Perfect Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “This afternoon?”

  “Yes?”

  “My joyride?”

  “Yes?”

  “...I stalked the dickhead.”

  “You—what? Why didn’t you tell me?” Heat rips through me, confusion and disappointment and fear.

  “I didn’t want you there. I wasn’t sure how it would go down. I was afraid you’d be all ‘not your problem, Nick.’”

  “Because this isn’t your problem, Nick! If you were dead-set on doing something like this, I wish you would’ve involved me.”

  “If you’d begged to come along, I would’ve given in. I can’t deny you. Still, it could’ve been dangerous. I didn’t expect the idiot to make it so easy.” He stares at me, his eyes wide and questioning.

  “I hope you didn’t do anything illegal,” I say with a sigh.

  “We’re in this together, aren’t we? With the tracker I’ve got on his truck, we’re going to ram his dick in the door and get Abby out of jail,” he whispers. “This is it. Period and end of story.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He silences me then, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. His tongue rolls into my mouth like a dark delicacy.

  I whimper, wanting to pull away before I get too distracted to say more, but his stupid sexy grip holds stupid hot-mess me in place. The urgency of his kiss is everything.

  “Nick.” I struggle out of his arms with major effort. “You’re making me dizzy.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, you need to let me help you if you’re going to go all super spy on my behalf.”

  A crease forms in his forehead.

  “Help me? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Your tabloid crap. Your past. Trust me to help you deal with it and not freak out. Or at least not hold your cards so close to your chest,” I say.

  “I do trust you, Reese. That’s not why I fight so hard to keep you out of it. I don’t want you trending on social media knowing I put you there,” he rumbles.

  “You’re still trying to protect me?”

  “Always.” His eyes gleam so dark a chill sweeps through me.

  “I love—” Frick. My mouth clamps shut.

  I didn’t mean to say that aloud.

  “What were you saying?” A slow smile cuts across his face.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar, but it’s okay. I love you, too, Reese Halle. I have since the first second you hated me,” he growls, not a hint of doubt in his eyes.

  Oh my God.

  I rise up on my toes to find his lips, but he beats me to it. His kiss tastes so much sweeter now.

  My leg curls around his, climbing him before I even realize it.

  I tremble as his tongue glides over mine. He braces his hands below my bottom and lifts me up. My legs wrap around his waist.

  He pulls away from me and takes a ragged breath. “Is Millie down for the night?”

  I give half a nod before attacking his lips again.

  He moves us to his room while I fumble the buttons of his shirt out of their holes.

  “Can’t even wait, huh?” he chuckles.

  “I could, but what’s the point of that?”

  “You didn’t say it, you know...”

  “Huh?”

  “You didn’t say it. You cut yourself off mid-sentence,” he says.

  My face feels like it could self-combust.

  “You knew what I was going to say,” I tease. “I just...”

  He leans forward so our foreheads touch.

  “Tell me how you feel,” he demands. “Or else I’ll put my mouth where it’ll make you squirm and I won’t finish the job unless I hear it.”

  “I’m already squirming,” I squeak, pressing my fingers against the hard ridge of his shaft just to prove a point. I sigh because it’s heaven.

  “Say it, you little devil.”

  Okay.

  Deep breath.

  Here goes.

  “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Nick. Longer than you’ve loved me, probably.” Those words feel like a boulder lifting off me as soon as they’re out.

  “I thought you loathed me.”

  “I wanted to. I kind of did for a while. You were so irresponsible at first. Also, I was jealous, because you had your models and actresses and I couldn’t have you—”

  “No one’s ever had me the way you do.” He cuts me off mid-sentence, his voice gruff and his wildfire lips crushing mine.

  I’m boneless until he’s laid me on the bed and I’ve worked his shirt off.

  My hands fall to his pants button, barely holding him in.

  He sighs as I release him, then pull down his boxers. I run my finger across his naked waist, zigzagging down until my finger touches hot skin just above his shaft. I close my hand around it and slide it down.

  “Reese, fuck.”

  He quickly undresses me, sits on the edge of the bed, and pulls me into his lap. He traces his finger over my hot opening, sliding one rough finger over the pearl.

  I’m not asking tonight. I take what I want, sliding down over his shaft.

  My arms and legs fold around him.

  His arms tighten around me and soon, we’re a mess of kisses and groans, and aching thrusts.

  It’s the best sex ever, because when the emotion is this intense, I don’t have to worry about what I might blurt out.

  There’s no holding back, no theatrics, just manic thrusts and hitched breaths and an explosive finish.

  Together.

  “God, I love you.” He strokes the sex-crazed hair out of my eyes.

  We’re still connected and my legs are jelly. I feel weightless.

  He falls back, but his arms are locked around me as he pulls me down with him.

  “That was—” he starts.

  “The highlight of my life,” I finish.

  He kisses me again with a low growl vibrating against my tongue.

  God, this man.

  I’m still walking on pure air as we lie there—me on top of him, our arms tangled—for a nice long while. Then we shower together, and I pass out in his arms.

  * * *

  The next morning we sit in overstuffed brown chairs across from the attorney.

  Nick hands him several printed pages. “Data from the GPS tracker on Frisk’s truck. That’s everywhere he’s been in the last sixteen hours. I also put the username and password at the top of the page. You can log in anytime and see where he’s going in real time. At the bottom of the page, there’s another address. That’s the warehouse he’s moving drugs from.”

  Dear God. Nick wasn’t joking when he said he went full stalker with Will yesterday.

  “How do you know he’s moving drugs from there?” Sutton asks, a weathered bull of a man.

  “I was putting air in my tire at the gas station across the street. I watched a few guys move boxes of cocaine into his trunk.”

  “These boxes weren’t concealed? Why did you think they had cocaine?” The lawyer folds his hands.

  “Believe me, I checked. He was moving whole bricks stuffed under towels that day.” Nick takes out his phone and leans across the desk. He swipes his finger across it, revealing several photos.

  “We may be able to use that,” Sutton says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “The photo proves Mr. Frisk’s vehicle had cocaine in it, but it doesn’t prove he was transporting it knowingly, particularly if it was concealed. However, with the warehouse as an active drop site, we’ll have to see how that plays out. And while I won’t ask if the trunk was unlocked—I don’t want to know—if it wasn’t, using that photo could open you up to liability. It may not be allowed in the chain of evidence if his attorney argues it was obtained illegally.”

  Nick opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then closes it, frustration etched on his face.

  Sutton holds up a hand.

  “I don’t need you to confirm or deny anything, Mr. Brandt. It’s not pertinent at the moment, and the less I know is probably better
. Frankly, we’re still facing two big problems. Abby Halle isn’t talking. She believes she’s safer in jail, and as long as her daughter’s also safe, she’s not talking—”

  “Because he hit her,” I point out. “She’s probably afraid of what he’ll do next if she does open up.”

  “I think she’s afraid he’ll try to snatch Millie if she talks,” Nick says.

  “Do you think if I assured her we could get a protective order for her and Amelia, she’d talk?” Sutton asks.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure,” I say, fidgeting with my hands.

  “If a protective order gets her to open up, that will help with the second problem.”

  “Second problem?” Nick asks.

  “Does a protective order actually protect someone?” I ask.

  The attorney stiffens.

  “Well, he wouldn’t be able to come within a certain distance of her or any known residence, so it definitely helps.”

  “On paper,” Nick says.

  I glance over at him.

  “The order makes it illegal for him to come near her.” He looks at me darkly. “I may have looked into getting one against a tabloid spy or two. I’m just not sure a thug moving bricks of illegal drugs around and hitting his ex-girlfriend has any qualms about breaking court decrees.”

  “If a protective order won’t actually help her and Millie, then I don’t want you using it to get her to talk. I want her out of jail, obviously, but not at the cost of anyone’s safety,” I say.

  Sutton rolls his chair closer to his desk.

  “Well, there’s problem number two. Unless I can get a statement from Abby or we find some corroborating evidence, it’s unlikely they’ll issue a warrant for Will Frisk.”

  “What about the pictures?” Nick asks.

  “Again, it’s circumstantial and we don’t want to incriminate you, Mr. Brandt. We need something more to go on that wasn’t obtained by subterfuge. I’ll have the warehouse reported and watched. If we come up with clear evidence, another illicit transfer, then I’ll send it to the DA. At that point, they may issue a search warrant.”

  “Define corroborating evidence?” I ask.

  “Text messages, pictures with Frisk, finding the drugs themselves with his prints on them—or someone who claims to have acquired them from him,” Sutton says.

  Nick goes ashen white.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he bites off.

  “Are you sure?”

  He doesn’t answer. He just stands and bolts out the door.

  My stomach sinks. I have no idea what’s going on.

  I knew something was wrong last night when he was on the phone with a strange woman, and instead of throwing up some distance, I let him tell me he loved me and slept with him again.

  I’m such an idiot.

  Another memory flashes through my mind.

  The night he dressed me up like all the models and influencers he hangs out with to piss off his ex. Is that who he was on the phone with last night? Carmen Seraphina?

  I look at Sutton again with a lump in my throat.

  “I should go—” I stop. Go what? Go after him? No way I’m saying that out loud. “I should check on him.”

  Sutton nods, letting me gracefully slip away with my tail between my legs.

  I come out to the lobby, surveying my surroundings. I don’t find Nick, but the receptionist says, “Are you looking for your friend?”

  I nod.

  “He went that way.” She points to the door. “Is he okay?”

  “Umm—I think so. I’m sorry.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile.

  I find Nick in the parking garage standing by his Maserati. He’s still angry, raking a hand through his dark hair, but the color has returned to his face.

  “What happened?”

  Nick grabs me and presses me tight to his chest.

  “Take my car and go see Abby. Try to get something out of her. Everything might hinge on it. I’ll take a cab home. There’s something I forgot,” he whispers, this cryptic, worried look in his eye.

  My eyebrow shoots up. “Like what?”

  “Tell you later, beautiful. Just trust me.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to slam this case shut.”

  “Jesus, Nick. You just ran out of that office like it was on fire and left me there. Now you’re sending me to Abby while you take a cab home and...you can’t tell me why?” My lip trembles.

  I’m so stupid. I knew something was way off last night, but I bought into his whole changed man act a long time ago. I love him so much it hurts to believe anything else.

  “I’ll explain once you’re home. I promise. I have to go,” he clips, beginning to speed walk away.

  “You’ve been explaining a lot of things the past few days,” I say glumly.

  “And I’ve had good reasons,” he calls coldly over his shoulder.

  I don’t have the heart to argue back.

  I also don’t enjoy it as I slide into his luxe car—which still smells like mint-infused Nicholas—praying my heart stays intact.

  Whatever he’s hiding, whatever he’s not telling me, I hope to everything holy it won’t destroy us.

  24

  Self-Destruct Sequence (Nick)

  “Why couldn’t I come with you?” she asks when she calls me later, her voice trembling like she’s on the edge of tears.

  And who can blame her for being suspicious? With my past?

  This is entirely my fucking fault.

  Too bad Sutton’s meeting put the fear of God in me—namely, a God who doesn’t look kindly on well-meaning idiots who leave hot bricks of stolen coke tucked away at home.

  “I love you more than anything, Reese. It’s urgent, and I’ll explain everything as soon as you’re home tonight.” I hope to fuck she trusts me.

  Right now, I have to get home and figure out what to do with the brick I forgot about that has my fucking prints all over it.

  Just bear with me, sweetheart. I’ve never lied to you and I don’t plan to start now.

  “Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk to Abby, but then I’m picking up Millie and heading home. I’m taking the rest of the evening off,” she whispers.

  “Anything to help you feel better. We’ll all be together soon, Abby included,” I promise, all the hurt building in my chest coming out in one sentence. “Take care, sweetheart.”

  I click off.

  Honestly, I hope it’s a promise I can keep. I have no earthly clue what I’m going to do with this shit.

  Flush it down the toilet, I guess. Or else risk one more trip with it to a desolate spot of Lake Michigan, where I’ll let it become one with the windswept waters.

  So much for evidence. This thing is a goddamned liability, and Sutton reminded me I’m too close to incriminating myself, or else making Frisk’s future case a mistrial.

  Shit. Even if I do flush the powder, how do I get rid of the drug-laced plastic covering with my prints? I throw my condo door open and march to my bedroom, still contemplating a solution.

  Something rustles in my room. My instincts tingle.

  If I thought this would be easy...

  Fuck.

  I’m actually speechless.

  A smiling Carmen turns around, standing near my closet, holding half a cocaine brick in her hand—a very open brick, the white powder peppering her red dress like an inverted murder scene.

  A trail of the same floury dust leaves a brutal path from my dresser to my bed.

  She’s strewn a fucking cocaine blizzard all over my room.

  Getting rid of this shit just got a whole lot more complicated.

  “What’s the matter, Nicholas? Aren’t you happy to see me?” she whispers.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” I spit.

  She smiles. “I’m an actress. Duh. The doorman gave me no problem when I cried and told him I had to tell you about a personal emergency. I showed him a few old pictures of us and he sent me up. I still have m
y key from years ago—”

  Fuck me with a mixer. I need to borrow a time machine and change the locks, right after I finish chewing out security here and then kicking my own ass for sheer idiocy.

  “He did ask about the woman and kid who’ve been staying here.” She sucks her lip, making this wretched sound of disappointment. “I guess you’re still slumming it with your secretary, huh?”

  “Driver. And she’s a hell of a lot more to me than you ever were, Carmen. Reese doesn’t do psychotic shit like breaking and entering or stealing drugs,” I grind out, my vision going red.

  She flays me open with that predatory smile—the one I used to think always gave me her best.

  “You’re so dramatic. It’s not breaking and entering if you have a key, and...if you want to accuse me of stealing an illegal substance, you’d have to admit to possessing it first. Cocaine, Nick? This is a new low for you—”

  “It’s not mine!” I growl, wondering why I bother. She won’t believe me. “Drop the crap you’re holding and get the hell out of here.”

  “And leave you to a death by overdose? Whatever would the blogs say then?” She steps forward, quick like a cat, rubbing the half brick across the front of my shirt. “I knew you wouldn’t make this easy. You’d need a little persuasion, so...I’ve already saved pictures of your coke-covered room. If you want to come to your senses and talk—and agree to a rehab program—we can get through this. I’d also love to have a certain memory card I’ve been looking oh-so-hard for with our dirty little blast from the past. Just for safe keeping. Show me where it is, and I’ll delete all those nasty drug photos right here with you watching.”

  It takes everything in me not to snap her neck, especially as she drags an overpainted red nail across my cheek. I fling her back before I lose control.

  “You conniving bitch—stay away!” I’m roaring, the powder shaking off my shirt as my chest heaves.

  She frowns with her lips, but her eyes are still sparkling with evil delight.

  “Hmm—so you really want to do this the hard way?” She whispers, forcing a frown. “Oh, Nick...you poor, sick man.”

  My hands curl into fists.

  I turn away from her, because I’m too angry to look at her, too confused to know what the fuck I should do in this situation. Even my Navy training doesn’t cover being set up by a psycho ex with access to stolen drugs my own dumbass took home in a mammoth brain fart.