He grunts as I cut off his air supply a bit more, but making sure not to allow him the privilege of blacking out before he apologizes to Scarlett.
“Now apologize.”
He mumbles something incoherent, so I loosen up my grip, but fortunately for him he’s wise enough not to take the opportunity to try a counter-maneuver.
“Say. You’re. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he spits out.
“Like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says louder, and I pivot, leading him to the front exit with my arm still wrapped tightly around his neck.
Once there I toss him in front for everyone to see and wipe my hands, heading back into the restaurant to sounds of him coughing and choking.
He’ll be alright. If anything he got off lucky.
By the time I’m back at our table the other table has already cleared out, most likely being ushered out the back by the staff.
And my suspicions are confirmed seconds later.
“Thank you,” my waiter says. “That guy’s a royal pain in the ass and he never tips more than rounding up to the nearest dollar, thinking it’s our privilege to serve a ‘celebrity.’”
“Oh, he’ll be a celebrity all right. Once those pictures hit the Internet in about five minutes his teammates will never let him live it down.”
“We can call the police and have him arrested if you’d like,” the waiter offers.
“Won't’ be necessary. The damage to his ego should be more than enough.” I pause. “Now if you’ll please excuse me.”
The waiter makes himself disappear and I lean in close to Scarlett. “You okay, little artist?”
She squeezes her lips into a small line and nods her head, but I’m not buying it. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Remember you have to always be honest with Daddy. It’s a rule and even if it wasn’t, Daddy will find out.” I take a breath, letting that thought settle in. “Now, do you want to tell Daddy what’s wrong?”
“Am I embarrassing?”
Anger rushes through me and now I wish I really did strangle that guy until he passed out. “Nothing we do together will ever embarrass me. What we have is new, but I already know it’s perfect. You belong to me, little angel. Maybe other people won’t understand, but then again many people don’t understand a lot of things? Art, us, why you like sparkly hair clips so much…”
A smile appears out of nowhere quickly followed by her arms wrapping around my neck. I pull her onto my lap and give her a kiss on the forehead.
“Can we go home, Daddy?”
“Waiter? Check, please.”
6 Scarlett
“You don’t have to walk me to my door,” I say, but Silas completely ignores me.
He lifts me from the car as if I weigh nothing more than a body pillow and gently sets me down on my feet before escorting me toward the front steps.
“Really, it’s ok.”
I watch his eyes rake over the front of the building and the surrounding exterior.
“Punch in the code, angel.”
“The code?” I question, not sure what he’s talking about.
“To the keypad,” he motions to the numerical square close to the door.
“Landlord said it’s under repair. Watch,” I say, pushing the door open which only seems to make him angrier than he already is for some reason.
He sucks in a breath and steps into my building. “Please don’t tell me you live on the first floor?”
“Second.”
He shakes his head and we ascend the short stack of stairs together.
“Keys,” he says, when we reach my front door.
“I didn’t invite you—“
“Keys,” he demands, his palm up as he shoots me a look that is, like so many things, non-negotiable.
I pull my keys from my satchel and hand them to him, still not quite sure what his deal is.
“Stay here,” he orders, why would I expect anything else.
“This is my—“
But he’s already gone, entering my tiny apartment and looking around as if he’s searching for bombs, booby traps, or a hidden intruder.
He squats down and looks under the bed.
“Where are your sheets?”
“I haven’t got around to getting any yet,” I admit, laying out some bath towels next to each other, my current substitute for a proper flat bed sheet.
“Not even one to cover yourself up?”
“It’s Miami. It’s hot.”
“You don’t run the aircon at night?”
“It’s under repair.”
I watch as his fists tighten so hard his knuckles go white and his corded forearms shake. “Does the landlord live on site?”
“No.”
“What about a phone number for him?”
“He said he prefers email.”
“He didn’t give you a phone number?”
“He said it’s a transcription service and will send him an email, so it’s easier just to email him in the first place as that’s what he’s going to get anyway.”
“How much did the company advance you?”
“It was a generous amount. Enough for—“
“How much, Scarlett?” he asks, addressing me by my name for the first time.
“Three thousand.”
“Three thousand? For Miami?”
“It covered first month’s, last month’s rent, and I negotiated down the security deposit so everything fit.”
“I’m talking to payroll first thing in the morning when we get in.”
“We?”
“Let’s go. Get your pajamas and we’re out of here.”
“Where? You can’t just take me.”
“I can and I am. My place.”
“What if I don’t want to go to—“
“Rules. Where’s the list I gave you?”
“I never agreed to—“
“Pajamas or you sleep in what you’ve got on.”
I huff, but make my way over to my duffel bag and pull out my pj’s.
As much as I don’t want him dictating how things are going to be to me right now, I also wouldn’t mind sleeping in a nicer place tonight. The noise from the street and my neighbor’s aircon, which does work, don’t exactly help when it comes time to count sheep.
We get my things and are quickly back in his Lamborghini, in which
