Chapter 277 Rushing Over
Beau grabbed Scarlett, trying to haul her into the private room. Without a second thought, she swung her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
A sharp, crisp smack echoed in the air.
"Mr. Morris, this one's got some serious fight in her!" The people in the room jeered, laughing.
As a film producer, Beau wasn't used to being humiliated. Getting slapped made him lose face, and he cursed, flying into a rage.
"Playing hard to get? I refuse to believe I can't break you."
With that, he yanked her toward the booth. Scarlett's reflexes kicked in instantly; her fingers clamped onto the doorframe in a white-knuckled grip.
Beau pulled with all his might but couldn't pry her hand loose. "You really want to do this the hard way."
He stepped forward, reaching out to peel her fingers off. Scarlett spun around, drove her knee up, and slammed it ruthlessly into his groin.
He let out a piercing shriek. His hands instantly flew to his crotch, his body swaying as he doubled over in agony.
Seizing her chance to escape, Scarlett bolted for the door. But instead of freedom, she crashed straight into a broad chest.
A distinctly familiar scent washed over her.
She jerked her head up, her eyes locking onto his face.
Ambrose visibly froze for a fraction of a second, but the surprise vanished as quickly as it came. His fingers wrapped securely around her wrist.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Scarlett struggled to pull her hand from his grip, but his strength was overwhelming. She couldn't move an inch.
"Let go," she said coldly.
Just then, the crowd from the booth poured out. Some rushed to support the groaning Beau, while others spotted Ambrose, stepping forward with a mix of surprise and deep respect to greet him.
"If it isn't Mr. Boleyn!"
Ambrose, whose gaze hadn't wavered from Scarlett, finally lifted his eyes. He shot the group an icy, deadpan look.
"Were you harassing her?"
His voice was low and devoid of emotion, but his eyes held a murderous intent that forced the men to take a step back, shivering.
No one dared to utter a word.
Seeing how fiercely protective Ambrose was of Scarlett, they knew that if he found out what had just happened, they probably wouldn't make it out alive.
But the injured Beau was in too much pain to observe Ambrose. Missing the shift in the atmosphere entirely, he blurted out, "Mr. Boleyn, I was teaching this woman a lesson. Sorry to disturb you."
Ambrose's gaze swept over Beau—dark and lethal—before snapping back to Scarlett.
"He touched you?"
Scarlett met his gaze. Looking at him only reminded her of what he had done to her last night; he was no better than Beau.
Her demeanor remained frosty. Ignoring his question, she just struggled to break free from his grasp.
"Let me go first."
Surprisingly, Ambrose actually let go. But the moment he did, he stalked toward Beau. Within two strides, he raised his leg and delivered a brutal kick. Beau's body flew through the air like a dead leaf, slamming heavily against the wall before sliding down to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Another agonizing shriek tore through the hallway.
Radiating pure, hostile energy, Ambrose closed the distance. He stopped right in front of Beau and planted his foot directly on the producer's face.
"Who the hell do you think you are, thinking you have the right to teach her a lesson?"
Ambrose's vicious tone sounded like the Grim Reaper himself, making everyone who heard it tremble in fear.
It was only then that reality crashed down on Beau—he had touched someone he shouldn't have. Ignoring the blinding pain, he begged, "Mr. Boleyn, spare me! I didn't know she was yours. If I had known, I never would have laid a finger on her."
"Which hand touched her?" The pressure of Ambrose's foot didn't lessen; instead, he pressed down harder.
Beau didn't dare to speak.
At this moment, no one dared to breathe a word. The people from the private room nervously backed away, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.
Seeing Ambrose's relentless brutality as he delivered a few more kicks to Beau, Scarlett had to step in. She was genuinely worried he might beat the man to death.
"You've taught him a lesson. That's enough."
Ambrose turned his head to look at her. "Which hand touched you?"
If he hadn't brought it up, she might have been fine. But hearing him ask just made her stomach churn with disgust. She really didn't want to relive it.
"He already touched me. What, are you going to beat him to death over it?" She retorted.
Hearing confirmation that Beau had indeed touched her, Ambrose's dark aura surged back with a vengeance. He stomped his foot down hard on Beau's hand. A split second later, the sickening crunch of snapping bones echoed through the hall.
Beau let out a blood-curdling scream, his voice tearing at the seams.
Just as Ambrose raised his foot to crush the other hand, Scarlett quickly grabbed his sleeve. "He barely even grabbed my hand. You've taught him a lesson, let it go. He mistook me for someone else."
At her gentle tug, the lethal tension radiating from Ambrose actually dialed back. He lowered his other foot without bringing it down.
He turned around and pulled her closer, his eyes scanning her up and down as he coaxed in a low, soft voice, "He really didn't hurt you?"
Scarlett shook her head. "No."
Today was the grand opening of Quinlan's bar, a huge milestone. She really didn't want her drama to ruin the night, so she simply tolerated Ambrose's close proximity.
Seeing that Scarlett wasn't pushing him away, Ambrose placed both hands on her shoulders. As he looked down to inspect her for injuries, he noticed how her long dress clung perfectly to her curves. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Why are you wearing this?"
Scarlett's expression iced over. She pushed his hands away, taking a couple of steps back to put distance between them.
"Today is my friend's grand opening," she said, her tone cold. "Don't ruin the mood."
Just as the words left her mouth, Quinlan appeared at the doorway. Seeing Ambrose, she was secretly shocked. What was he doing here?
But she didn't let it show. Walking toward them, she asked calmly, "Is there some kind of misunderstanding here?"
Seeing Quinlan, Scarlett quickly went over to her. "Quinlan, I'm so sorry. This guy might have mistaken me for one of your waitresses. He tried something inappropriate, and things got a little out of hand."
It instantly clicked for Quinlan. The guy must have mistaken Scarlett for Felicity.
Quinlan nodded, then shifted her gaze to Beau, who was still writhing on the floor.
"Mr. Morris, what am I going to do with you? You're a grown man, a producer for all these years, and you still can't tell people apart."
Beau was in too much agony to form proper words, but he finally realized he really had grabbed the wrong girl. Still, he scrambled to defend himself.
"Ms. Bennett, my eyes never fail me. I couldn't have mistaken her. She's from the film academy. She came in earlier to deliver drinks, recognized me as a producer, and handed me her card begging for a role. I swear she looked exactly like this lady here."
At those words, Ambrose's eyes darkened. Someone who looked like Scarlett?
Quinlan sighed. "This is on me."
She then looked at Scarlett. "I'll call her over, okay?"
Scarlett nodded. "You should. We need to clear this up, otherwise people will think we're just throwing our weight around to bully him."
Even though she had her own issues with Ambrose, he had stepped up to protect her. She didn't want him catching any heat for this.
Beau clearly had some status in the industry. She had to make him realize that he was the one who messed up first. That way, even with a shattered hand, he couldn't pin the blame on them.
Felicity was quickly brought over. Standing in front of Quinlan, she asked in a panic, "Ms. Bennett, you were looking for me?"
Quinlan nodded, turning to Beau, who was currently being helped up by the others. "Is this the girl you were talking about?"
Beau, who looked like he was on his last breath, gasped when he saw Felicity. Completely stunned, his wide eyes immediately darted back to Scarlett.