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Carmen: You don’t have to be. Look at Ward.
Nick: I have no idea how he escaped the curse. Then again, he’s...Ward.
Feeling sorry for Chicago’s richest Romeo? Read on. No wonder Carmen Seraphina dropped him like week-old leftovers! The words from Osprey’s blogger makes me gag.
Carmen: How did the meeting go?
Nick: Fuck if I know. I was blackout drunk. Like ten seconds from dropping on the floor right there in the meeting. Thank fuck for my team or Chicago could have one ugly-ass train depot.
Are you really surprised? The Prince of Broken Hearts works as hard as he plays—and apparently it’s always pretty messy.
Anonymous: When are you going to settle down? It seems like even your brother is ready to tie the knot and fly the straight and narrow.
Nick: Me? Settle down? Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d be happy tied down with one woman and some brats?
Anonymous: Stranger things have happened.
Nick: Shoot me before I’m ever that dumb. I beg you.
Dear God.
That last one hurts like a sucker punch. I’m white-knuckling my phone as my eyes flick over the end of the article that’s stripped him buck naked.
Miss Seraphina, from all of us here at The Chicago Tea, best of luck with your future endeavors. Nicholas Brandt seems like a lost cause. You always deserved better.
Dearest readers, don’t worry. Rumors are abuzz that Mr. Brandt will be treating us all to an even bigger bombshell very soon—although, it’s hard to top being drunk through a meeting to finalize a railroad depot redesign that’s become a cornerstone of Chicago architecture. Perhaps a few city inspectors should have a serious talk with a certain Mr. Brandt—VERY SOON!
Until next time, keep steeping.
Savage.
Holy shit. No wonder he’s livid.
I wish this jackass would leave Nick alone, but I wonder...who gave him the texts anyhow? Carmen? She was violently pissed when he brought me to the gala that night.
And what’s this bigger bombshell he hinted at?
I stare up at the skyscraper, too much like a dark middle finger, hoping they’re able to fix this soon.
My phone rings with an unknown number calling.
I slide the green bar, expecting to hear it’s collect from the county jail. I’m wrong.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” a gravelly voice says.
Oh, boy. This day just keeps getting better.
I’d know that voice anywhere.
I take a deep breath. I have to tell him.
“Will? If you’re looking for Abby, I have news—”
“I know. I couldn’t call sooner. I’ve been on the road all week, and I’m sorry. I did a big construction job out of state and broke my phone on the site. Just got everything working again and heard the lawyer’s voicemail this morning.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say. I expected to tell him about Abby, but he knows. “Well, Millie is totally safe. She’s staying with me. So if you’re busy with work—”
“No, I need to see my peanut,” he cuts in, stabbing me square in the heart. “Her mom’s locked up over some stupid shit. I bet she’s scared to death. She should be with her dad.”
No. She. Shouldn’t.
Every time I’ve talked to Abby since this happened, she’s pleaded with me to make sure jerkwad doesn’t take her kid.
“I thought you hadn’t seen her much in the past few years?” I ask.
I know I’m right. He’s barely been around for Millie and a near absent on again, off again boyfriend for Abby. She’s in jail and he hasn’t said one word about trying to help her yet.
Hell, Nick has done more for her than this joke of a baby daddy. I take another deep breath and release it, trying to stay calm, to avoid mouthing off and making this worse.
“Reese, she needs me now. Who the fuck knows how long Abby’ll be in there. I heard it was drugs?” He snorts. “Too fuckin’ typical.”
I have to physically bite my tongue to hold back.
“We could arrange something. I guess,” I say coldly.
“We have to. I hoped Abby would get it together after the baby came, but hell. Maybe it’s all for the best...”
Dickhead, no. You can’t mean that.
“My boss is calling,” I lie. “Gotta go. I’ll contact you lat—”
“When can I see Millie?” He doesn’t let me off easy.
“Text me. We’ll set it up. I have to go.” I press End Call without wasting another second.
I’m going to be sick.
To add to everyone’s misery, the thick clouds over the Chicago skyline finally break, releasing a glacial rain. Even Lake Michigan has had it with this day.
* * *
Nick and his bulldog attorney climb back into the car after what feels like forever.
“How did it go?” I ask distantly.
“I’m going to nail that bastard’s dick to the wall if his hit piece isn’t down in the next forty-eight hours.” Nick twists his lips, giving me a scorned look. “Sorry.”
He looks over at Millie’s empty seat, sighing with relief.
