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“Nothing,” I force out, my tequila breath on fire. “Thanks, Osprey. I guess.”
“Without The Chicago Tea focusing on you, no one else will. That’s reason enough to scuttle your exile plans and continue living like a normal human being. This is your second chance, Brandt. Don’t fuck it up,” he growls.
The call disconnects.
Just in time. I’ve heard enough.
Too bad my phone isn’t done flaying me alive. Another text pings.
Nick, can we talk? I won’t tell your brother or Reese. I promise.
Nope. Sorry, Paige.
Dipshit, would you man up? I gave Reese a week off a few days ago. She told Paige she can’t sleep, and the way she drove that morning, I believe it.
Ward again. I frown.
I did “man up.” Osprey just decided not to have my balls mounted on the wall...for now.
Two legal offices call. They need information to wrap up my drug charge.
Yeah, maybe when I sleep off this rotgut tequila.
Swiping my arms across the table, I knock the shot glasses to the floor and get back to work on an album I’ve unpacked.
Page by page, I tear out pictures of Carmen from when we were growing up, crumple them up, and whip them at the trashcan.
Deeper into the book, I turn the page and smile.
There’s a picture of Reese in skintight green leggings, an ugly Christmas sweater—like anything could be truly ugly on her—and a goofy green-and-red-striped hat with a white ball at the end.
She was the elf at last year’s company Christmas party. I asked her to take a picture with me. She agreed, but left a gaping space between us, crossed her arms, and smiled like a captive.
Things didn’t have to be awkward and cold between us.
They weren’t until I took her to that stupid gala.
Some things don’t change.
It’s no one else’s fault our relationship is over now. I hurt her enough, and I walked away before I could do it again.
I flip a few pages and stop on recent pictures of us together, the ones I just added late one night a couple weeks ago.
We’re happy and smiling. Her head is on my chest. My arm around her tells her she’s mine.
In one pic, I’m holding the camera at a weird angle to steal a kiss. We’re in front of the Chicago sunrise after we spent the night talking on my balcony.
There are some pictures of Millie between us and a few more with just Millie and me. One of my favorite pictures is Reese kissing Millie on the forehead while she sleeps.
That shit makes my heart ache, knowing what I walked away from—the one woman I thought I could start a family with.
Another life, maybe. One where I didn’t waste years of my life with my head up my ass.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I glance at the TV. It isn’t on. I must be imagining the noise. No one knows I’m here.
But the knocking comes again, this time louder.
“Nicholas Brandt, if I have to replace a hip after throwing this door down, I will tan your hide. I know you’re in there.”
I must have passed out.
At least this dream promises to be entertaining, and since I don’t want my dream-grandma to break her hip, I stumble to the door and fling it open.
“Took you long enough!” She scrunches her nose, a silver-haired whirlwind blowing into my condo. “My, this place smells like the backside of a wet bar.”
“There’s only one bottle of tequila in the place and I’m only halfway through—”
No dream.
She grabs my earlobe, tugging my head down, and sails forward, leading me to the couch like a puppy. This woman is a ninja pretending to be Chicago’s most talented badass.
“What did I tell you when I gave you your first company phone?” she demands.
“Huh? That was a long time ago and yeah, I’ve had a few drinks, but nothing too excessi—ow!”
She jerks on my ear again.
“Never ignore my calls. Especially when you’ve had me worried sick about you, dear boy. You can ignore anyone else, but you don’t ignore your grandmother.” She finally releases my ear and smiles like the portrait of grandmotherly sweetness.
“Yes, ma’am. Message received. Also, you’re wasting your breath if you’re here to try to talk me into changing my mind,” I say, rubbing my ear.
“I’m not here to talk you into anything. I’m simply here to inform you that your resignation isn’t accepted.” She folds her arms.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask with a sigh.
She rolls her eyes. “Do you have to ask? There were only so many places you’d go, and you’re a creature of habit. Back to the point, you’re far too young to retire and ride off into a sunset of booze and debauchery—”
“I don’t know. That seems to be my specialty,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes and lifts her brows.
“Joking,” I grumble, holding my hands up.
