A concerned Felicia caringly reminded, “President Presgrave, please take care of Miss Tillman.”
“Leave her to me,” Elliot replied in a low voice. Then, he opened the door to the driver’s seat and got in.
Felicia couldn’t help but rejoice as she looked at him driving off with Anastasia in his car. She already
knew that he was the reason why Anastasia drank to the point where she was drunk.
A barely conscious Anastasia sat up in what she thought was Felicia’s car. She held her forehead in
her hand to suppress the excruciating headache as she said in the direction of the driver’s seat.
“Felicia, take me to any nearby hotel. I don’t want to go home.”
She didn’t want her father and son to see her in such a terrible mood and if they did, she would be
grateful to just not scare them with this side of her.
A voice answered from the driver’s seat, “Is anyone taking care of your son?”
“My dad is home,” she obediently answered.
Getting even dizzier as the car moved, she quickly slumped on the seat again.
As Elliot waited for the traffic light to turn green, he grabbed her phone with his long fingers and sent
Francis a message in her name that she would be spending the night with a friend.
Francis’ prompt reply that she didn’t have to worry about her son came shortly after Elliot sent the
message.
Anastasia might not have been in her right mind, but she was still capable of thinking and emotions.
She started to mumble in her drunken state toward the driver, “Felicia, let me tell you a secret. Elliot is
an *sshole! He is a bad, bad man…”
Elliot froze for a second as he was shocked that she was scolding him behind his back, but he soon
tilted his head toward her and asked, “So, do you like him? Or do you hate him?”
“I hate him.” Her voice sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
He was entertained by how drunk she behaved and he tried probing again, “You are telling me that you
hate him even though you are drunk because of him?”
“I didn’t drink because of him… I would be an idiot for liking him…” she mumbled and grumbled in her
drunken daze.
Then, she sputtered again, “I hate him… He can like whoever the hell he wants to. It has nothing to do
with me.”
Anastasia didn’t seem to have any idea what she was saying and she definitely had no clue where she
was. The car was only filled with sounds that sounded like ‘b*stard’, ‘trash’ and ‘I don’t ever want to see
him’ before there was silence.
She seemed to have fallen asleep by then.
Elliot was somewhat heartbroken. I must have really hurt her this time, he thought.
As they came to another red light stop, he turned to look at the sprawled out figure in his backseat
before he sighed. “I am sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have punished you with something so
stupid.”
He drove them to a hotel owned by the Mansons, and as soon as he carried the drunk woman into the
hotel lobby in his arms, the manager of the hotel immediately gave them access to the presidential
suite.
Elliot gently placed Anastasia on the soft bed before he reached out to brush away a few strands of
hair on her forehead. Then, he pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well. I will explain everything
when you wake up.”
Right as he placed the covers on her, her glassy eyes shot open to look at him.
She thought she was having a dream about Elliot again. Her head had been so occupied with him
these 2 days that she thought what she was seeing was yet another dream she had been having.
“Go away… Go away… I don’t want you in my dreams anymore.” After saying that, she reached out to
slap herself on her forehead a few times. It was as though she could make him disappear from her
eyes by doing this.
Elliot couldn’t help but be startled when she suddenly started slapping herself and he quickly pulled her
into his chest to stop her flailing hands.
“What are you hitting yourself for?” he asked.
Her beauty was breath-taking as she was weak against his chest. With dishevelled black locks, the
corners of her eyes and the fair skin on her face had been tinted with a pinkish hue due to the alcohol.
His mind was giving him ideas as his gaze followed along the tip of her nose to her red lips, and to her
beautiful collarbone.
Tonight of all nights, however, was when he couldn’t lay his hands on her.
The fiery-tempered woman would probably snap his neck first thing the next morning if he were to
touch her without her permission again.
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