Chapter 26

CHAPTER26

TATE

After we wait a few minutes and I text the driver to come meet us, I escort Scarlett out the back door of the restaurant, my arm around her shoulders as I guide her to the waiting vehicle. She presses herself against me, hiding her face like someone is going to spot us. I try my best to ignore the fury coursing through my blood, but it’s difficult.

I’m pissed that the confrontation happened. Mad at myself for not insisting that the security team accompany us. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, showing up unannounced at a restaurant known for celebrity clientele.

Looks like I was wrong.

Once I’ve gotten Scarlett into the car, I glance around the parking lot, making sure no one is nearby, before I crawl into the back seat with her. The moment I shut the door, the driver pulls away from the building, maneuvering his way through the parking lot with a few sharp turns that have the brakes squealing, causing Scarlett to practically fall into me. Within minutes we’re back on the freeway, the traffic a lot lighter than it was when we drove here.

Our dinners are in to-go boxes sitting on the passenger seat by the driver, but I’m so furious my appetite has completely left me. I knew Scarlett shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom by herself, but damn it, I’m not her daddy. I can’t tell her what to do. I also couldn’t trail after her and stay in there to make sure she was safe. She would’ve told me I was overreacting, and I would’ve agreed with her.

But something felt off from the moment she left the table. I noticed a woman—the woman—heading for the restroom soon after Scarlett did, and just seeing her gave me an uneasy feeling.

It felt like Scarlett took too long. Or maybe she didn’t. All I know is that I had this sensation I couldn’t ignore that something was wrong, and I needed to go investigate.

Only to find Scarlett being cornered by some thirty-year-old former Five Car Pileup fangirl slinging insults at her.

Okay, maybe it’s a stretch that the woman was a former FCP fan, but she was definitely at least thirty. And rude as fuck, practically screaming in Scarlett’s face, demanding that she answer her questions. About me. About us. The look of pure panic and terror I glimpsed in Scarlett’s expression—shit.

I scrub a hand over my face, trying to push it out of my mind. She was scared.

And it’s all my fault.

It’s always my fault. Everywhere I go, something happens. Something big. Something bad. I’m destructive. My dad told me that when I was a kid. Mom always called me impulsive. I realized later that was a nice way to say that sometimes I do really dumb shit.

Coming to this restaurant tonight with no one escorting us is an example of dumb shit I do.

Scarlett inhales deeply, and I can feel her gaze on me, heavy and questioning. I finally dare to glance over at her, prepared to see the hatred in her eyes, all over her face, but all I notice is . . .

Gratitude.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she says, her voice soft.

“I’m the reason all of that just happened to you, so it’s the least I could do.” I want to touch her. Cup her face and ask if she needs anything—if she needs me—but she’ll most likely tell me no.

So I keep my hands to myself.

“I appreciate it.” Her smile is small, her eyes watery, and I swear if she starts crying, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Tears freak me out. A pretty woman’s tears especially.

“Scarlett.” I give in to my urges and touch her face, skimming my fingers across her cheek. Her eyelids flutter, and a single tear drops from the corner of her right eye, slowly making its way down her face. I catch it with my thumb. “You’re crying.”

“I know. I’m sorry. She was awful.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Damn it.” I pull her into my arms, grateful she didn’t put her seat belt on yet as I cradle her close to me. She rests her cheek on my shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her, and I settle my hand on her hair. Tangle my fingers in the soft strands as I slowly begin to stroke. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I glance down at her to see her eyes are closed, another tear sliding down her cheek. I catch that one too. “I’m okay.”

“We won’t let that happen again. Security is going with us everywhere from now on,” I say firmly, working my jaw.

I’ve never been tempted to hit a woman before in my life, but that bitch tonight . . . What she did was completely un-fucking-called for.

My phone rings, and I check the screen to see that it’s Roger. I answer immediately, not in the mood to deal with him, yet knowing I can’t ignore him either. “What?”

“I just spoke to Leonard. He said that there was some trouble at the restaurant?” At least he has the decency to sound appalled.

“Who’s Leonard?”

“The restaurant manager. What happened? He didn’t give me much detail. Just said you two ran into some trouble.”

“And what, he called you to let you know?” That’s some weird shit.

“He’s an old friend. Wanted to reach out and let me know before I heard it somewhere else.”

“So you already know what happened. That a woman attacked Scarlett in the bathroom,” I tell him, my voice flat.

“Attacked? As in physically assaulted her?” Roger is practically screaming.

The panicked look on Scarlett’s face makes me feel bad for phrasing it that way. “It wasn’t that bad,” she whispers.

“More like the woman interrogated her and cornered her in the restroom,” I explain.

Roger mutters a few choice curse words under his breath. “What sort of operation is Leonard managing over there? He mentioned there was a little run-in, but he glossed over all the fine details. Please tell Scarlett I’m sorry. I thought it would be good exposure to get you kids out on the town and showing yourselves off at the hottest restaurant in Santa Monica, but that backfired.”

“We probably should’ve gone to the other restaurant in Beverly Hills,” I tell him, though, shit, it’s probably bad over there too.

“When I put this together, I didn’t imagine something like this could happen. Again, please apologize to Scarlett for me.” Roger at least sounds contrite.

“I’ll let her know.” I glance over at Scarlett to find her still watching me.

“How’s she handling it?”

“She’s good. She’s strong.” I smile at Scarlett, who returns a small smile in my direction.

“Good to know. And hey, I’m coming by your place tomorrow. I’d like to see what you’ve been working on so far.”

My stomach sinks. We haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours.

“Okay, great,” I say through clenched teeth.

Shit. I have barely anything. Some lyrics in the Notes app on my phone. A few song titles. That’s about it.

“I’ll pop in around noon. Give you some time to sleep in and get some rest. Expect to hit it hard tomorrow, kid. Lots of late nights coming your way.”

He ends the call as usual, not giving me a chance to respond.

Whatever.

“Is he mad?” Scarlett asks me.

“Pissed that it happened, yes. Mad at you or me? No.”

“Did he mention my video?”

“Which one?”

“The ‘get ready with me’ video I filmed earlier. Just before we left the house. I wanted to show people that we were together in Los Angeles.” She winces. “He wasn’t mad about it, was he?”

“He loves it when you do that.” I stare at her for a moment. “Even if you go off script.”

The helpless look on her face is almost amusing. “I don’t mean to. I just get into filming, and I forget I’m supposed to stick to a plan. Script. Whatever.”

“You just love to mess with their schedule, don’t you?” She’s brave that way, I’ll give her that. I figured she’d be the perfect little rule follower, never wanting to do anything to rock the boat or cause trouble.

And look at her, constantly making waves.

“Their topics are kind of . . . awful. Besides, I know what I’m doing online,” she says assuredly, just as she lifts her head away from my shoulder. I immediately miss the weight of her leaning against me. “And I really don’t think they do.”

“As long as Roger or Simon don’t complain, I think you’re good.”

“I said some things about you, though.” She bites her lower lip, appearing unsure. “So you could complain. Possibly.”

“Nothing too horrible, I hope.”

“Oh, I would never say anything horrible. That would be breaking the contract.”

Disappointment fills me at her remark. I kind of wish she didn’t want to say anything horrible about me because she actually likes me. Not because of the stupid contract.

But what do I expect? We’re locked into a contract together.

She’s just doing her job.

“I mostly went on about having a massive crush on you when I was much younger, and now my life is like a dream and I can’t believe my earlier wishes came true,” she further explains.

I stare at her for a moment, absorbing her words. “You really had a massive crush on me?”

She nods. “Well, yeah. I thought you knew this. Something about Five Car Pileup seemed so much more . . . accessible than One Direction. Like we had a chance to get with you guys.”

“For one, we weren’t nearly as famous.”

“True.” She smiles. “Plus you were a little closer to our age. Rachel and I firmly believed we could use that to our advantage.”

“And look, you actually did.”

“I did.” She leans her head against my shoulder, and it feels as if all is right in the world, holding her like this. “I didn’t think it would be like this, though.”

“Like what?” I thread my fingers through her hair once again, eager to touch her.

“It’s a little terrifying. The fame. The recognition. Yet kind of exhilarating too, you know? It’s hard to describe.”

“I get what you mean.” I stroke her hair for a moment, loving how soft it is, how fragrant. Every single part of her smells good. “I’d forgotten how out of hand it can get. Even a little scary.”

“What happened in the bathroom earlier was really scary. That woman wouldn’t leave me alone.” She shivers.

I wrap my other arm around her shoulders, pulling her in as close as she can get. “I won’t let something like that happen to you again. I’ve got you.”

Another great song title. I’ve got you.

I need to write that down later for sure.

“Thank you.” She lifts her head, those shining eyes meeting mine, and I drown in them for a little bit, getting lost. It’s easy to do with Scarlett, when she looks at me like that. As if I can do no wrong. As if I’m her fucking hero.

No woman has looked at me like that before. Ever.

My throat is clogged with an emotion that I can’t describe, and I give up on trying to speak. Instead, I kiss her.

The spark is there, lighting up between our lips the moment they connect, and when she parts hers easily for me, I take advantage and slip my tongue inside, sliding it against hers. She returns the kiss, her hands curling around my shoulders as she clings to me. I cup the back of her head and drink from her lips, my tongue stroking, a growling sound rumbling deep in my chest.

Fuck, she tastes good. Somehow even better than when we kissed in the pool. Those soft little pants of breath get right under my skin, and when I pull away to tease at the seam of her lips with my tongue, her soft moan makes everything inside of me tighten up.

We kiss for long minutes, the car hurtling down the freeway, the driver completely ignoring us. It’s as if I can’t stop kissing her, pulling on her arm so she has no choice but to practically collapse on top of me, her knees coming around to rest on either side of my hips, straddling me.

She rises above me, and I open my eyes to watch. Her hair falls around her face, her lips red and swollen, her eyes heavy lidded as she studies me. Her chest rises and falls with every quick breath, and my gaze drops to it. The dress she’s wearing exposes the tops of her breasts. Smooth, pale skin on display. A little hint of cleavage.

Again, I give in to my urges and press my face to her chest, right in between her breasts. I breathe in her scent deeply, my lips pressed against her soft skin, wishing I could push her dress out of the way so I could see all of her.

“You got a bra on?” I lift my head to meet her gaze.

She slowly shakes her head, and I feel like I hit the fucking jackpot.

Reaching out, I trace the edge of her neckline, noting the gooseflesh that rises with my touch. Her skin pebbles, her nipples poking against the fabric, and without warning I tug on the fabric, exposing her more, though not all the way.

I lean in before she can say a word or stop me, sucking on her lush flesh, laving it with my tongue before I pull away, studying the red mark I leave behind.

“Tate . . .”

Once again our eyes meet, hers wide and unblinking. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“I—”

“I won’t push myself on you, Scar. And just to let you know, this isn’t part of the contract.”

“But—”

I cut her off. “I want you. So fucking bad. I’ve wanted you since the moment in the pool.”

Liar.

I’ve wanted her since before that. Hell, since the night of her birthday when she was fuming after I pulled her up onstage and sang “Happy Birthday” to her like I was trying to emulate Marilyn Monroe, which was ridiculous. Despite the way she looked at me as if I were supposed to be singing for someone else, it didn’t matter. I wanted her then.

I want her even more now.

“I refuse to push you, though. Or make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want to do this, I’m okay with it. I’ll let you walk.” I release my hold on her, spreading my arms out wide, but she doesn’t move from her spot on my lap. Instead, she leans in closer, her eyes locked on mine, her lips so close I can feel the heat of her breath fanning across my mouth.

“You’ll let me walk? From everything?” she whispers, sounding incredulous.

That is the last thing I want, but . . .

“Yes. From everything.”

That would be a huge mistake on my part. Letting her break the contract would most likely kill my record deal. I’d be an idiot to let her go. I’m on the verge of changing my entire life, and so much of it hinges on this girl.

Scarlett Lancaster holds so much power over me in the palm of her hand, it’s downright scary.

She’s quiet for a moment, and so am I. The traffic goes rushing by, the light from the streetlamps coming through the window and flickering on her face, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as beautiful as she looks right now. In this fucking moment.

“What if I told you I don’t want to walk?”

Hope rises within me, and I mentally tamp it down. “You don’t want to?”

“No. We signed a contract. And I won’t break my promise to you.”

She sounds so solemn, so endearing. If she only knew how this entire city and all the other cities that surround it are full of people who stab each other in the back and break deals all the damn time. She’s the only one who’s soft and sweet, surrounded by a bunch of jaded sharks.

Including me.

“Just . . . don’t move too fast, okay? Be patient with me.” She bites her lip again, and I groan like I just got stabbed in the dick, burying my face in her cleavage once more.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” I murmur into her tits, meaning every word I say.

It’s true. If I have to be patient and wait for her, she’s going to straight-up kill me. And she doesn’t even realize the hold she has on me.

Scarlett slides her fingers into my hair, holding me to her as she rests her cheek on top of my head. “I understand, though, if you don’t want to wait.”

“I’ll wait,” I say without hesitation. This girl . . .

I have a feeling she’ll be worth it.