Chapter 6 – cat
CAT
It’s weird walking into the building with Nate next to me. I feel like the few people filtering through the lobby are all staring at us, wondering what a waitress is doing with the scowling billionaire.
Trust me. I don’t know, either.
Nate swipes his card in front of the private elevator sensor, calling it down to the lobby. “I’ll get you a copy of my card tomorrow, so you can let yourself up when you need to.”
“You don’t need to do that. I won’t be staying long, anyway. I’ll call my friend Pippa tomorrow, and I’m sure she’ll let me stay with her till the door gets fixed.”
Nate’s lips purse. “Where does Pippa live?”
“She’s got a place out in Scarborough.”
He raises his brows. “Won’t that make it hard to get to work?”
“There’s trains and buses. I’ll manage.”
The elevator dings as it arrives back at the lobby. Nate scans his card and presses the “7” button.
“Don’t bother your friend. Just stay in my guest room,” he says. “It doesn’t make sense for you to stay all the way out there when you can just stay in the same building where you work.”
I shake my head. “No, I couldn’t impose like that.”
“It’s fine. I’m always working, so I’m never home anyway. You’ll basically have the place to yourself.”
I can’t argue with that. I know that I should, because I’m about to impose on a guy I only met a few days ago.
Maybe if I wasn’t so tired I could come up with a good reason not to accept his invitation, but right now, what he’s saying makes sense.
Besides, I can always call Pippa tomorrow if I change my mind.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Unsurprisingly, he grunts in response.
When the elevator doors open, the lights in Nate’s apartment flicker on automatically.
My first impression of the place is cold.
Not in temperature, but in style. Pale halos of dim light hover over the couches and kitchen, but otherwise the place is completely dark.
The furniture, rugs, and occasional painting are monochrome and expensive-looking, but not exactly welcoming. Kind of like Nate himself, I guess.
“Do you need anything? Something to eat or some tea?” he asks.
“Maybe just some water. It’s late, so I should really just go to bed.”
He nods and walks over to the kitchen area.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he says, gesturing to the stools at the kitchen island. “You look tired.”
I drop my bag on the floor and take a seat. I’d planned to just take my water to my room, but maybe Nate’s one of those uptight people who thinks liquids stay in the kitchen.
Nate opens one of the cupboards, only to find stacks of plates. The next cupboard is completely empty. It takes him two more tries to actually find the cups.
“No wonder you wanted me to sit down,” I tease. “This is going to take a while.”
He shrugs. “I told you I’m never home.”
When he opens the fridge door, there’s a bottle of expensive vodka and nothing else. He frowns. “I thought I had a Brita pitcher in here.”
“Tap water’s fine for me,” I offer. While Nate tries to figure out the icemaker, I reach back to undo the low knot I wear my hair in for work.
It takes a ridiculous number of bobby pins to get my rebellious hair to stay put, and I still end up with loose strands and flyaways.
But even when all the pins are in a small pile on the kitchen island, my hair is still tangled near the base of my neck.
“Something wrong?” Nate asks, finally setting down my water.
“Just my necklace, stuck in my hair,” I grumble.
“Can I—” he offers, stretching out a hand.
Wait, is he really offering to untangle my necklace?
I nod and turn around, showing Nate my knotted hair. “It’s really stuck in there. It’s okay if you can’t get it out.”
He grunts, staring at the back of my head like he’s coming up with a game plan.
When he finally touches me, it’s surprisingly careful, more like he’s defusing a bomb than untangling hair.
He sorts through strands of my hair slowly, sweeping the untangled ones over my shoulders.
I guess it makes sense that a serious guy like him is so… methodical.
Then his fingertips brush against the nape of my neck.
I can’t stifle my gasp. His fingers are rough and warm, and a brief touch is enough to give me chills. “It’s still tangled.” Nate’s warm breath sweeps across my skin, and my chills vanish as my skin turns hot. I haven’t had a man like him stand this close to me since…
Who am I kidding? I’ve never met a man like him before, someone so handsome and imposing.
I can still sense the heat from his body as he hovers behind me.
My chest feels too tight, my skin all prickly and sensitive.
I’m all too aware that I’m trapped, with the counter on one side and his hard body on the other.
Ugh, I shouldn’t even be thinking about his body. Obviously, he’s good-looking, yes. But he’s off-limits, for about a thousand reasons. He’s friends with my boss. I’m staying in his house. He’s cold, serious, grumpy, and completely wrong for me.
It’s just been a long, sucky day. My apartment was broken into, and my rent money is gone. Of course my imagination is making too much of an innocent gesture, just because it’s the first thing that’s felt good all day. I grit my teeth and stare at the immaculate hardwood floor.
“Got it,” he breathes finally.
He reaches around me, dropping my gold chain on the counter in front of me.
I expect him to walk away immediately. Instead, he runs his fingers through my hair, unraveling my tangled curls.
He’s just being thorough, surely. He wouldn’t be looking for an excuse to stay close to me, the waitress he gave a pity ride home.
Just hours ago, he was shit-talking my apartment. Now that I’m standing in his palace, it’s just a reminder that we’re from completely different worlds. He’s from Planet Gorgeous Billionaire Grump, and I’m from reality. I’m sure he doesn’t even clock me as a romantic option.
Then his nails scrape against my scalp in a way that feels sinfully good. Before I can stop it, a small moan escapes my lips.
Oh, shit.
What am I doing? He’s going to think I’m hitting on him! I brace myself for a brusque-but-polite talking to about how he’s not interested, thanks.
Nate only pauses for a moment. Then his hands start moving again, combing through the tangles until my hair's cascading smoothly down my back.
When he’s finished, I turn around to look up at him. He’s so close, I could touch my nose to his open shirt collar if I leaned forward a few inches. His broad shoulders completely block my view of the living room behind him, giving me the sense that the apartment is shrinking around me.
Pushing us even closer together.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He makes a low hum of acknowledgment. There’s nothing more for me to say to him, but I don’t want to be the one who ends the conversation.
I mean to look him in the eyes, but when my gaze travels up from his collar, I find myself stuck on his lips. They’re masculine and well-sculpted, but I wonder if they’re soft to the touch.
My breath catches. I’m not seriously fantasizing about kissing him, am I?
I glance up, and I see his silvery eyes are half-lidded. His pupils expand, darkness pushing out the light.
He’s thinking about kissing me, too.
Isn’t he?
He’s too hard to read. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. I just know that our bodies are inches apart, and it feels suspiciously like we’re having a moment.
Maybe, just for a minute, I can let myself forget that he’s Nate Walsh, the security scion. I can pretend he’s just an ordinary guy who wants me.
My lips part with a sigh.
Of course, the second I decide to just close my eyes and let it happen, the fantasy comes tumbling down. Nate takes two long, quick steps backward, putting enough space between us to drive a motorcycle through. His face shutters, his expression blank as a sheet of paper.
I blink in confusion. Weren’t we having a moment just now?
Unless…oh god.
I made it up.
I misread the signs because I really am just that delusional.
It’s been months since I’ve been kissed at all, way longer since I’ve had an actual good kiss.
So I decided that the sexy billionaire wanted me.
Obviously, because projecting my own horniness onto someone who’s actually in my league would just be too easy.
I needed to fantasize about the most humiliating option available.
Somehow, I need to find a way out of this conversation with my dignity mostly intact.
“I—it’s bedtime,” I say awkwardly. “I’ve got a volunteer shift at the shelter tomorrow. Gotta sleep.”
He cocks his head to the side. “A homeless shelter? Is it nearby?”
“Not too far! Anyway. Goodnight.”
Grabbing my bag, I make it about five steps away from Nate before I realize the fatal flaw in my escape plan.
I have no idea where anything in this apartment is.
“Er, where is the guest bedroom?” I ask sheepishly.
“Second door on the left, across from the washroom,” he says.
I give him a thumbs up, because apparently I’m fully committing to maximum awkwardness. Then I hurry to my room as fast as I can.