Page 15 of Bossy Wicked Prince

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 isrelief. 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?”