Page 36 of Bossy Wicked Prince

My instinct is to argue with her, but then I remember the mumbling man in the tent. He didn’t even come close to us, but I was worried he’d try something.

“You might be right,” I admit. “I’m sure I have prejudice about homeless people that I’m not conscious of. But you should know that I would have been worried about your safety anywhere, not just in the encampment.”

She frowns. “But why?”

“It’s just how I am. I’ve been in security my whole life. Even when I was a teenager, I was watching tapes of women and vulnerable people being attacked out of nowhere. I had to—when our security failed, we had to see where it went wrong to fix it. I see threats everywhere. It’s just how I’m programmed.”

Cat’s face softens. “Oh.”

Normally, I’d stop there. But something about Cat makes me want to explain more. I want her to understand how I think—and I don’t think she’ll judge it.

“It’s worse in crowds. It’s a lot of stimuli to take in—all the people, where they’re moving, what their intentions are. It makes me tense. If I had missed a warning sign back there, someone might have hurt you before I could stop them.”

She reaches out and rubs her hand on my bicep. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nate. I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But you shouldn’t have to—not when I’m there.”

I don’t tell her that I wish I could be there all the time. It’s why I hate when she walks home alone at night, and why I check the cameras outside her apartment sometimes. If anything happened to Cat, I’d feel responsible—no matter where she is.

Cat bites her lip. “Look, next time I come to pass out waters, maybe you can come with me. That way you won’t worry, and you can get more comfortable around my friends. You’d like a lot of people here, I think.”

“Sounds good. You can text me the next time you come out.”

I don’t tell her that if she doesn’t text, I might just show up anyway.

12

CAT

“That man is staring at you,” Alice says.

One of the shelter’s frequent residents, Alice, tends to be a little paranoid. But this time when I look up, I see she’s pointing at the security guard standing at the door. He’s absolutely staring me down. It’s unnerving.

“I’m sure he’s not staring at me specifically, Alice.”

“Yes, he is. He hasn’t looked away for over a minute. I timed it.”

I stifle my annoyed groan. I’m starting to suspect that when Nate assigned the security team here, he told them to keep a special eye out for me.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s just staring off into space or something,” I reassure her. “Do you have anything you need me to put in the laundry?”

She shakes her head, her eyes still fixed on the security guard.

Even if Alice isn’t a fan of the new security, the guys are a hit with everybody else at the shelter. They greet all the residents with friendly professionalism, which is a big deal for people who are so often met with derision. I even spotted one of the guardsplaying cards with Rupert after his shift. It makes my chest feel like it’s full of sunshine.

I grab the hamper full of dirty sheets and carry it over to our tiny laundry room. Instead of our old, shitty washers from the 80s, I find myself faced with a wall of brand-new Whirlpool appliances shining under the fluorescent lights.

Minnie, the shelter’s manager and head of fundraising, is already folding clean sheets. She grins when she sees me, making her lip piercing glint.

“Can you believe the new machines? They’re like, twenty times faster than the old ones. You really came through with the Nate Walsh donation.”

“It was nothing.” I toss the dirty sheets in an empty washer. “Just mentioned the need to my new boss.”

“About that…I have to ask you something, and I hope it’s not awkward.”

My chest gets tight. I have no idea what she’s going to say, but it doesn’t sound good. “What’s up?”

Minne looks down at the sheet she’s folding. “This donation…it was really big. And we’re grateful for the new funding, really. I just want to make sure that he gave us the money for the right reasons.”