Page 10 of Taming Scarlet

Walking in front of the mirror, I yanked off my sleep mask, then reached for my makeup wipes, cleaning up the mess of my liner, mascara, and lipstick. Finished with that, I ran a brush through my tangles before pulling my hair up and away from my face.

I just wanted to go get some good coffee.

But I’d already missed my nighttime skincare routine, so I took the extra five minutes to get my morning one done, leaving my skin dewy and fresh looking. You’d never know I’d spent the night dehydrating myself.

I brushed my teeth then went into my closet to grab an outfit.

There was no choice to just throw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Not when I was leaving the house. Not when every private citizen was now practically a paparazzo, snapping pictures, dragging you in the caption, then shamelessly tagging you when you looked the slightest bit less put-together than usual.

I still cringed when I remembered the pictures someone had snapped of me as a teenager, right after I’d walked in on my boyfriend cheating on me. Makeup running, nose red, eyes puffy.

I never let myself slip in public like that again.

No true emotions, no matter how shitty I was feeling.

I opted for a pair of on-trend loose leg clean denim—cut-outs are out this year,claimed all the experts—and paired it with a bright pop of pink sweater—Barbiecore is still all the rage—before grabbing a pair of ballet flats. I grumbled as I slipped them on. I was a heel girl. But heels, apparently, were also out.

I reminded myself that it was still okay to wear heels on a night out. It was just a fashion-no to wear them during the day now.

Finished, I grabbed my wallet and key, then scooped up Hugh, and made my way out of the door.

I was only maybe halfway down the street when I heard my name being called out.

I ignored that.

It wasn’t uncommon for someone to call out to me, but I didn’t feel under any obligation to turn around and walk back to someone on the street. If they were ahead of me or next to me or something, that was different. But I was trying to remind myself that I didn’t owe them backtracking time.

Not two minutes later though, I felt a strong hand close around my upper arm, pulling me to a stop.

“The fuck are you doing?” that deep, sexy voice growled at me.

He had a good growl, too.

“Going to get coffee,” I said, trying to yank my arm away, but his hand only gripped me tighter.

“I need to be with you,” he insisted.

“That’s not my problem,” I said, yanking away a little harder this time.

I think the only reason he released me was because it was a crowded street, and some people were looking.

“It’s your job to keep your eye on me. So… do your job,” I said, then turned and started walking again.

Bitchy?

Yes.

Did he deserve it?

Probably not.

I was just resentful about having these never-ending babysitters. It seemed like as soon as I got rid of one, a new one popped back up. I didn’t think I ever got longer than two or three days between them.

It was like I’d never left home, like I was still a damn child.

The thing was, I couldn’t exactly put my foot down, and insist they leave my house, my life. Because if I did that, my father would financially cut me off. It was his trust. He could change the terms on a whim.

Sure, Ididearn my own money. And by many people’s standards, it was a lot of money.

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