Page 22 of Taming Scarlet

“Who do you think you—“ I started.

“Drink your fucking water, Scarlet,” he cut me off, tone brooking no argument.

I mean, not that those tones ever made a difference to me. It was hard to intimidate someone raised around the kind of men my father always had in his circle. Big, powerful men used to others cowering and kowtowing to them. I’d learned very young never to back down, never to show signs of weakness in front of men like that.

Still, my hand went to the bottle.

And I lifted it and took a big swig.

“All of it,” he said as he turned back to the stove.

I should have thrown the bottle at him.

I damn sure shouldn’t have tilted it up and downed the whole thing.

Yet… that was what I did.

By the time I finished it, he was turning back to me, dropping two pancakes onto my plate, then a small pile of scrambled eggs.

“Eat.”

“I don’t know what—“ I attempted again as he set the pan down on the stove with a clank before turning back toward me, and towering over me.

“Eat,” he said again, tone much lower, yet somehow even more commanding.

I hated how my hand went automatically for my fork, stabbing a fluffy pile of eggs, and bringing it to my mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice so quiet that I was pretty sure I’d imagined it.

I did what he wanted, though.

I sat there and slowly put bites of food into my body, watching him as he moved around in my kitchen like it was his own, cleaning up his mess.

He didn’t look at me the entire time until, finally, he turned and pinned me with that dark gaze again.

“I can’t eat anymore,” I explained, shaking my head at my half-eaten pancakes.

His gaze followed mine to the plate then back up, holding mine until it was so uncomfortable that I lowered my own.

“Fine,” he said before another bottle of water appeared near my hand. “Drink that,” he demanded.

“I’m already floating,” I insisted.

“You need it,” he said as he took my plate away.

“Whatever,” I mumbled under my breath, but somehow, I found myself taking the bottle with me over to the living room where I sat and looked through my phone.

“What?” I asked, seeing him out of the corner of my eye, towering over me.

“You need to start telling me your schedule.”

“Why?” I asked, not looking up.

I swear the man made me feel like a little girl being brought down to the headmaster’s office when I looked at him and his disapproving eyes.

“Because it’s my job to keep an eye on you. I can only do that when I know what you will be up to.”

I guess that was reasonable.

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