Promiscuous (Tease 2)

Sighing, I gathered my things and stood up. He gaped in surprise.

“I told you, Roman: I don’t need a babysitter. When you can accept that, then give me a call.”

Chapter Sixteen

Roman

Groaning, I buried my head under the pile of cushions taking up the end of the sofa I was lying on. Fuck. If you mess with her, he is going to kill you. All I’d had to do was keep an eye on her and report back that she was okay. That was it. And in return, I’d have enough to pay off the debt for the club. It was fucking easy money, and I was screwing it all up because my heart was being a fuckwit.

“Fuck!” I yelled. I picked up the lamp on my desk and threw it at the wall, and then brought my fists down on the desk so hard I broke through the top layer of glass.

Shit. I watched as blood trickled from the gash on the edge of my palm, tiny little droplets falling onto the cream-colored rug under me.

“Are you okay?” Scarlett came bursting through the door. She glanced from the shattered lamp to my hand.

“Yep. Fine,” I said curtly. Her face dropped, and I sighed. Right now I couldn’t handle another emotional woman. “I’m sorry. This job is getting to me, that’s all.”

“Here,” she said, walking over to me. Taking my hand in hers, she sighed. “Let me clean this up for you. Come down to the kitchen.”

I nodded, ripping my shirt off and tying it around my hand like a makeshift bandage.

"What are you doing? Throwing lamps at the wall?" She asked, as she sat me down at the table and went to retrieve a bandage.

I scowled at Scarlett. "And this is your business because . . .?"

"Because believe it or not, I consider you a friend. I don't want to see you like this. Messed up over some girl."

"Leave her out of this."

"Because you are? Listen, Roman, have you even thought about how she is going to react when she finds out you have been deceiving her? Because that's what this is, and that's exactly how she's going to see it."

"No offense, Scarlett, but when I want your advice, I'll ask for it," I snapped.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hands dropping to her hips. She pouted, her mouth falling into a frown. She was hurt and I didn't blame her; I was being an asshole.

"I'm sorry. I'm just stressed." I glanced down at my bandaged hand. "Thanks for this." I gave her a smile, then left her in the kitchen.

***

“I’m sorry.”

It had taken me all afternoon to call her, to work up the courage to say those two little words. I sat in my office, waiting for her to say something. Anything. All I knew was that whatever this was, I didn’t want to ruin it.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Look, I get it. I do. But I need you to stop trying to fix me, okay?”

“Okay.” I wasn’t convinced I could keep that promise, but I was willing to try. “Come meet me? I’ll send a cab. Let me cook for you.”

“You cook?” I could hear the laughter in her voice.

“Well, no. Not well, anyway. Okay, it might be safer if I order us some takeout, but don’t let that keep you away.”

“Okay. I’ll come over.”

***

She was right on time. Dead-on six o'clock, the doorbell rang.

I'd convinced Scarlett to go out for the night. I knew she wouldn't be home until early morning, because she was scheduled at the club.