Chapter 3 – nate
NATE
The man in the photograph is one ugly-looking motherfucker. He’s obviously had his nose broken a few times, his eyebrows are bushy and untamed, and he’s glaring down the camera lens like he wants to fight the photographer.
I don’t even have to look at his resume; his straight posture tells me he’s ex-military, and the tattoos on his thick neck tell me he got into some unsavory work once he was discharged.
Red flags—unless you’re me. I can already tell he’s a prime candidate to interview for our elite security personnel division.
My security company, United Protection Services, is busier than we’ve ever been, thanks to the new cybersecurity division I developed a few years ago. We need to hire an additional twenty bodyguards to meet demand, especially with the upcoming Crown Hotel Group deal.
Almost every celebrity or high-profile politician visiting Toronto stays at one of their hotels. Once we’re their exclusive security provider, we’ll give every high-net-worth individual a taste of the services we offer, brokering more opportunities for growth.
Normally, I’d be fast-tracking the broken-nosed bruiser to the interview stage. All I have to do is send a few emails to my team. But every time I try to compose a message, I find my mind wandering back to the waitress in the elevator.
Focus Walsh. Send the fucking emails. Forget the girl.
I do none of the above.
What was Cat doing, turning down a ride home? Doesn’t she know it’s not safe for her to be walking home alone so late at night? She’s so petite, it would be all too easy for someone to snatch her off the sidewalk and pull her into a car or an alleyway and…
Not on my watch.
Not in my city.
I grind my teeth.
I’d planned to send the car again tonight, but something tells me she’s as stubborn as she is naive.
I know it’s not my problem, but I did make sure Beau fired Harry Pinkerton.
I also made sure he wouldn’t be hired again in this city after I did some digging and found not one, but three harassment charges on his record.
If the creep has more brain cells than I gave him credit for, he could put two and two together and figure out he was blacklisted because he was harassing the wrong girl.
He may not come after me—not unless he wants an orange jumpsuit and charges large enough that his grandchildren will be paying them long after he’s dead—but he could go after her.
And I just can’t have that on my conscience.
For now at least, she’s my perimeter to defend. Until the threat is dealt with.
I massage my brow with my thumb in a vain attempt to stave off the headache I feel coming on.
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and my assistant, Raven, walks in with a pile of papers. Her high stiletto heels click on the marble floor as she strides to my desk.
“Edgar over at Crown sent over some contracts for you to sign,” she purrs, and the sound of her voice makes the pounding in my head intensify.
Raven is a fine assistant, but she always lowers her voice to a raspy murmur that makes my skin itch. I suspect she thinks it makes her sound sexy, but it sounds more like she’s putting on a bad accent for a community theater play.
Without looking away from my computer monitor, I grab a pen and slide the contracts in front of me. Raven leans over and taps at a line with a red-painted nail.
“Initial there,” she rasps, her breasts inches from my face.
I lean away and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Go grab me an Advil, would you?”
Raven huffs, stands, and stalks from the office.
When she’s gone, I move through the contracts, signing each tabbed page in the first one, but before I flip to the second, my mind wanders back to Cat.
I first noticed her a month ago, when she bought three chili cheese hot dogs from the cart outside the building. I did a double-take, wondering how the hell this tiny woman was going to manage to eat all three.
Instead, she went over to two middle-aged men in ragged clothes, sitting on flattened cardboard boxes down the street. She handed a hot dog to each of them and sat right down on the ground between them. They all ate together, laughing and chatting like old friends.
Even though she didn’t seem to be under any sort of threat from the men, I couldn’t seem to leave. Couldn’t seem to stop watching.
Tiny, with a bright smile and warm amber eyes, she looked like prey in a concrete jungle brimming with hunters.
She’s been stuck in my mind ever since. I don’t understand what makes her tick, and I don’t like mysteries. In my line of work, reading people’s intentions and motivations is key to assessing their security needs.
I tell myself that’s why I keep going down to the Steakhouse.
I could easily pour myself a glass of Twisted Devil whiskey in my apartment upstairs. Instead, at least three times a week, I order a few drinks during Cat’s shifts. She never serves me, but it gives me a chance to watch her from afar.
A chance to figure her out.
Pushing away from my desk, I move to the pull-up bar I had installed in the corner. When my thoughts get too tangled, I need a physical reset. I pull off my suit jacket and carefully lay it over the back of a chair.
The guys give me shit for being careful with my clothes. Those heathens don’t show proper respect to made-to-measure, hand-stitched suits crafted by master Italian tailors. Save for James.
Grabbing the bar, I pull my weight up slowly, purposefully engaging my core. Focusing on the movement of my muscles should dissolve my thoughts.
Should being the operative word. Instead, questions keep bubbling to the forefront.
Cat’s still working downstairs, right?
She’ll be leaving soon, won’t she?
What time did she finish her shift last night?
Finally, I drop from the bar and prowl back to my computer. If it’s going to distract me, I should just check, then get back to work.
I open the browser on my computer with the security footage from last night. It’s black-and-white, but Cat’s unruly mane of honey-blonde hair makes it easy to pick her out as she makes her way from the staff exit onto the sidewalk.
My driver pulls up next to her, and I watch her jump in surprise.
At least she’s paying enough attention to notice a car pulling up.
Squinting at the screen, I try to make out her expression during their conversation.
There’s not enough detail at this distance, and I make a mental note to upgrade the building’s security cameras to 4K.
I’ve been meaning to for a while now, anyway.
Cat flashes a smile at the driver, and I don’t need a high-tech camera to see that.
That smile burned into my memory the first time I saw it.
Sure, she’s very, very pretty, with her wide eyes, full lips, and pale skin that shows even a whisper of a blush.
But her smile isn't like any I’ve seen before. It’s so…so genuine. Warm.
And I’m not the only one who feels that warmth. I’ve never seen a customer at the steakhouse leave one of her tables unhappy. She’s not stingy with her warmth—she gives it away freely, even to people who don’t deserve it.
I crave it now—that warmth. But I know better than to get close. It would only lead to getting burned.
A lesson Cat came way too close to learning herself. The fact that Harry, the drunken asshole, was able to stalk and harass her in my own building is unacceptable. After I steered him away from her last night, I went right back to the third floor to ream out Beau.
To his credit, Beau immediately agreed to let me run background checks on all his employees.
Onscreen, the black sedan drives off and Cat walks out of frame.
Last night, she left just after ten.
Question answered, so back to work.
I click back to the bodyguard’s application, trying to focus on the finer points of his resume and resisting the urge to review the rest of the footage of Cat from last night.
Raven reappears at the doorway. “Got your Advil,” she says, setting down a plate with two pills and a glass of water. I swallow the pills and hand her back the dishes. She accepts them with a sigh.
“You seem tense, Mr. Walsh. Is there anything I can do to help? Guys always tell me I give great shoulder rubs.”
Just imagining her hands on me makes my shoulders go up to my ears.
“No,” I say firmly.
“Just call me when you’re done with the contracts, then,” she says. “I’ll be right outside.”
“I know.”
That is where your desk is.
I shake my head. Raven’s being no more annoying than she always is. The person I’m really pissed off at is myself.
Last night, I breached my own security protocols.
United Protection Services is the largest security company in Canada, and almost every business in the downtown core uses us.
As the owner, I have access to all their security footage.
Which, according to the terms of our contracts, should only be reviewed when there’s a security risk.
Technically, I guess there was a security risk. Harry.
He’ll know she walks home alone, just like I do.
So I watched Cat walk home. As soon as she entered an area my cameras couldn’t cover, I tapped into the neighboring building’s security footage with my executive override code.
Moving from building to building, I was able to track Cat until she headed into Allan Gardens, where I lost her. I don’t like that she lives so far, in a part of town notorious for muggings and assaults.
I refrained from hacking into Beau’s files to get Cat’s address, but just barely.
How am I supposed to make sure she gets home if she won’t accept the ride from my driver, and I don’t even know where the hell she lives?
I glance at the clock in the corner of my computer. Jesus, it’s already ten o’clock. Cat’s been working since lunch, so her shift should be ending now. Fuck, am I too late? She might have already left.
My leg bounces impatiently as I pull up the building’s interior security footage, checking out the action in the Steakhouse. There are only a few tables still full, none of them in Cat’s section. There’s no sign of her anywhere.
Clicking through the cameras, I scan the kitchen and prep area looking for her. When I switch to the view of the host stand, I see the outline of a woman partially concealed by a large fern. Could that be her?
Raven knocks on the door. When I don't immediately answer, she knocks again, harder.
“What?” I bark.
“Did you sign the contracts?” she asks.
I wordlessly pass her the top one, my eyes still glued to the screen as the woman moves out from behind the fern. It is her. She smiles broadly at a couple leaving the restaurant before walking toward the back.
Raven smacks her lips. “I need the other one, too.”
“What?” I snap.
She indicates the second, still unsigned contract.
I rush through the pages, signing everywhere she’s put an obnoxious neon green tab.
“I was thinking,” she says, letting the words linger for a moment as if I might read her mind when all I want is for her to get the fuck out of my office. “It’s Saturday night, and I hear they have great cocktails downstairs. Would you want to grab a drink when we’re through here?”
A dark shape moves into my peripheral vision. For some goddamn reason, Raven perched at the edge of my desk like the fucking bird she’s named for.
I finish the final signature and hand her the contract without a word.
Her smile falls. “You know I never make it out with my friends because you always have me here late on Fridays and Saturdays. I just thought since we’re stuck here that it might be nice if—”
“That’ll be all, Raven.”
I don’t have casual drinks with my employees, and I know what Raven wants from me is anything but casual.
I live by a set of rules. I don’t flirt at work. I don’t blur lines. Boundaries are how empires stay standing.
Raven pouts, and the guilt-trip is way out of line. I pay my assistants well because I expect them to be available twenty-four seven. If Raven has complaints about her compensation, she can take them up with payroll.
I glare at where her ass is still fused to my desk and she slips off as if pushed.
My fingers move quickly over the keyboard, following Cat as she goes through the kitchen and to the staff room to get her things. She’s about to walk home by herself again, on a Saturday night, when the streets are full of drunk partiers and predators looking for easy prey.
Does she care at all for her own safety?
“Do you even care that I completely sacrifice having a social life to do this job?”
She’s still here?
“If I remember correctly—” I always remember correctly. “You said during your interview that you were happy to work late. I believe your exact words were ‘I’m not much of a socialite, anyway.’”
And that is officially the largest number of words I’ve ever spoken to her at one time. She should be flattered. Instead, she looks like I pissed in her cornflakes.
I return to watching Cat chat with another waitress in the staff room. Hopefully, they’re making plans to walk home together. I doubt either of them knows how to spot and disarm a threat, but at least there’s safety in numbers.
The contract I just handed Raven slams down on the desk. “You know what? Submit this to legal yourself. I quit.”
When I don’t look up, she groans, and in my peripheral vision, I notice her hands ball into fists that have to hurt with nails so ridiculously long.
Her motivation for lingering is obvious: make me beg her to stay. It won’t work, because I don’t fucking care. Personnel will send me another assistant within a few days, one smart enough not to distract me when I’m clearly busy.
“Fine,” I say coolly. “Drop off your key card at the front desk. HR will send your last check in the mail with your personal items.”
Raven lets out a caw of frustration before storming out of my office, slamming the door behind her.
Finally, I’m focused enough to follow Cat more closely. I watch as the other waitress she was talking to heads to the bathroom, pulling a silver dress from her bag. Probably changing to let off steam in the nightclub downstairs. That leaves Cat walking to the back exit alone.
I push away from my desk and grab my suit jacket from the rack.
Cat might have refused my driver, but would she say no to me directly?
I’m about to find out.