Page 52 of Bossy Wicked Prince

I don’t wait around to see who it is. Instead, I all but run to my room, slamming the door behind me. My dress strap is still loose on my shoulder. With a frustrated grunt, I tear the garment off and throw it on the floor. I’m never wearing that thing again—obviously, it’s bad luck.

It’s not until I’m in my pajamas, reading a trashy book on my Kindle, that I realize I never ate dinner. But there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this room, where I’m safe from grumpy millionaires with steely eyes and magic fingers.

Nope, I won’t be coming out again until the driver arrives tomorrow to take us to the airport.

17

NATE

Ryan throws down the seven and five of diamonds and smirks at me. “Flush, baby.”

Fuck. I lost with a pair of pocket queens.

Most of our biweekly poker nights, I’m in the running for the top spot. But tonight, I’m playing like shit.

Luke lets out a low whistle. “You didn’t see that coming, Walsh?”

I grunt, dropping my cards down on the table. I should’ve spotted the possible flush on the table. Reluctantly, I shove my chips in Ryan’s direction. He adds them to the already-wobbling stack of chips in front of him, his silver rings glinting in the light. Then he holds up a shot glass, his World Series of Poker bracelet glinting in the light.

“Fill me up!” he demands.

As a poker pro, Ryan’s fully capable of kicking each of our asses. We had to institute an alcohol handicap to keep things interesting. When he wins a hand, he takes a shot. Otherwise, it’d be a massacre.

Luke pulls out an unlabeled bottle of something amber-colored. “Here. It’s a new blend I’ve been tinkering with forTwisted Devil. I combined traditional oak-barrel aging with cherrywood?—”

Before he can finish, Ryan throws back the shot, making Luke grimace.

“That’s a quality blend! You’re supposed to sip that.”

“Then why did you pour it in a shot glass?” Ryan replies.

“I figured if you heard my whole spiel, you’d know this isn’t just well whiskey.”

Beau raises his hand. “Well, to be fair to Ryan, we’ve heard you wax poetic about everything from Pappy Van Winkle to Evan Williams.”

“Because the Evan Williams Bottle-in-Bond bourbon is way better than it has to be,” Luke mutters, crossing his arms.

Luke’s the head distiller for my favorite whiskey brand, Twisted Devil. With my stake, Luke was able to expand his backyard distillery into the fastest growing liquor brand in Canada. But I met him in school. He was the scholarship kid with big ideas and an ever bigger mouth.

None of the other guys would know each other if it wasn’t for me. I went to prep school with James, too, and I got friendly with Beau because his parents parked their food truck right outside the old UPS building when my father still ran things.

Following in their shoes, Beau built a cult following for the artisanal burgers he served out of the food truck window after he took over for his parents at eighteen. He saved every dime until he was able to invest in Terrace, eventually expanding to a chain of night-clubs and several more higher-end restaurants across the city.

Ryan’s dad was my dad’s lawyer and we spent every summer from the time I turned sixteen until I moved out on his father’s yacht in the Caymans. Honestly, I couldn’t stand the guy at first, but he grew on me. He might be a terminal horndog who gets in everyone’s business, but he’s also the most loyal guy I’ve evermet. He’s still the one who will randomly show up at the airport with a sign that says ‘congrats on your parole’ even though we all have private drivers and car service now.

James takes the cards from Luke and deals them out with machine-like precision. I keep my face relaxed when I peek at my hand. A three and a nine, a pretty shitty deal. For once, I’m grateful for it. I’ve been having trouble focusing all night, and it’ll be a relief to sit out a round.

I fucked up with Cat in New York. I know I did. I’ve been beating myself up for it ever since. Whenever she’s at her most vulnerable, I find some reason to swoop in.

Hours after she was shamelessly sexually harassed by an executive, I was shoving her against a window and pulling up her skirt so I could finger her. Fuck, I would have done worse than that if we hadn’t been interrupted.

I know she regrets it. I could see it in her face the second she heard room service knock on the door. She got carried away in the moment, chasing what felt good. But in her post-orgasm clarity, she saw what a bad idea it was. Even though we haven’t discussed it, I suspect she knows I’m not looking for a relationship.

It’s been three weeks since the disastrous trip, and I still feel a stab of guilt whenever I see her. I’ve purposefully scheduled business trips to get me away from my own office for a few days, just to have an escape. At least it’s sped up the timeline on acquiring Edmonton Security, a company I’ve had my eye on for a bit.

Even if I care less about my business than I ever have.

Instead of contemplating strategies when I have a free moment, I daydream about the noises she made when I made her come.