Page 114 of Bossy Wicked Prince
Apparently, the paparazzi has figured out that I’m not staying at my place anymore. Instead, they’re camped out in front of Terrace, trying to get a shot of me. Beau had to bring in extra security just to keep them out.
I finish putting in my order and head back to the floor. When Olivia sees me, she grabs my arm.
“Cat, good! I’ve been waiting to find you all night.”
Oh, no. I’ve been apprehended by the gossip hydra. Please, let her just be asking me to cover a shift, and not pumping me for information.
“Is it true that Nate Walsh has a sex dungeon in the basement?” she stage whispers.
“What?” I sputter. “No. Where did you even hear that?”
“Does he have pierced nipples?” Sandy adds. “My friend swears he has them, but I don’t think they ever hooked up.”
My lips purse. There’s no good way to answer this—either way would confirm I’ve seen him at least semi-naked.
“Sorry, I gotta go,” I mumble. Sandy and Olivia’s laughter follows me as I hurry over to my next table. I plaster on a smile and try my best to forget that everyone seems to be talking about me.
“Hi! I’m Cat, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?” Six women in their 20s look back at me with sympathy on their faces.
“We’d like that,” one says slowly, like she’s comforting a child who just fell down.
I keep my fake smile plastered across my face. Apparently, the Toronto Tea posted about my breakup with Nate, because I’m getting an awful lot of pity from my customers tonight. I don’t think it would make me look professional if my response was just to scream in their faces.
“Today, we’re offering a surf and turf of scallops and filet mignon with creamy mashed potatoes. It’s wonderful, if you’re in the mood for seafood,” I rattle off.
“That sounds so good,” the table choruses in unison.
“How areyoudoing, sweetie?” The closest woman pats me on the shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “You look like you’re really doing your best.”
Ugh.Does anyone in this damn citynotread the Toronto Tea?
That’s enough. I need a minute to myself so I can get it together without half the people in the restaurant watching me.
“I’ll be right back to get your drink orders,” I chirp. Then I practically sprint to the back room.
It’s hard enough keeping a smile on my face when I feel like wallowing in a pint of ice cream. Keeping up a cheerfulfacade with everyone I meet openly pitying me? That’s a level of difficulty I’m not prepared for right now.
I lean against the wall, taking a few deep breaths. I can’t hide back here forever. Glancing down at my watch, I decide to give myself thirty seconds of wallowing before I go back out and get those drink orders. Look on the bright side—maybe my table’s pity will translate into high tips.
My time is just about up when Beau strolls through the door. I frown—he almost never comes into serving areas during high traffic times. He knows that if he’s not on the kitchen staff, he’ll just be in the way.
“Cat! Just the person I was looking for,” he says. “I’ve got a big favor to ask you.”
“Of course! What can I do for you?” After everything Beau’s done to help me deal with the press outside, I owe him about a hundred big favors.
“You might not be so eager when I tell you what I need.” He shoots me an apologetic look. “It’s poker night, and we need a server upstairs.”
No. No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not. There’s no way I’m going to serve drinks at Nate’s poker night less than forty-eight hours after I found out he’s been spying on me and my family.
Of course, I can’t just scream that at my boss’s boss, so I force a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
Nate probably didn’t share with the group the reason why I walked. But even if he didn’t, there’s no way he doesn’t know we ended things, so him asking must mean he’s desperate.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I need someone. Carter was going to do it, but he called out sick.”
“You should ask Sandy, then. I know she’d love to do it.”
He cringes. “That’s the problem. She did it once and, uh, let’s just say James didn’t appreciate her giving him an unsolicited backrub.”
