Page 26 of Bossy Wicked Prince
I shrug. “He hasn’t had a chance to treat me wellorbadly. I haven’t seen Nate in days.”
Confusion flashes across her face. “But you’restayingwith him. How’s that possible?”
“He said he was never home. I thought it was a figure of speech, but apparently, he lives at his desk.”
Granted, I haven’t been in the apartment much, either. Most days I go straight from training at UPS to work at Terrace, with shifts at the shelter squeezed in whenever I have a few free hours.
Which is too bad, because Nate’s apartmentrules. My room has the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in, complete with zillion-thread count sheets and a pile of pillows. I always bring my morning tea back to bed so I can enjoy the gorgeous view of the city and the harbor below. I only have one more night before I go back to my place, so I need to soak up the luxury while I can.
Even my guest bathroom is unbelievable. I’ve never seen Nate’s housekeeper, but I know she puts out fresh fluffy towels and robes for me every day. There’s even a whole cabinet fully stocked with fancy shampoos, conditioners, and soap—even some amazing bubble bath that made me smell like honey and vanilla.
Obviously, Nate doesn’t use the bubble bath. I’m guessing I use the bathroom he lets his female guests use after their one-night stands. I try not to think too much about the women who bathed there before me. If I don’t stop myself, I end up wondering what they look like and whether I’m anything close to Nate’s usual type.
“Well, I guess it’s good that he’s keeping his distance,” Pippa says. “If the new job is just a job, then I’m happy for you. But I wish you’d stay at my place instead.”
“As much as I’d love having sleepovers with you, I’m good without the hour-long commute, thanks. Besides, I think I should be able to go back to my place tomorrow.”
“Wait, they actually fixed your door without making you wait a month? What happened to your lazy super?”
I swallow the last of my wine. “A new property management company bought the building. They promised they’d install new security cameras and fix the window. My neighbor told me they’re even thinking about putting in one of those fancy video camera doorbells so we can check people’s identities before we buzz them up.”
“Hell yeah! I think that deserves another round.” Pippa grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bar, where the music and conversation is about ten times louder.
As we weave through the crowd of people, I’m reminded for the thousandth time how much it sucks to be short in a crowd. I can’t poke my head up to see where we’re going when I can’t see over the shoulders of anyone around me.
The bar is packed, but Pippa manages to find a space to squeeze herself in. While she tries to flag down the bartender, I do a little people-watching. There’s a girl in a wedding veil and a sash doing shots with her bridesmaids. Behind her, a tall blonde woman makes out with an even taller, blonder man. They look like a pair of Vikings ready to start spawning a whole family of warriors. And behind them, I catch a brief glimpse of a tall man in a dark suit.
Wait, is that Nate?
Did he seriously leave his office to come party in a nightclub? That doesn’t feel like him. He’s such a serious guy, I can’t imagine cocktails and dancing being his idea of a good time. When he needs to unwind, he probably just drinks whiskey and stares at a wall.
I crane my neck, trying to confirm whether it’s really him. Then the bachelorette party heads to the dance floor, blocking my view and making me lose sight of him.
“A little help here, Cat?” Pippa calls. She’s juggling refills for both of us plus shot glasses full of something clear.
I grab my glasses automatically. “When did we decide on shots?”
“We didn’t. They’re from the bartender.” She gestures behind the bar to a man whose eyes are directly glued to my cleavage. “You’ve got an admirer, Cat.”
“Not a subtle one.” I take the shot anyway, in the spirit of girls night. It would be sacrilegious not to. The tequila burns mythroat, and I suck on my lime slice to dispel the fire. When I look up at Pippa, her mouth is hanging open, the shot glass still in her hand.
“What the hell is he doing?” she says.
I turn and try to figure out what she’s looking at. Yet again, the crowd is way too tall for me to see much. “Who’s doing what?”
“My evil stepbrother.” Pippa points to one of the elevated booths along the wall. I can make out the figures of a tall man with a leggy redhead sitting on his lap. He’s got one arm extended casually along the back of the booth, and he’s gazing into the woman’s eyes while he makes little circles on her bare thigh with his thumb.
The redhead is the kind of cool alt girl you instantly aspire to be like. Her hair’s pulled back into a loose mermaid braid, and she’s got a half-sleeve of black botanical tattoos. She’s playing with the lowest button of Ryan’s already mostly-unbuttoned shirt. His build is lankier than Nate’s, but I can make out his wiry muscles.
“Whoa. They seem really into each other,” I tell her.
Pippa snorts. “They might as well be having sex right there. Can you believe what she’s wearing?”
I tilt my head. The redhead’s gray leather minidress isn’t any more scandalous than Pippa’s own black dress. Maybe Pippa’s talking about her high-heeled combat boots, which might not be everyone’s taste. Personally, I think they’re kind of cool, even if I’d never be able to pull them off. I don’t get the feeling that’s what Pippa wants to hear right now, though.
Fortunately, I don’t have to come up with an answer. Because Ryan pulls the redhead to straddle him, and Pippa lets out a sputtering gasp.
“Is he serious? They’re in public! Why doesn’t he just take her upstairs if he wants to fuck?”
