Page 66 of Bossy Wicked Prince
I’m not alone.
There’s a strange woman sitting on Nate’s sofa.
I’m so shocked, I jump about a foot, dropping one of my bags. The pillar candles inside go rolling across the marble floor.
Nate mentioned a housekeeper, but I can tell immediately that this woman is no housekeeper. Her long, slender legs are crossed gracefully, and she drapes her arm along the back of the couch like it belongs to her. Her pristine ivory trousers and rust-colored silk blouse scream luxury so loudly, it’s practically deafening.
Her head turns sharply toward me, and she arches one sculpted brow. She doesn’t have to speak for me to know exactly what she’s asking.
Who the fuck are you, and what the hell makes you think you belong here?
I have no clue who she is. Maybe an ex-girlfriend who never gave her key back?
Or worse, someone he’s sleeping with now?
My stomach drops. Nate and I never talked about exclusivity, and he’d be well within his rights to sleep with whoever he wants. Still, jealousy burns in my gut. I want to snap at this woman and tell her to back off. Nate’s mine.
But I don’t know all the facts. There could be an innocent explanation, and I don’t want to be rude to a stranger for no reason and embarrass Nate. I swallow my jealousy and force a big fake smile on my face.
“Sorry! You scared me—I didn’t expect anyone to be home.”
I crouch to grab the pillar candles and shove them back in my bag. When I glance back up at the woman, she’s looking me up and down, a sneer on her full lips.
“You must be theassistant.” She spits the last word like it’s an insult. “Not as pretty as I expected.”
The words land in my heart like a dagger. They remind me that I’m not polished and sophisticated like she is. That the pilled pink sweater I’m wearing was pulled out of a secondhand bin. With just one look, she’s seen the truth—that I’m not enough.
As she stands and approaches me, I realize she’s not as young as I thought. She’s had work done—Botox, tasteful filler, maybe even a face lift. But despite the heap of cosmetic procedures, there’s no mistaking that she’s at least in her 50s.
How dare she! This bitch is way too old to be this rude.
It’s Pippa’s voice I hear in my head. If she were here, she’d be roaring at the woman, defending me like a mama bear. The least I can do is try and stand up for myself. I raise my head and look down my nose at the stranger.
“Who are you, exactly?” I ask, trying to mirror her imperious tone.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m Eleanor Walsh. Nate’s mother.”
Oh.
Any relief I felt about her being Nate’s mom, not his girlfriend, vanishes as she measures me up. She has the same cold gray eyes as Nate, but there’s something cruel in hers. When she looks at me, she obviously finds me wanting.
I know Nate’s father is dead, and he doesn’t have any siblings. His mother is the closest family he has left, which means that if I want to be in his life as more than a short-term hookup, I need her to like me.
Except, that’s not what I want, is it?
That’s not what’s happening here.
This is just casual. Secret.Fun.Nothing more.
Either way, I’ve got to do something to turn this conversation around, and fast. I set my bags down on the floor and extend my hand.
“You’re right, I am Nate’s assistant,” I say as warmly as I can. “Caitlin Daniels, but you can call me Cat. It’s nice to meet you.”
Eleanor wrinkles her nose and glares at my hand like it’s something dirty. “I heard Nate was fucking his new assistant, some waitress he picked up. No qualifications. I knew it couldn’t be true, so I came here to tell him to nip that pernicious rumorin the bud before it cost him his reputation. Apparently, there’s some truth to it, though.”
My chest feels tight, and I’m having trouble taking a deep breath. I know how it looks on paper—I definitely wasn’t qualified to be his assistant, even though I’ve worked my ass off to prove I’m worthy of the job.
I don’t want his mom thinking the worst of him. So maybe it’s wrong, but I blurt out, “We’re not dating.”
