“Try telling him that. The dude talks to me like I’m a frat boy. He runs his mouth so much, I never get a word in edgewise. I doubt he’s ever heard my voice. I think he’s probably one of those bosses who needs to be every employee’s best friend. I mean, the less said, the better, right? If people are mistaking me for a guy, maybe I should wear some makeup and business skirts. Nix the bulky coat. But it gets so flipping cold this time of year, even with the heat on. Spending all day roaming the streets gets frosty even with the heat cranked up.”
“Nah, don’t need to get rid of your coat for this clown. Mistaking you for a guy? He needs to get his eyes checked.”
I look up from where I’m parked and see movement.
My heart jumps in my throat.
Here he comes.
There’s no mistaking his toned silhouette. He’s stuffed in a sleek black suit with silver pinstripes and a green shirt under his blazer that matches his piercing eyes far too well.
“Speak of the devil. I’d better go,” I say, already hoping he just needs a quick hop across town and not a forty-minute trek to his brother’s lakeside estate.
“No problem. Talk to you later. You should have some fun with this!”
Easy for her to say.
Nothing about driving for a self-absorbed egomaniac falls under fun.
Millie squeals in the background, forcing a smile from me.
“Reese, are you still there?” Abby asks.
“Yep. Ten more seconds.”
“Millie wants to say hi. Do you have a second?”
Not really—Captain Oblivious is like five paces away from the car—but I’m not turning down my three-year-old chatterbox niece.
“Make it fast,” I say.
“Auntie Reese!” Millie says in her adorable baby voice.
“Hey, baby. I’ll see you soon, okay? Be good for me.”
“Otay.”
“Love you. Bye-bye, bumblebee.” I cut the call and toss my phone in the seat beside me before she says anything else in her adorable babble that hooks me into a conversation.
Just in the literal Nick of time, too.
Bossman’s built frame approaches like a snow leopard, stalking the cold streets, focus shining in his eyes. I wonder if this man only checks his sharp brain when he climbs in my car.
God.
For the briefest second, my eyes strain like they wish they had X-ray vision.
Does he carve that lethal muscle in the gym or is he a military man like his brother? Either way, it’s breathtaking. I can’t look away even when every nerve I have screams bad idea.
He circles around and touches the handle of the back passenger side door.
Lose the thought, Reese. It’s none of your business where he builds his body.
I wish it was that easy.
Oh, but it gets easier the second he opens his blackhole of a mouth.
“Reese Halle! Get pumped. We’re going to have ourselves a great fucking time tonight,” he chuckles, slapping his slacks the second he’s seated.
Umm—we are? Awesome, now a whole other set of seedy images starts flashing, unbridled, through my head. Him, me, and whatever “great time” actually means in Nick-speak—
Stop it. Really.
I force a nod, knowing I don’t need to verbalize before he belts out the rest of whatever asinine thing he has planned.
“We have to head to the airport to pick up Jorge, then we’re going to take him to the coolest nightclubs Chicago has to offer. You know how many clubs this guy owns back in Brazil? I promised him Brandt Ideas could one-up any of Chicago’s finest. Tonight, I seal the deal.”
Yay!
Lucky me.
I’m going to have a great time, all right.
Stone-cold sober, cabbing Nick and his client around all night. Probably trying not to stab them when I imagine the bosshole he could become with endless booze plus a need to impress a foreign club owner.
Ugh.
Nodding again, I pull onto the road. I can’t stop my eyes from flicking back at him.
He flashes his best bad boy smile in the rearview mirror—annoyingly handsome, and an orthodontist’s wet dream—and says, “This guy has a reputation for living life large. Things might get a little crazy tonight. Don’t worry, though. I know where to draw the line. I think we’ll get by without a defibrillator.”
Sweet Jesus, no.
No.
I’m starting to hope I never hear the phrase “great time” for the rest of my life. This colossal jackass talks like he can barely handle himself, let alone a drunken club hop with a guy who might just stage an international incident.
“You know how the press loves to sniff around, especially that Osprey dickhead and his minions from The Chicago Tea. It comes with the territory when you’re a billionaire and a Brandt. We may have to make some quick exits if they follow us—but you rock at that, right? Tactical driving or whatever? Grandma says you can do anything. That clown just won’t get off my ass.”