Chapter 36 – cat
CAT
Nothing fixes a broken heart like a kitten. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
I’m sitting on Pippa’s couch, letting Waffle snuggle my face. The black cat rubs her cheeks against mine, meowing her approval.
“Shhhh, stop meowing,” Pippa scolds. “You’re not supposed to be here, remember? The landlord could kick you out!”
“What landlord could say no to this little face?” I croon, scratching the top of Waffle’s head.
“My landlord. He’s a real asshole. Last year, he made me take down my Christmas lights because they were ‘too inviting.’ What if it encourages a burglar to break in?”
I laugh weakly. I know Pippa’s doing her best to cheer me up, but I’m still recovering from my emotional whiplash. One minute, I’m making love to Nate in view of the Eiffel Tower. The next, I’m alone, heartbroken, and down one very lucrative job.
Waffle decides she’s done cuddling me, leaping off my lap onto the floor where she wastes no time in attacking one of Pippa’s sneakers.
“Thanks again for letting me stay with you, Pips. I just couldn’t handle going back to my apartment, knowing Nate could be watching me.”
She’s been so busy with work the last week that I’ve hardly seen her, which sort of worked out since I was using up all her tissues and being a total wreck in general on her couch every day and definitely didn’t need an audience for my mental breakdown.
“Hey, no guarantee he won’t buy my building, too,” she points out. “For all you know, he’s watching us right now from some hidden camera in the toaster.”
She has a point, but I doubt Nate would go that far.
He might have lied about a lot of things, but my instincts tell me he was telling the truth about only watching me when I walked home alone.
I can’t picture him creeping on me when I’m sitting watching TV in the living room. Just in case, I flip off the toaster.
“Since you’re staying here, how about we binge that new Sequel spy series tonight?” Pippa suggests.
I shake my head. “Can’t. I picked up an extra shift at Terrace tonight.”
“I thought you had the week off.”
“No. Beau offered to give me paid time off, but I need to work. For the tips, now that I’m down a job. Plus, it’ll make me feel normal again.”
At least, that’s the hope. If I can even remember what normal felt like before Nate came along.
Pippa rubs my arm comfortingly. “You’re not worried about still working in the same building as Nate?”
“No. Like you said, he could watch me from anywhere if he really wanted to.”
“Does it really bother you that much that Nate virtually followed you home?” Pippa asks. “I mean, it’s a little creepy, I guess, but is it also kind of sweet? Like Edward watching Bella?”
I roll my eyes. “We are not naive teenagers anymore, Pips. Edward watching Bella sleep was creepy as fuck and I take Charlie’s side about the whole thing.”
“Yeah, but, I mean—”
“Nope.” I cross my arms. “Charlie was right. End of discussion.”
“The bald one was checking me out earlier,” Sandy whispers.
“You can have him,” Olivia says. “I want the one with the piercings. Major bad boy vibes.”
“Deal. If we have to have security, at least they’re hotties, right?”
I can’t help but overhear them as I input Table 10’s order in the POS system. Sandy and Olivia have apparently decided to ignore their own tables so they can huddle by the expeditor window and ogle at our new security team.
Apparently, the paparazzi has figured out that I’m not staying at my place anymore. Instead, they’re camped out in front of Terrace, trying to get a shot of me. Beau had to bring in extra security just to keep them out.
I finish putting in my order and head back to the floor. When Olivia sees me, she grabs my arm.
“Cat, good! I’ve been waiting to find you all night.”
Oh, no. I’ve been apprehended by the gossip hydra. Please, let her just be asking me to cover a shift, and not pumping me for information.
“Is it true that Nate Walsh has a sex dungeon in the basement?” she stage whispers.
“What?” I sputter. “No. Where did you even hear that?”
“Does he have pierced nipples?” Sandy adds. “My friend swears he has them, but I don’t think they ever hooked up.”
My lips purse. There’s no good way to answer this—either way would confirm I’ve seen him at least semi-naked.
“Sorry, I gotta go,” I mumble. Sandy and Olivia’s laughter follows me as I hurry over to my next table. I plaster on a smile and try my best to forget that everyone seems to be talking about me.
“Hi! I’m Cat, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?” Six women in their 20s look back at me with sympathy on their faces.
“We’d like that,” one says slowly, like she’s comforting a child who just fell down.
I keep my fake smile plastered across my face. Apparently, the Toronto Tea posted about my breakup with Nate, because I’m getting an awful lot of pity from my customers tonight. I don’t think it would make me look professional if my response was just to scream in their faces.
“Today, we’re offering a surf and turf of scallops and filet mignon with creamy mashed potatoes. It’s wonderful, if you’re in the mood for seafood,” I rattle off.
“That sounds so good,” the table choruses in unison.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” The closest woman pats me on the shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “You look like you’re really doing your best.”
Ugh. Does anyone in this damn city not read the Toronto Tea?
That’s enough. I need a minute to myself so I can get it together without half the people in the restaurant watching me.
“I’ll be right back to get your drink orders,” I chirp. Then I practically sprint to the back room.
It’s hard enough keeping a smile on my face when I feel like wallowing in a pint of ice cream. Keeping up a cheerful facade with everyone I meet openly pitying me? That’s a level of difficulty I’m not prepared for right now.
I lean against the wall, taking a few deep breaths. I can’t hide back here forever. Glancing down at my watch, I decide to give myself thirty seconds of wallowing before I go back out and get those drink orders. Look on the bright side—maybe my table’s pity will translate into high tips.
My time is just about up when Beau strolls through the door. I frown—he almost never comes into serving areas during high traffic times. He knows that if he’s not on the kitchen staff, he’ll just be in the way.
“Cat! Just the person I was looking for,” he says. “I’ve got a big favor to ask you.”
“Of course! What can I do for you?” After everything Beau’s done to help me deal with the press outside, I owe him about a hundred big favors.
“You might not be so eager when I tell you what I need.” He shoots me an apologetic look. “It’s poker night, and we need a server upstairs.”
No. No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not. There’s no way I’m going to serve drinks at Nate’s poker night less than forty-eight hours after I found out he’s been spying on me and my family.
Of course, I can’t just scream that at my boss’s boss, so I force a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
Nate probably didn’t share with the group the reason why I walked. But even if he didn’t, there’s no way he doesn’t know we ended things, so him asking must mean he’s desperate.
“I wouldn’t ask, but I need someone. Carter was going to do it, but he called out sick.”
“You should ask Sandy, then. I know she’d love to do it.”
He cringes. “That’s the problem. She did it once and, uh, let’s just say James didn’t appreciate her giving him an unsolicited backrub.”
Upset as I am, I can’t help laughing at that visual. Poor reserved James pounced on by Sandy the Shameless.
Beau puts his hands in his pockets. “Look, you know the guys. We tip well, especially on poker night. And I don’t think Nate’s coming.”
“He’s not?” Despite myself, concern blooms in my chest. If Nate’s feeling as shitty as I am, he shouldn’t be isolating himself from his friends. It’s not like he has many other emotional outlets.
“Last I heard, he was sulking in his apartment instead of hanging with us,” Beau says. “So will you please do it? I don’t want to send Ryan down to get you, but if I have to…”
“Fine,” I say, laughing. “Let me hand over my tables and I’ll be right there.”
After all, poker night can’t be worse than everyone in Toronto pitying me.
I tap my foot nervously as the elevator ascends. Even though Nate won’t be there, hanging out with his friends feels too much like reentering a fantasy. I remember laughing with them around the table at Thanksgiving.
And what Nate did to me after dinner, when he laid me out on the table…
Ugh, that’s exactly the kind of thing I don’t need to be fantasizing about. I need to get my head together. Pulling out my phone, I compose a quick text to Pippa.
Cat
Pray for me. Beau volunteered me to be the waitress at their poker game.
Pippa
Um, I’m doing more than praying for you. I’m about to KILL FOR YOU.
She follows that with about a million knife emojis, which makes me smile.
Cat
Don’t worry, he swears Nate won’t be there.
I walk into a clamor of men’s voices. The guys are shooting the shit, all sitting around a table near the bar.
Beau leans back in his chair, sipping an almost empty glass of whiskey.
Ryan casually plays with his chips, but I can tell he’s sizing up everyone’s hands.
James’s spine is ramrod-straight, his face even more unreadable than usual.
Luke’s hands are moving rapidly as he tells a story about some meeting with a grain supplier.
I can’t make out any more details because my brain goes to static when I see Nate.
Motherfucker.
I’m going to kill Beau. I don’t know if he lied to mess with me, or to pull a prank on Nate, or because he wants to pull a Parent Trap and get us back together. I shoot daggers at him.
And Nate…he looks sinfully good. He’s wearing a midnight blue suit with a pale blue button-up and a tie the same gray as his eyes. His hair is impeccably combed back, and his sharp jaw is shaved clean.