Page 10 of Bossy Wicked Prince
Raven huffs, stands, and stalks from the office.
When she’s gone, I move through the contracts, signing each tabbed page in the first one, but before I flip to the second, my mind wanders back to Cat.
I first noticed her a month ago, when she bought three chili cheese hot dogs from the cart outside the building. I did a double-take, wondering how the hell this tiny woman was going to manage to eat all three.
Instead, she went over to two middle-aged men in ragged clothes, sitting on flattened cardboard boxes down the street. She handed a hot dog to each of them and sat right down on the ground between them. They all ate together, laughing and chatting like old friends.
Even though she didn’t seem to be under any sort of threat from the men, I couldn’t seem to leave. Couldn’t seem to stop watching.
Tiny, with a bright smile and warm amber eyes, she looked like prey in a concrete jungle brimming with hunters.
She’s been stuck in my mind ever since. I don’t understand what makes her tick, and I don’t like mysteries. In my lineof work, reading people’s intentions and motivations is key to assessing their security needs.
I tell myself that’s why I keep going down to the Steakhouse.
I could easily pour myself a glass of Twisted Devil whiskey in my apartment upstairs. Instead, at least three times a week, I order a few drinks during Cat’s shifts. She never serves me, but it gives me a chance to watch her from afar.
A chance to figure her out.
Pushing away from my desk, I move to the pull-up bar I had installed in the corner. When my thoughts get too tangled, I need a physical reset. I pull off my suit jacket and carefully lay it over the back of a chair.
The guys give me shit for being careful with my clothes. Those heathens don’t show proper respect to made-to-measure, hand-stitched suits crafted by master Italian tailors. Save for James.
Grabbing the bar, I pull my weight up slowly, purposefully engaging my core. Focusing on the movement of my muscles should dissolve my thoughts.
Shouldbeing the operative word. Instead, questions keep bubbling to the forefront.
Cat’s still working downstairs, right?
She’ll be leaving soon, won’t she?
What time did she finish her shift last night?
Finally, I drop from the bar and prowl back to my computer. If it’s going to distract me, I should just check, then get back to work.
I open the browser on my computer with the security footage from last night. It’s black-and-white, but Cat’s unruly mane of honey-blonde hair makes it easy to pick her out as she makes her way from the staff exit onto the sidewalk.
My driver pulls up next to her, and I watch her jump in surprise. At least she’s paying enough attention to notice acar pulling up. Squinting at the screen, I try to make out her expression during their conversation. There’s not enough detail at this distance, and I make a mental note to upgrade the building’s security cameras to 4K. I’ve been meaning to for a while now, anyway.
Cat flashes a smile at the driver, and I don’t need a high-tech camera to see that. That smile burned into my memory the first time I saw it. Sure, she’s very, very pretty, with her wide eyes, full lips, and pale skin that shows even a whisper of a blush. But her smile isn't like any I’ve seen before. It’s so…sogenuine. Warm.
And I’m not the only one who feels that warmth. I’ve never seen a customer at the steakhouse leave one of her tables unhappy. She’s not stingy with her warmth—she gives it away freely, even to people who don’t deserve it.
I crave it now—that warmth. But I know better than to get close. It would only lead to getting burned.
A lesson Cat came way too close to learning herself. The fact that Harry, the drunken asshole, was able to stalk and harass her in my own building is unacceptable. After I steered him away from her last night, I went right back to the third floor to ream out Beau.
To his credit, Beau immediately agreed to let me run background checks onallhis employees.
Onscreen, the black sedan drives off and Cat walks out of frame.
Last night, she left just after ten.
Question answered, so back to work.
I click back to the bodyguard’s application, trying to focus on the finer points of his resume and resisting the urge to review the rest of the footage of Cat from last night.
Raven reappears at the doorway. “Got your Advil,” she says, setting down a plate with two pills and a glass of water. I swallowthe pills and hand her back the dishes. She accepts them with a sigh.
