Chapter 4 – cat
CAT
Shit.
Should’ve brought the damn umbrella.
Peering up at the sky as I leave work for the night, I send a silent plea for the rain to hold off until I get home, and grimace when the clouds rumble an ominous reply.
I hustle harder, pulling my cute but admittedly not very warm jacket tighter around myself, wishing I went for function over tiny foxes stitched into emerald fabric.
At least you have a coat, I remind myself. And a home to go to when it rains.
So many people at the shelter don’t have that option—there are only so many beds, especially on nights like this.
I’m only a block away from work when a dark gray Porsche pulls up next to me, slowing to match my walking pace.
I frown, monitoring the flashy thing in my peripheral as I pretend not to have noticed and look for an escape route.
Cars like that usually come stock with a built-in jerk and I don’t have time or energy to deal with one of those tonight. The end of my shift was already filled with a rainbow variety of douchebag. The window rolls down.
I sigh and turn, ready to tell the creep to please and kindly leave me alone when a familiar face makes me stop in my tracks.
“Nate?”
“Get in,” he says, scowling. “I’m giving you a ride home.”
Seriously? Can this guy not take a hint?
I guess Prince Frowning wasn’t happy I turned down his ride yesterday, so today, he’s here to finish the quest himself.
It might be sort of sweet if I didn’t know from Pippa what sort of man Nathaniel Walsh is. So, I push down the part of me that wants to preen at his attention and dredge up some annoyance at his apparent inability to listen.
I didn’t want a ride last night, and I don’t want one tonight, either.
“You following me, Nate?” I ask as I continue walking.
He cocks his head, revving his engine to follow my pace. “No.”
“Then how did you know I was leaving just now?”
“I didn’t.” He shrugs, aloof. “I’m on my way back from a meeting and I happened to see you.”
I smell bullshit.
Who has a meeting on a Saturday night? Even billionaires have social lives. He should be out prowling for his next one-night-stand, not coincidentally driving past me at exactly the right time.
But maybe I’m reading too much into it. I’ve only met this man once. Why would someone as rich and busy as him be spending time tracking my every move? Surely, he’s got better things to do than fixate on a waitress.
Either way, I still don’t need a pity ride from some rich guy.
“No, thank you,” I say politely. “I like walking.”
“In this weather?” he asks.
A single drop of icy rain lands on my nose as if the weather bends to Nate’s will. Well, the weather might—the world might—but I won’t.
“I’ve got weatherproof optimism and a great pair of boots. I’ll be fine.”
My reply has the intended effect. Nate rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Fine. I’ll just follow you, then.”
“Sure you will,” I say, shaking my head and turning down the next street. One last empty threat to try and get me to fold. No way he’ll actually—
But he does. Nate’s Porsche takes the turn and moves beside me at a glacial pace no sportscar has ever gone before.
“You realize that stalking is a crime, right?” I point out.
“Of course. You should definitely let me know if someone’s stalking you.”
“You mean other than the man currently following me home?”
“Following is not the same as stalking,” he retorts.
“I’m pretty sure they’re synonyms, actually.”
I turn onto a busier four-lane street. Even though it’s late, there are still plenty of cars moving on the road with everyone on their way to bars and parties.
I manage to get a little distance on Nate while he waits for a gap in traffic to turn.
Once his Porsche catches up with me, he slows to a crawl.
“You’re missing the central point of intent,” he says, like our conversation was never interrupted. “Stalkers follow people they have an unhealthy or unfounded obsession with. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t end up murdered in an alley.”
A loud honk behind Nate almost makes me jump out of my skin.
Obviously, the driver stuck behind Nate is pissed.
He slams on the horn a few more times, but Nate doesn’t flinch.
Finally, the other guy swerves into the second lane, practically colliding with the car ahead of him.
I suck a breath in through my teeth at the near miss.
“Did you see that? Those cars almost crashed!” I point at the vehicles ahead, but Nate keeps his eyes fixed on me.
“Bad drivers out here at night,” he drawls. “That’s why you should get in the car.”
I stop and put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “What makes you think you can just boss me around?”
He stops the car. His silvery-gray eyes bore into mine, like he’s trying to tunnel into my soul.
“Because I’m right,” he says. “It’s not safe for you to walk alone. And deep down, you know that.”
“I know that I’ve walked home alone for years and nothing has ever happened to me.”
His eyes narrow. “Then you’ve been lucky. But luck runs out.”
A series of loud honks almost drown out his last words as the light ahead turns green and he doesn’t budge.
“Hey asshole, get out of the road!”
“Hey pretty lady, just get in the car would you? I got places to be!”
“Move, dickface!”
I bite my lip. I hate making people wait. Sure, this late on a Saturday most of them are probably going out to the bars. But what about the ones trying to get home to their kids, or the ones exhausted from long days at work?
“Could you just go?” I try one more time. “Someone’s going to wreck your car.”
Nate folds his hands behind his head, letting me know that he has no plans of moving. “I’ll just buy a new one.”
I scowl at him as more honks fill the late-night street and the sky chooses right then to open up and rain on my resolve. The frigid downpour drenches me in seconds and when I hear Nate throw open the passenger door, I curse to myself and make a break for it, holding my bag over my head.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re completely obnoxious,” I tell him as I slide into the seat and shut the door behind me, shivering into the damp leather.
His eyes glint with victory. “Many times.”
Despite myself, there’s a tiny smile tugging at the edge of my mouth and I do my damndest not to let the smug fucker see it.
“Why aren’t you driving?”
“You haven’t given me directions yet,” he says like it’s obvious as he continues to hold up Toronto traffic.
“I assumed, as my stalker, you already knew where I lived,” I say before I can rein it in. “Just go straight.”
He puts the car in drive, flipping some switches and twisting some dials until warm air pushes through the air vents and my ass is toasty enough to make me melt into the seat.
As we move, Nate goes back to his usual silent demeanor. But that’s fine with me—I don’t need to talk just to fill the silence. Besides, he’s got Cigarettes After Sex playing quietly through the speakers. I’m surprised he listens to someone who’s actually on my own playlists.
“Turn left here,” I say after a few more lights.
He silently obeys and shifts gears. My eyes flick over to his right hand with its thick, masculine fingers and the tendons running down to his wide forearm.
In the confined space of the car, I’m all too aware of just how big Nate is. His broad shoulders go beyond the natural contours of his seat, which is pushed all the way back to accommodate his long legs. Just as invasive as his body is his scent, something spicy, sexy, and expensive.
Just like yesterday, he’s not dressed in his usual buttoned-up outfit, though I spot his blazer laid neatly over the backseat, a sage green tie folded on top of it.
His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms again, his top buttons undone.
His dark hair is still mostly neat, except for a single curling strand falling onto his forehead.
I like him like this, just a little bit undone. He’s more accessible, more…touchable. Automatically, my mind tries to fill out the sketch of what’s under his designer clothes—the lines of his muscles, whether he has any tattoos…
Stop!
A voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Pippa snaps me out of it. If I were interested in dating right now—which is still up for debate—this man couldn’t be a worse choice for me. He’s so cold and serious, he’ll have no patience for personality at all.
Not to mention, even if he did want me in his bed, he’d kick me out right after and I’ve never been a one and done kind of girl. But I’ve also never really been a relationship girl, either. Maybe I’m just not cut out for the dating life. Who even has time for that, anyway?
I glance out the window to see the road we were supposed to turn on pass by. Fuck, I’m not paying attention.
“Take the next right,” I say.
He nods and flicks on his turn signal. Even though it’s just giving directions, it feels weird having him actually follow my orders like this. Especially after he ignored me when I refused his offer of a ride home not once, but twice.
I asked him to forget about Harry bothering me, too—when we were in the elevator, but he didn’t do that either, did he?
Well, I’m not 100 percent sure he’s behind the Harry thing…but I should probably find out.
“Did you get Harry fired?”
He takes a moment to answer. “Would that upset you?”
“No,” I reply without thinking.
As I say it, I realize it’s true. Yes, I still have lingering guilt about Harry needing the job, and I don’t want Nate thinking he can interfere in my life.
But out of that complicated haze of feelings, the thing that stands out most is relief.
I won’t have to brace myself to act like Harry doesn’t bother me every time I go to work.
I won’t be looking over my shoulder every time I go into an empty supply closet, worried he’ll follow me in.
The rain softens and after two more guided turns, we finally arrive at my street. “My building is a block up on the right. You can drop me at the broken streetlight just there,” I say, pointing.
Nate pulls up into an empty parking space by the light they haven’t bothered to fix for weeks and as I reach for my seatbelt, he flinches.
“This is where you live?” he asks, and I don’t miss the tone. The one that says he’s not only surprised but maybe also a little horrified.
My face heats. I know that my apartment isn’t anything to write home about.
The front door needed a new coat of paint ten years ago, and Steve still hasn’t gotten around to fixing the broken piece of glass in the entryway window.
The busted streetlight makes everything look more dark and gloomy than it actually is.
I mean, it’s not exactly a place I’m proud to live.
Wait a minute, fuck that.
Who is Nate to make me feel embarrassed about my apartment? Not all of us can be the heir to a massive security empire. Most of us are just trying to make it month-to-month and I won’t apologize for hustle culture I had no part in creating.
“A little elitist, aren’t we?”
I open my door and slide out.
To my surprise, Nate gets out, too, slamming his door a little harder than necessary.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, mouth agape.
“Walking you to your door.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
His lips thin. “I insist.”
Nate walks toward the front door, doing a double take when I head to the side of the apartment building instead.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I lost the key to the front door, and my super hasn’t had a chance to get me a new one yet.”
“So, where are we going?”
“Patio door.”
“Patio door?” he echoes with that same horrified distaste as when he asked me if I lived here. “One you can access from the street?”
“Don’t be silly. You have to go around the trash cans and get past the gnomes first.”
“The—what the fuck?”
I can tell he’s met Freya and Sven, drinking tea at their mushroom table. I picked my garden gnomes up at the thrift shop for five bucks. Apparently, they’re not charming enough to stop Nate’s grumbling.
“Who the hell lets a lone woman live in a first-floor apartment, especially in this neighborhood?” he mutters.
“Someone who doesn’t think women are helpless little damsels in need of constant saving.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering to defend Steve, my super really is an ass, but I am. “If you’re so worried, better get back to your Porsche before someone breaks in and steals your tie.”
Nate scoffs, but he keeps following me. He’s so close that he runs right into me when I come to an abrupt stop.
Because my patio door is completely shattered…