Page 13 of Bossy Wicked Prince

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—theworldmight—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.”