles. Has anyone ever told you you’re kinda pushy?”

  “Only you, darling.”

  Darling? I hate how it rolls off his tongue. I hate how it reminds me of his stolen kiss even more.

  “Don’t call me that,” I hiss in the world’s meekest protest.

  He shrugs. “It’s your rodeo and you’ve got the final say. Just tell me when I’m coming with you,” he says, making me do a double take.

  “I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

  “Perfect. Maybe I’ll think about what I should call you, darling.” Those green eyes shine with mischief.

  “That’s harassment,” I warn, holding up a finger.

  “Actually, I think the word you’re looking for is blackmail.”

  Don’t flipping smile.

  How many times can this man kill me in one night?

  * * *

  It’s been a few days, but I study Abby closely when she slides into the flimsy chair behind the glass across from me.

  Her eyes are still dark, but no longer deep dark halos. Her skin was definitely bruised, and it’s starting to heal.

  She looks panicked today, grabbing at the phone before I even pick up the receiver on my side of the glass.

  “What’s wrong—” I barely get the question out before she interrupts.

  “Millie? He didn’t take her, did he?”

  “Relax. We still can’t find the jackass. Nick hired a nanny to help make sure she’s safe and sound during the day.”

  She takes a deep, rattling breath and blows it into the phone. Her lips turn up at the corners even as her shoulders sag with relief.

  “Watch out, sis. You almost smiled,” I tease.

  “Bossypants is after you, I swear. Maybe I’ll be out in time for the wedding...”

  I shake my head violently.

  “No way. He just couldn’t afford to lose his driver to a four-year-old,” I lie.

  “Okay. Because rich people drivers in Chicago are so hard to come by. I’m glad it worked out for you, though. I was really worried about what would happen to you having Millie full time...”

  “The nanny was his idea—” I stop myself.

  Ugh. Why am I telling her this?

  “Yep. Because he’s in love with you,” she teases with a smile.

  Whatever. At least my joke of a love life takes the brutal edge off this.

  “Nick Brandt loves himself first and last. Maybe his grandma’s in there somewhere.” That’s not fair, though, and I add begrudgingly, “He’s been amazing with Millie, I’ll admit.”

  Abby raises an eyebrow. “The Windy City’s richest bachelor digs my four-year-old?”

  I nod. “He built her a bed with a slide. She plays in Beatrice’s office while I’m at work. Yesterday, when I came to pick her up, he had her on his shoulder and was showing her the buildings the firm’s designed over the years.”

  Abby laughs. “You’re boned, Reese. That’s father material, right there.”

  I bite my tongue. “I told him he’d be a good dad, and he freaked out. He’s got the whole Jekyll and Hyde thing down pat.”

  My phone vibrates against my leg. I pull it out of my pocket. Lucifer’s ears must’ve been burning with us talking about him.

  Nick: The executive assistant told me you’re taking a long lunch today. Why?

  “Hang on,” I say into the receiver. “He’s texting me now.”

  Reese: None of ya business, Nosy.

  Nick: You’re not at that apartment without me, are you?

  Reese: Again, nosy.

  Nick: Take Ward if you won’t have me. Or bill yourself a bodyguard on my card. I’m serious.

  Reese: What? He’s lost his mind. If I don’t want you around, why would I want your married brother growling at me instead?

  It’s a family thing that must skip generations, the Brandt boys’ uniquely hot-and-cold assholery.

  Nick: I just want to make sure you and Millie are okay.

  Reese: This isn’t your issue.

  Nick: I’ll hire you a bodyguard. Not bluffing.

  I try not to snort out loud, knowing he’d probably “hire” himself.

  Reese: Wtf? You know you’re my boss, right? Not my big brother and def not my boyfriend. I’m with my sister. Her visits are timed. Later.

  Nick: Sorry. Promise me you won’t go alone.

  Yeah, I’m not promising anything. It’s not his business and I still have a smidge of diminishing pride intact.

  I power my phone off.

  “He’s texting you nonstop? Must be serious,” Abby says, flicking at her hair.

  “Forget about Brandt. I need to know what happened.” I lean forward, assessing how she reacts.

  Her jaw clenches and she stiffens. The smile that was there only seconds ago shrivels up and dies.

  “We’ve been through this...I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “I need to know what mistakes you made, Abby. Like why you’re not talking to the attorney. He’s not cheap.”

  She slumps forward, resting her face
on her hand.

  “I’m just...I’m sorry. How much is it costing?”

  Crud. She’s going to harass me over this one too.

  “Enough,” I snap. “I mean, it’s partly a company legal expense—personal crisis and all–but the man’s only as good as his info from you.”

  “Hallelujah. My sister’s lover boy is so rich he’s buying me a lawyer man. At least something good came out of this, right? Besides waiting to wake up in Orange is the New Black, I mean...”

  “For the last freaking time, he’s my boss. Nothing more. Also, you’re deflecting. Nick’s money is no good if you don’t talk to the attorney.”

  Her face sinks, that sarcasm melting off. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t,” she says in that same haunted small voice before looking up at me again. “And is Millie safe with this nanny? Like if Will comes in and says he’s her dad...is she going to let him leave with her?”

  “They won’t let Millie leave with anyone who isn’t me,” I say.

  “Well, that’s heartening. But what’s Nick Brandt going to do? File a custody suit on your behalf? Barricade the office? I don’t think it’ll keep him from snatching her sooner or later.”

  “He’s a Navy man—”

  “Ohh, spicy. Explains why he’s so ripped.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think he’d have to be a badass to take out Will Frisk. I could take out that miserable snake.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she says, not a drop of humor in her tone.

  I stare, blinking. “Listen. Do you want to be with Millie again?”

  “You know I do. How could you even ask?”

  “Then you’ve got to talk to Sutton—or at least talk to me.”

  Again, those sad, hopeless eyes.

  I’m losing hope she’ll say anything more before she whispers, “It’s not safe, Reese.”

  My heart stops.

  “Who hit you? Tell me.” I can work backward with just a name.

  “What? Hit me?” She looks up.

  “You had a medical exam the night you were arrested, Abby. They said there were bruises to your face and head. Are you going to pretend you hit yourself?”