Page 31 of Bossy Wicked Prince
“Don’t they say rules are made to be broken?”
The way she looks up at me with those eyes, filled with desire and…
I shake my head. “Not mine.”
She pouts.
“I’m not exempt from them just because I’m the boss. I’m trying to keep you safe—even from me.”
She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and steps back from me, nearly stumbling, looking like a fairy in runaway sparkle. “So chivalrous.”
“Trust me, it isn’t easy.” I clench my fists. “I don’t want you doing anything you might regret.”
She snorts. “That’shilarious.I’mthe one who’d regret this.”
I’m not exactly sure what she means by that, but drunk thoughts don’t always make the most sense.
“Get some sleep. Don’t worry about tonight. You didn’t do anything wrong—you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She shakes her head and stumbles over to the bed. I catch her by the arm, helping her climb into it.
“You know what? I’m too tired to be embarrassed about this right now,” she yawns. “I’ll be embarrassed tomorrow. Good night, Prince Frowning.”
I smirk at the nickname—and the way she struggles to pull back the sheets, which are tucked in tight hospital corners. I help her untuck them and she settles her head on the pillow, closing her eyes while I pull the covers over her.
“Night, Kitten,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond. By her heavy breathing, I’m guessing she’s already asleep.
And I realize tonight’s the last night she’ll sleep in this bed.
If I was smart, I might have drawn out the process of acquiring her building and getting security installed. I don’t like the idea of Cat moving out.
Which means I’m in fucking trouble.
10
CAT
My new desk is next to the window, which is great news for my succulent. I found the poor little guy half dead, falling out of a “free stuff” box on the sidewalk. I place his little pot in the sunlight, next to some heart-shaped sticky notes Pippa gave me and a box of cat-shaped paperclips I’ve never had a reason to use before.
Thepièce de résistanceon my desk decor is a little Eiffel Tower statue. I’ve been obsessed with Paris since I watchedAmélieas a kid, and until I can cross a visit off my bucket list, my little figurine will have to do.
Out of the twenty or so desks in the office, mine is the closest to Nate’s office. I was the first one here this morning, but my new coworkers have started trickling in. There’s an all-hands meeting at ten where I’ll meet everyone I haven’t yet.
I sit back in my desk chair and admire my set-up. I plan on ignoring the irony that today I’m unpacking my stuff in Nate’s office, when on Friday morning I was packing up my suitcase and sneaking out of his apartment at the crack of dawn.
My face heats, and I don’t need a mirror to know I’m blushing redder than a tomato. I still can’t believe I got drunkand came onto Nate. I even stripped for him, even though I was obviously misreading the signals. When I kissed him, he couldn’t have jumped away from me fast enough. Spending the weekend away from him hasn’t made me feel any less mortified.
“He’s not going to mention it,” I mutter to myself. “We’ll both pretend it never happened. And if hedoesmention it, I won’t melt from embarrassment. I’ll apologize like the professional I am, and we’ll both move on.”
Because now, Nate’s not just the guy who let me stay at his place.
He’s my boss.
Now that he’s signing my paychecks, it would only be more wrong if anything happened between us. Not that he’d even consider it.
My phone rings, and I see Mom’s name on the screen. I groan. I’ve been dodging her calls for days. Conversations with Mom are never fun—she disapproves of practically every choice I’ve made with my life. She complains constantly that I’m “just a waitress,” sending me links to jobs that I’m not remotely qualified for or interested in. Actuarial analyst? I’ll pass, thanks.
