Chapter 1342: Miss Yates Is Drunk
After drinking quite a bit, his eyes were a little bloodshot; at a glance his pupils were rimmed in red, his gaze cold and soaking through, looking downright terrifying.
"M-Miss Yates is drunk. I called her a few times and she didn’t really respond, she looks like she’s seriously wasted. Mr. Saxon, do you want to go check on her?" That face really was beautiful; with alcohol in her system, a few shades of drunkenness colored her features, her narrow phoenix eyes even more soul-stealing, liquid light rippling in them, capable of hooking someone’s soul away if you weren’t careful.
It was just that her eyes were too cold, a chill that made people’s hearts shiver.
"She drank?" Matthew Saxon froze for a moment, and his brows immediately knitted.
"Half a bottle of red wine," the flight attendant reported honestly.
"Damn woman." Matthew muttered a curse, his brows furrowing tighter. He set the glass in his hand down on the bar counter, got to his feet, and strode toward the rest area.
--
When he got there and took a look, Scarlett Yates was indeed dead drunk.
Wrapped in a blanket, she lay on the reclined chair, sleeping quite soundly, a faint snore coming from her nose.
The whole area was filled with the smell of red wine.
The wine bottle sitting on the table was indeed more than half empty; two-thirds of the wine had ended up in her stomach.
He knew why she’d been drinking.
"With a tolerance this bad, you still try the whole ’drown your sorrows in booze’ routine, seriously..." Matthew walked over and said to the flight attendant trailing behind him, "Mix some honey water and bring it over, put in extra honey."
"Okay, Mr. Saxon, please wait a moment. I’ll bring it right over."
Matthew slowly helped her sit up, lightly patted her face, and called her twice: "Scarlett Yates?"
She seemed to hear his voice; her brows twitched, but her eyes stayed tightly shut, and she let out an unconscious reply: "Mm..."
"Why did you drink? Just because what I said made you sad and upset?" Matthew lifted her up; her body was soft and boneless, completely unable to stay propped against the chair, so he had no choice but to pull her into his arms.
She might have been utterly drunk, but once she was against his chest, she rubbed at him a few times, then snuggled into the most comfortable position.
Her face was pressed to his chest, one hand resting there too, clinging to him like a koala, with only her legs not yet wrapped around him.
In this position, it was easy for Matthew to think of some kind of fluffy little animal.
Mm, very much like a fluffy little dog, and a little dog that trusted its owner completely, to be willing to lie in his arms so peacefully like this.
Somewhere in his chest, a spot went soft.
He lowered his head to look at her, his gaze complicated, conflicted, his hand gently stroking her flushed, feverish cheek.
He knew he liked her, that he couldn’t bear to let her go.
But he also knew she was dangerous.
Every time he wanted to get closer to her, wanted to try to trust her, the alarm bell in his head would start ringing.
Women could be the cutest thing, or the scariest; to trust a woman completely—especially one with such a complicated identity, and tangled up with Maxwell Saxon—it was impossible not to keep some guard up.
She was Noah Yates’s daughter, and Noah was working with Maxwell.
If he remembered correctly, her mother’s death also had a certain connection to the Saxon Family.
With that, there could be many possible reasons for her staying by his side.