Page 115 of Bossy Wicked Prince
Upset as I am, I can’t help laughing at that visual. Poor reserved James pounced on by Sandy the Shameless.
Beau puts his hands in his pockets. “Look, you know the guys. We tip well, especially on poker night. And I don’t think Nate’s coming.”
“He’s not?” Despite myself, concern blooms in my chest. If Nate’s feeling as shitty as I am, he shouldn’t be isolating himself from his friends. It’s not like he has many other emotional outlets.
“Last I heard, he was sulking in his apartment instead of hanging with us,” Beau says. “So will you please do it? I don’t want to send Ryan down to get you, but if I have to…”
“Fine,” I say, laughing. “Let me hand over my tables and I’ll be right there.”
After all, poker night can’t be worse than everyone in Toronto pitying me.
I tapmy foot nervously as the elevator ascends. Even though Nate won’t be there, hanging out with his friends feels too much like reentering a fantasy. I remember laughing with them around the table at Thanksgiving.
And what Nate did to me after dinner, when he laid me out on the table…
Ugh, that’s exactly the kind of thing Idon’tneed to be fantasizing about. I need to get my head together. Pulling out my phone, I compose a quick text to Pippa.
Cat
Pray for me. Beau volunteered me to be the waitress at their poker game.
Pippa
Um, I’m doing more than praying for you. I’m about to KILL FOR YOU.
She follows that with about a million knife emojis, which makes me smile.
Cat
Don’t worry, he swears Nate won’t be there.
I walk into a clamor of men’s voices. The guys are shooting the shit, all sitting around a table near the bar. Beau leans back in his chair, sipping an almost empty glass of whiskey. Ryan casually plays with his chips, but I can tell he’s sizing up everyone’s hands. James’s spine is ramrod-straight, his face even more unreadable than usual. Luke’s hands are moving rapidly as he tells a story about some meeting with a grain supplier.
I can’t make out any more details because my brain goes to static when I see Nate.
Motherfucker.
I’m going to kill Beau. I don’t know if he lied to mess with me, or to pull a prank on Nate, or because he wants to pull a Parent Trap and get us back together. I shoot daggers at him.
And Nate…he looks sinfully good. He’s wearing a midnight blue suit with a pale blue button-up and a tie the same gray as his eyes. His hair is impeccably combed back, and his sharp jaw is shaved clean.
It’s not fair. My eyes are red from crying myself to sleep, and sunken from not eating or drinking enough. I haven’t had an appetite since I left his apartment.
Even though I try to steel myself and harden my heart, I can’t help it. I eagerly drink in the sight of him. My mind can conjure exactly how his cologne smells. How firm his back muscles would feel even through the wool blazer.
I can practically hear him whisper,Kitten.
Nate’s eyes meet mine, and for a second, his whole cool facade cracks. His gray eyes are liquid with fear, misery, and regret.
Just as quickly, he hardens his features, hiding any vulnerability. But it’s too late. Now, I know two things without a doubt:
One, Nate had no idea I would be here.
Two, he’s hurting just as badly as I am.
It should make me feel better that he’s heartbroken, too. But it doesn’t. As much as he hurt me, I don’t want him to feel that pain.
Maybe I should go and spare us both the misery of a night together.
