Chapter 25

CHAPTER25

SCARLETT

Things are shifting between Tate and me. I was trying to bait him with that question about the pool, and now he’s baited me right back. Over and over again, because he’s much better at this game than I am. To the point that I’m flustered and embarrassed by his questions.

I have zero experience with situations like this. Boys at school, they never really noticed me. Or they left me alone because of who I am. Most Lancasters rule Lancaster Prep, thanks to our family owning the school. Though I preferred to stay in the background, a role I’ve lived my entire life.

Now I have a man paying attention to me, and not in a fake way either. We may have signed an agreement to pretend to be together, but there’s nothing phony about what’s happening between us.

How do I answer him when he asks what I like? How can I tell him I have no idea, considering I’ve never done anything before, so I have no idea whether I like it or not? While I’m sure he’s done everything possible and has all the expertise to prove it.

We are complete opposites in every way I can think of. This man shouldn’t be interested in me—and I shouldn’t be interested in him either. Not at all. Yet there’s something about him . . .

Something about the two of us. Together. A magnetic pull I can’t help but feel when I’m with him. It’s the way he looks at me when he speaks. As if he’s thinking of doing . . . things to me. Sexual things.

I’m intrigued, though I probably shouldn’t be. And really? I’m also flattered. I practically threw myself at Ian, and he acted like I was just some sweet little girl he barely knew and was most definitely not interested in. Oh, he said a few things here and there that made my heart trip over itself, but only recently. Like when he told me he’d lost his chance after seeing me and Tate together. I thought he was finally going to make a move. But in the end, he didn’t follow through.

He never follows through.

Forget Ian. Actually . . .

I pretty much already have.

“I feel like we’re going ’round and ’round with this conversation,” I finally tell Tate, because it’s true.

“We are. Though that’s mostly your fault. If you would just answer my questions, Scar, we’d be a lot farther ahead.” He’s teasing. I can tell by his bright smile. The way his eyes sparkle. He really has the most expressive face.

A sigh leaves me, and I’m propping my elbow on the table again, resting my chin on top of my curled fist while I watch him. “You want the truth?”

He nods, looking eager. “Definitely.”

I push past the nerves that suddenly swamp me. “Well, so far I’ve done . . . absolutely nothing.”

Tate stares at me for a moment, like he needs to absorb what I just said. “Nothing?”

He sounds shocked.

“Not a single thing.” I slowly shake my head.

“You’ve never hooked up with anyone?”

“What constitutes hooking up for you?” I lift my brows.

“Kissing. Feeling each other up, getting each other off with fingers, oral sex,” he ticks off rapidly. “Actual sex counts too.”

“The only person I’ve ever really kissed is . . .” Oh, this is embarrassing. “You.”

“Get out,” is his automatic reply.

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head, his voice firm.

I knew he wouldn’t believe me.

“It’s true,” I insist. “And I’ve never done anything else either. No feeling each other up, getting each other off with fingers, oral sex, or actual sex.” I repeat his words back to him, refusing to be embarrassed over it.

Though my face is burning hot. And my stomach is twisting, making any appetite I still had disappear.

“My untouched girl,” he murmurs, his brows shooting up the moment the words leave him. “That’s a good song title.”

Like magic his phone appears in his hands and he’s tapping at it, frowning at the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Adding that to my title list. It’s a good one.” He swipes his finger across his phone screen and pockets it. “Can I be real with you? If you’d admitted to me a few weeks ago that you were a virgin, I’d run screaming from the room.”

I’m vaguely hurt.

“But now, for whatever reason . . . I’m curious.” He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. “Do you think of me like I think of you, Scarlett?”

“How do you think of me?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” The grin on his face is rather naughty.

“Now I definitely want to know,” I tell him without hesitation.

“I imagine the two of us . . . together.”

“Sexually?” My voice is hushed.

He nods. “Definitely. I’d been wondering what you look like naked, but now I have a pretty good idea of that, thanks to the bikini you wore earlier.”

He wonders what I look like naked? Fine, I’ve wondered about him too. The pool moment didn’t help matters—just made my thoughts even more chaotic. “Do you think I showed too much skin?”

I sound like a naive little baby—which I guess I sort of am when it comes to this type of stuff.

While Tate has probably done everything. Experienced things I’ve never even imagined.

“You didn’t show enough,” he stresses. “And fucking Roger had to show up at the worst time.”

Right. When Tate had me pinned against a wall, our mouths fused and his hands kneading my butt. “His timing was awful.”

Tate’s eyes flash. “So what you’re saying is, you didn’t mind me feeling you up in the pool.”

Busted. “Well, when you phrase it like that . . .”

He laughs, reaching out to snag my hand again, curling it in his. “You’re a lot more . . . easygoing than I thought you’d be.”

“How did you think I’d be?” I ask, almost not wanting to know.

“You were very uptight the night we met at your party. And you continued that uptight attitude for a while.”

“A while?” I arch a brow, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“Every time we were together, for the most part.”

“From what I remember, you seemed to enjoy antagonizing me,” I remind him. “Then you had to go and ask me to be your”—I lower my voice—“fake girlfriend, and I really thought you’d lost your mind.”

“Yet somehow, here you sit in a restaurant after traveling clear across the country with me.” He kisses the back of my hand again, this time his warm lips lingering on my skin, his gaze never straying from mine.

Deciding I might as well play along—I am contractually obligated to, after all—I stretch my fingers out, reaching for his face, my fingers skimming along his jaw. His eyes light up with surprise, and I’m proud of myself for making a move.

For willingly touching him.

I’ve got a long way to go if I want to be considered bold.

The server appears by our table, interrupting the moment. “Just checked with the kitchen, and your entrées are almost ready. Would you care for something more to drink?”

I drop my hand from Tate’s face, quiet as he takes over and asks for refills, though his gaze is still on mine. I smile back at him, and the moment our server is gone, I murmur, “I need to use the restroom.”

Tate frowns. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Someone might follow you in there, Scarlett. And want to talk to you. Dig for information. Or worse, take your photo.” His tone is dead serious, as is his gaze. “You need to be careful.”

“I’ll be fine. There are all sorts of celebrities in this restaurant right now.” I glance around, trying to spot one, but I don’t recognize anyone sitting nearby. “At least I think there are.”

Tate’s concerned gaze tracks my movements as I rise to my feet. “Want me to escort you there?”

“I’m a big girl,” I reassure him. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” The doubt is thick in his voice, and I feel his gaze on my back as I walk away. By the time I’m in the bathroom, I’m breathing a sigh of relief, telling myself Tate was completely overreacting.

When I’m in the stall taking care of business, I hear someone enter the restroom, her heels clicking on the tile floor. The person washes her hands, the water running for what feels like forever, and by the time I’m slipping out of the stall and about to approach an empty sink, I realize Tate wasn’t overreacting at all.

“Scarlett Lancaster, right?” The woman standing in front of me is tall and extremely thin, wearing a black pantsuit with a bright-pink tank underneath the jacket, her heels the same pink color. Her dark hair is cut into a severe bob that hits right at her chin and swings back and forth as she talks, her head moving animatedly. “You’re Tate Ramsey’s latest piece.”

The word slips from my lips without thought. “Piece?”

How freaking insulting.

The woman laughs. “Sorry. That sounds incredibly rude. Tate’s latest girlfriend. Hookup. Whatever you want to call yourself.” She hesitates. “You are Scarlett, correct?”

I turn on the water and wash my hands, hating how they’re shaking. She watches me quietly while I try to play it cool, doing everything as quickly as possible so I can get out of here, but once I shut the water off, I realize she’s standing directly in front of the paper towel dispenser.

“Excuse me,” I say, my voice trembling. It’s taking everything inside of me to try to keep it together. I don’t want her thinking that what she’s doing is bothering me, but I’m completely unsettled by her presence.

God, if I can’t handle a little confrontation in a restaurant bathroom, how am I going to be able to maintain this facade for the next six weeks?

She doesn’t so much as budge away from the towel dispenser. “Agree to let me interview you and Tate on camera, and I’ll move out of the way for you.”

Sighing, I dodge around her, shaking my still-dripping-wet hands as I flee the bathroom. The woman is on me in an instant, crowding me from behind, her hand grasping for my wrist. I yank my arm away from her, whirling on her.

“Don’t touch me.”

The woman laughs in my face. “Stupid girl. Where’s your security detail? Where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he running to your defense?”

“What is wrong with you?” I ask, watching as her face morphs and changes into an angry, almost ugly mask.

“Must be nice, being a rich-as-fuck Lancaster and never having to worry about money your whole life. Some of us have to work for a living,” she practically spits in my face.

“Hey.”

We both turn to see Tate standing a few feet away in the hall that leads to the restrooms, his deep voice sharp and demanding. “Get the fuck away from her.”

The woman immediately pulls out her phone and starts filming us both. “Tate, tell us about your new little flavor of the month. Or is it week? Chasing after heiresses now, huh? At least you’re moving up in the world instead of messing around with broke groupies.”

“Scarlett. Come here,” Tate commands.

I rush toward him, grateful when he wraps his arm around my shoulders and presses me close to his side, guiding me through the restaurant as he curses under his breath. The woman follows us the entire way, filming our escape, barraging us with endless questions and comments.

“She’s cute, Tate, but can she handle your style of violence? Don’t forget, honey, he lashes out and destroys everything in his path when he has too much to drink. He’s been arrested before too, though his team covered that all up.”

What?

I had no idea Tate had been arrested.

“Ignore her,” Tate murmurs close to my ear. “We’re almost out of here.”

A man in a three-piece suit appears out of nowhere, approaching us, concern mixed with irritation written all over his handsome face.

“Please, follow me, Mr. Ramsey,” the man says, his voice deep and calm as he guides us toward a swinging door that leads into the kitchen. The woman is stopped by a beefy-looking guy who comes from the front of the restaurant, blocking her path.

“Come on, lady,” I hear him say as we keep walking. “Time for you to go.”

Once we’re in the kitchen, we finally stop, and I pull out of Tate’s embrace, needing the distance. I rest a hand on my chest, breathing deep and trying to calm my racing heart as the man in the suit apologizes profusely.

“We are so sorry. That sort of thing usually doesn’t happen here,” the man explains. I assume he’s the manager or owner of this restaurant, and he’s visibly sweating. “We pride ourselves on running a restaurant where celebrities can be out in the open with the public, yet never harassed. I don’t know where she came from, but I assure you she will be banned from the premises, effective immediately.”

“Thank you. We appreciate it,” Tate says, grabbing hold of me once more and hauling me closer. I stay locked by his side, my gaze still going to the door, afraid that horrible woman might burst in at any moment.

“I’ve never seen anything like that. She was horribly persistent.” The man offers me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Miss Lancaster.”

I’m shocked he knows who I am, but I need to get used to that. Lots of people know who I am now thanks to all the media attention from being with Tate.

“Guess I bring out the worst in people,” Tate jokes, but I can see the hurt in his gaze. It’s there, buried deep, and I wish I knew who this woman was.

And who sent her into the bathroom to basically attack me.

“We can find you another table, Mr. Ramsey, if you and Miss Lancaster wish to stay and finish your dinner,” the man continues. “And this meal is on us. Again, my apologies.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” Tate reassures, remaining calm, which is impressive.

I’m guessing the Tate of old might’ve blown up and thrown a fit. I’m not sure.

“Thank you, sir. We can also pack your food up to go and call your car up. Whatever the both of you are more comfortable with.” The man offers me another apologetic smile, and I pull myself out of Tate’s hold, turning toward him.

“What would you rather do?” Tate asks, his voice low.

I release a trembling breath, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear with shaky fingers. “I’d rather leave, if you don’t mind.”

I’m too rattled to stay here, too wary that she’ll pop up again. I don’t want to risk it.

“We’ll take the food to go,” Tate tells the manager, who smiles and nods, just before he moves deeper into the kitchen, shouting orders to the kitchen staff.

Tate pulls me back into him, his arm going around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip. “Are you all right?”

I shake my head, on the verge of tears just from the concern in his voice, the way he’s looking at me. Like he cares about my well-being. “Not really.”

“Shit, Scarlett, I told you not to go in there—” He clamps his lips together, cutting himself off, gazing at the kitchen door like he’s imagining that woman busting in here too. “It doesn’t matter what I told you. I didn’t think someone would come for you that aggressively. It’s clear that from now on, we’re going to need security with us wherever we go.”

I didn’t like the idea of those two big guys trailing us everywhere earlier, but now I wish they’d accompanied us to dinner. “All right,” I say with a nod, trying to pull away from him yet again, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Come here.” He wraps me up in a big hug, and I cling to him, breathing in his spicy male scent, closing my eyes and savoring the warmth of his chest. How firm he is. How strong.

I’m in over my head here. Not just with Tate and my newfound feelings for him but with all the craziness that surrounds him too.

I wanted a different life. I was desperate for people to pay attention to me, but now?

Now I’m not too sure if this is what I want.

Or if it’s even worth it.