Page 56 of Bossy Wicked Prince
“I don’t know,” I say finally.
His brow furrows. “You must have a preference. Pizza, tacos, sushi…”
I just can’t pick one. It’s like he’s pointing at three identical shades of blue and asking which one’s my favorite.Ugh, I know exactly what’s happening in my brain. Decision paralysis. It always happens to me when I’m overworked. Having to make hundreds of tiny decisions at volunteering and multiple jobs, it all adds up in my brain. It’s like my software overloads on information and crashes. I’m left without any room to make decisions for myself.
It’s hard to explain, and I’ve been quiet for so long that Nate’s staring at me like I’m a crazy person.
I try to smile at him, but I can’t get the corners of my mouth to move. God, I have to saysomething.I don’t want to make thisinto a big deal. I just can’t pick what I want for dinner, for god’s sake. I can see the real concern in Nate’s eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. “You look?—”
“Can you just decide for me?” I blurt. “I’m not picky about food. Seriously, just get me anything.”
His eyes widen just a fraction. “Okay.”
He starts typing into his phone. I turn back to my computer, pretending that I’m focusing on something interesting, even though my head is full of nothing but static. It’s just too embarrassing to acknowledge the way I just freaked out.
“The food’s on its way,” Nate says. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
I nod, and he finally walks back to his office. He leaves the door cracked, giving me a semblance of privacy, but making it easy for me to call him if I have to. It’s thoughtful of him.
I can’t imagine what he thinks about me now. Counting the panic attack, this is the second time Nate’s seen my composure crack. He must think I’m helpless and fragile. I mean, what kind of adult woman can’t even choose what she wants for dinner? Why would he want to take me on?
Maybe I’ve had panic attacks in the past, but they’ve gotten rarer over the past few years. Now, milder things like decision paralysis or repetitive critical thoughts are more common. I don’t know why they keep happening in front of Nate, though.
Because I feel safe with him.
Could that be it? That some part of me knows that he’ll take care of me, no matter what? But he’s not anything to me—he’s not my boyfriend, and we’ve never even gone on a date. He’s my boss.
Once I feel calmer, I go to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. I’m determined to be a pleasant, cheerful dinner companion. No more panicking. I’ll eat my food and act normal.
When I go back to my desk, Nate’s office door is open.
“Come in,” he calls from inside. “Since you clearly can’t be trusted to eat without supervision.”
I roll my eyes and walk inside. Nate’s cleared off his desk, except for the darkened computer monitors, which he’s pushed to the side. An empty chair waits in the space across from his desk chair, clearly meant for me to sit in.
Instead of an open take-out container like I expected, I find a paper plate with two slices of pepperoni pizza and a side of Caesar salad already doled out. Nate doesn’t know it, but this is exactly what I needed. Not only does the food look mouth-wateringly good, I don’t even have to decide how many slices I want.
I slide into my chair, grabbing for a slice of pizza before Nate’s even had a chance to sit down himself. I close my eyes, moaning as the melted cheese hits my tastebuds. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.
“Thank you.” I shoot him a contrite smile. “It’s delicious.”
“Good.” He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “You can’t let this happen again, Cat. You need to take better care of yourself. You needrest.I’ll cut back on your responsibilities, if that’ll help. I can get Susie to take charge of my travel.”
“No!” My voice is way too loud, and he tilts his head, looking curiously at me. “I mean, it’s fine. I can handle it.”
“It’s too much, Cat. You’re not taking proper care of yourself, and that means something has to change.”
“Maybe,” I hedge. “But you don’t have to offload my work. I like this job. A lot more than I thought I would, if I’m being honest.”
“You really find managing my calendar that fascinating?” he deadpans.
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I just…I never imagined myself in an office job. I only finished a year of college, and Ifigured I didn’t have the background to do a job like this. Like it’d be too complicated, or more details than I could handle. But I surprised myself. It was easy for me to keep up. Not to brag, but I think I’m a pretty good assistant.”
“You’re excellent.” His eyes bore into mine, and I duck my head, blushing at the compliment. He really doesn’t look at me how a boss should look at his assistant. Nate Walsh looks at me like I’m a problem he wants to keep.
And when he praises me, it hits even harder. I know he doesn’t hand out accolades to just anyone.
