Taming Scarlet Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, Novella Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

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“Fine,” she snapped, then marched back into the restaurant to tell the other girls she was calling it a night.

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 seem that drunk. Not like the blonde. And considering how much she’d actually had to drink.

But she looked fucking green.

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.

On read.

Sure, Di was likely out cold, but Drea and Leona hadn’t been that out of it.

I dragged myself from the toilet to the sink to wash my mouth out before climbing up into the tub, stripping out of my clothes as the water filled.

Alone.

God, so utterly alone.

Not even the people I’d spent almost a thousand dollars on that night would answer me, would offer to come bring me ginger ale or saltines.

Tears pricked my eyes and I had to work to blink them away as I reached for my phone, snapping a bath selfie, taking a picture of my legs poking out of the blood-red water, thanks to the bath bombs I’d dropped in.

Time for some R&R with @SunnySuds Bloody Mary bath bombs.

Fake.

It was all so fake.

Highlights and tall tales.

While I lay in the tub trying not to cry about my fake friends and the deep well of loneliness that seemed to stretch wider with each night out.

If I let myself introspect too much, I would take to my bed and never rise again.

I drained the tub and wrapped myself in my robe before making my way to the kitchen, hoping some plain water might help settle my stomach.

But I stopped short at seeing an entire twelve-pack sleeve of ginger ale sitting on the kitchen counter.

I ripped open the box, and pulled out a can as my gaze drifted down the hallway.

I hadn’t heard a peep from the bodyguard since we’d come into the apartment.

He was kind of an asshole.

But he was an asshole who’d taken a minute to order me ginger ale when he’d known I was sick.

That was more than I could say for any of my so-called friends.

I cracked the ginger ale, and started to sip, then decided to grab the whole sleeve and take it to bed with me.

“Hey, buddy,” I cooed at Hugh as I got into bed with him. “You love me, right?” I asked as he did a big yawn and stretch before moving across the bed to climb up on my stomach to sleep.

I’d impulsively bought Hugh the morning after a ‘friend’ of mine was caught sending me a text shit-talking me by mistake.

That one had been gutting.

Because I truly did believe that she, out of all of my ‘friends,’ was a real one.

I’d bawled my eyes out for a few hours, then iced my lids, put on a full face of makeup, plastered on a fake smile, and took selfies of me going to get my puppy at the breeder.

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