Chapter 18 – cat
CAT
“Hey, hello, earth to Cat!”
A manicured hand snaps its fingers in front of my face. I blink, realizing I’m sitting about two inches away from my computer screen, totally focused on the spreadsheet in front of me. I glance up to see Susie, the office manager, standing in front of my desk.
“Oh, hey,” I say sheepishly.
“It took you a whole minute to look up.” She laughs. “What are you working on so hard this late?”
“It’s not that late, it’s–— I glance down at my computer clock and gape. “It’s almost seven! I was so focused on this conference schedule, I didn’t even realize.”
“That can wait till tomorrow,” she says, waving her hand. “You should really get out of here.”
“I know it’s not urgent, but I wanted to wrap it up today.”
Susie raises her brows. “You’ve worked late for the past three days. Is Nate pushing you too hard? I know he’s focused on the acquisition with that Edmonton firm, but you deserve to have a life. I can talk to him if you need me to. I’m not scared of that scowl of his.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “You might be the only one. Everyone else in the office is terrified of him.”
“Please. I’ve been working in this office since Nate Walsh was a teenager. I worked under his father, before he passed. Let’s just say, you can’t be scared of someone who used to come in to get his field trip permission slips signed.”
“Well, don’t worry. Nate didn’t ask me to stay late. I just wanted to get some extra work done.”
After everything in New York, I’ve been pushing myself extra hard at the office.
I show up early to review my work from the day before.
I make a to-do list for the day, the week, and the next month, and anything that I can push up, I do.
Every day, I make sure I chat with a new coworker so I can understand what everyone in the office does.
I work like I want a bonus, a promotion, and a goddamn corner office.
Because I’ve got to prove to myself that I took this job for the money, and not as an excuse to stay close to Nate.
Especially because our relationship has never been more awkward. Since we got back from New York, we’ve both been almost aggressively cordial. That is, whenever we can’t just avoid each other. Which isn’t easy to do, considering my desk is right outside his door.
“Well, don’t stay too late,” Susie says. “Pretty young girl like you must have better things to do than fill in a spreadsheet. Nate’s lucky to have you.”
“Luck is for slot machines,” I tell her. “I run on caffeine and a lack of respect for my own sleep schedule.”
She chuckles and shakes her head.
“I’ll leave soon,” I tell her, lying blatantly.
Susie walks toward the elevator, leaving me alone in the office, save for a few members of the janitorial staff. I sigh and lean back in my chair.
The truth is, I’ve been staying at the office late on purpose, every night that I can’t pick up an extra shift at Terrace or the shelter.
I need to keep myself busy, because if I don’t, all I’ll do is obsess about Nate.
It’s pathetic, really. He gives me one phenomenal orgasm looking out over a sparkling city, and suddenly I can’t stop thinking about him.
And dreaming about him.
Every night when I fall asleep, Nate does filthy things to me. Sex acts I’ve never even imagined before. All the while, he whispers in my ear, telling me what a good girl I’ve been and making me moan.
When I wake up, my panties are soaked.
Even when I’m not thinking about him, I hear his name constantly. It’s not just in the UPS office. Everyone at the shelter raves about what his donations have meant. Seriously, I think Minnie’s about ready to build him a shrine.
Now that Nate’s funding the shelter, I don’t have to donate every spare penny. It’s time for me to put away some money for myself. If I plan well, maybe I could even take the trip to Paris I’ve always dreamed about sometime in the next year.
I run my fingers along the side of my Eiffel Tower figurine.
It would be even more fun to take Pippa with me.
Maybe I could even buy her plane tickets for her.
Even though Pippa’s mom married rich, she made it very clear to Pippa that she shouldn’t expect any of that money.
I don’t know if Pippa’s stepdad is a jerk, or if her mom is just protective.
Either way, Pippa’s savings account isn’t much larger than mine is.
Impulsively, I google flight prices to Paris for two. My eyes bug out when I see the prices. Seriously, who can afford that?
Nate’s office door opens suddenly, and the man himself strides out.
I guess he must have come back in while I was making copies earlier.
His tie’s missing and the top button of his ivory shirt is undone, but otherwise, he’s perfectly pressed and polished, just like always.
Every step is long and sure—a man completely confident in himself and his place in the world.
Until his eyes meet mine. He falters, stopping himself suddenly and stumbling back a foot. It’s so surprisingly human that I can’t help but give him the smallest smile.
And just like that, we’re done ignoring each other.
“I thought you left ages ago,” he says.
“I stayed to finish your conference schedule for the next quarter. It took a little longer than I’d planned.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
I shrug. He crosses his arms, and I can’t help but notice how his biceps strain the fabric of his blazer. I should have felt his arms when I had the chance. If I close my eyes, I can still remember how it felt at the hotel, his arms wrapped around me while he pulled up the hem of my skirt and—
I bite down on my lower lip, hard. I can’t let myself drift into those fantasies at work, with Nate right in front of me.
Normal. Say something normal.
“You’re staying late, too.” I’m trying for polite, interested, with no hint that I want to climb him like a tree. I hope it’s working.
Nate’s eyes flash with amusement. “I own the company. It makes more sense for me to stay all night. Besides, there’s a lot to do to prepare for the Edmonton Security acquisition.”
“Who are they again?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I just want to hear him talk for a little longer.
“A mid-size security firm specializing in commercial spaces. I’ve had my eye on them for a while, but the owner was reluctant to sell.”
“He had to give in eventually. Nate Walsh always gets what he wants, right?”
My tone is joking, but his expression turns dark. He looks almost angry.
“No,” he rasps. “Not even close.”
Before I can ask what he means, my stomach growls. Loudly.
“Was that you?” he asks, surprised.
“I guess I’m a little hungry.”
My traitorous stomach growls again, correcting: I’m very hungry. Nate’s mouth hardens into a scowl.
“When was the last time you ate?” he demands.
“I grabbed a banana at lunch, I think.”
“You think?” His scowl deepens. “That’s it. I’m ordering dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“Yes, I do. It’s UPS policy. Anytime an employee stays late for work, we reimburse them for meals.” He opens his phone, presumably scrolling to a restaurant app. “Just tell me what you’re in the mood for.”
My mouth opens to answer, but nothing comes out. My brain just goes completely blank.
“I don’t know,” I say finally.
His brow furrows. “You must have a preference. Pizza, tacos, sushi…”
I just can’t pick one. It’s like he’s pointing at three identical shades of blue and asking which one’s my favorite.
Ugh, I know exactly what’s happening in my brain.
Decision paralysis. It always happens to me when I’m overworked.
Having to make hundreds of tiny decisions at volunteering and multiple jobs, it all adds up in my brain.
It’s like my software overloads on information and crashes.
I’m left without any room to make decisions for myself.
It’s hard to explain, and I’ve been quiet for so long that Nate’s staring at me like I’m a crazy person.
I try to smile at him, but I can’t get the corners of my mouth to move. God, I have to say something. I don’t want to make this into a big deal. I just can’t pick what I want for dinner, for god’s sake. I can see the real concern in Nate’s eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. “You look—”
“Can you just decide for me?” I blurt. “I’m not picky about food. Seriously, just get me anything.”
His eyes widen just a fraction. “Okay.”
He starts typing into his phone. I turn back to my computer, pretending that I’m focusing on something interesting, even though my head is full of nothing but static. It’s just too embarrassing to acknowledge the way I just freaked out.
“The food’s on its way,” Nate says. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
I nod, and he finally walks back to his office. He leaves the door cracked, giving me a semblance of privacy, but making it easy for me to call him if I have to. It’s thoughtful of him.
I can’t imagine what he thinks about me now. Counting the panic attack, this is the second time Nate’s seen my composure crack. He must think I’m helpless and fragile. I mean, what kind of adult woman can’t even choose what she wants for dinner? Why would he want to take me on?
Maybe I’ve had panic attacks in the past, but they’ve gotten rarer over the past few years. Now, milder things like decision paralysis or repetitive critical thoughts are more common. I don’t know why they keep happening in front of Nate, though.
Because I feel safe with him.
Could that be it? That some part of me knows that he’ll take care of me, no matter what? But he’s not anything to me—he’s not my boyfriend, and we’ve never even gone on a date. He’s my boss.
Once I feel calmer, I go to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. I’m determined to be a pleasant, cheerful dinner companion. No more panicking. I’ll eat my food and act normal.
When I go back to my desk, Nate’s office door is open.
“Come in,” he calls from inside. “Since you clearly can’t be trusted to eat without supervision.”