Page 19 of Taming Scarlet

Unsurprisingly, without their Queen Bee to pay for it all, the others decided to head back home as well.

By the time we dropped off the blonde to her doorman, who seemed adept at carrying her inside, then got back to Scarlet’s building, she was not looking great.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, yanking away from me as I tried to help her up onto the sidewalk.

She actually didn’t seemthatdrunk. Not like the blonde. And considering how much she’d actually had to drink.

But she looked fuckinggreen.

I barely got her into the penthouse before she was running in her heels toward her bedroom.

From the living room I could hear her violently throwing up.

Was this going to be the job?

Standing in loud clubs for hours, watching her making bad decisions, then forcing her to go home before she got too messy?

I guess that was what Marcus had meant when he’d said his daughter needed to be protected mostly from herself.

With a sigh, I reached for my phone, getting some ginger ale delivered to the penthouse.

I took the dog out.

Then dragged my tired ass to bed, not sure how the fuck I was going to make it through a year of this shit.

Even as I lay in bed, though, I couldn’t seem to stop my mind from drifting back to her.

Back to her learning some damned respect.

But the ways I wanted to teach her that were never going to fucking happen.

So I needed to stop thinking about it.

CHAPTER FOUR

Scarlet

I wasn’t like Drea.

I actually did know my limits.

I might push them relatively often, but I never got so sloppy that I was on my knees on a filthy restaurant bathroom floor. I didn’t black out and not remember how I got home.

I wasn’t sick from the alcohol.

The way my stomach cramped as I ran to my bathroom and dropped down on my knees beside the toilet told me that it was likely something that I’d eaten, not drank.

Was it the salad I’d picked at earlier?

The food at the Italian place?

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that I threw up so long and so hard that my stomach was aching as if I’d done a thousand sit-ups.

I’d texted the girls—Drea, Leona, and Di—about the food poisoning.

I was left on read.

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