Page 17 of Worth the Scandal
Yeah, she’s got a point. Old Ted barely tolerates them being out at places like this. Better behaved than some of the players I manage.
I scan the booth. I recognise three of them—Collins, so that is who spotted us in line, Jace, the team’s golden boy the one from the billboard and Benji. Peyton’s there too, all of them long-term contracted locals. The other two must be newcomers.
But no Asher.
A little wave of disappointment ripples over me.
Great. All dressed up, looking hot, and for what? A wasted outfit.
Ugh. Annoying.
“Let’s get a drink, Shell. And some food. I am starving.”
We quickly claim a booth and slide on in. We’ve hit the jackpot—perfect angle for prime people-watching, yet just far enough from the songbird in the golden cage. Or should I say, the Golden Sparrow herself. Bless her heart, she is really good. At least over here, we can just barely hear ourselves think, let alone talk.
I scan the QR code and dive straight to the cocktails. Tonight calls for something fancy, French martinis.Oui oui, très chic. Without hesitation, I order four—two for me, two for Shell—and toss in some chips and chicken tenders—for you know good measure.
Now’s the perfect opportunity to suss out Shell and figure out our friendship dynamic. Is she here as Dad’s undercover informant, or is she going to be Team Scarlett?
“So,” I start casually, waving my hand around dramatically at the too chic for Dawson’s Golden Sparrow crowd. “What brings you to this sleepy little town?”
Our waitress approaches with our drinks already. Impressive speed. I do like my cocktails to come fast, unlike my choice in men, funnily enough.
Shell laughs softly, raising her glass to mine. “Honestly, I’ve always dreamed of working in sports. Eventually, I’d love to tackle the marketing side, but this gig pays well and feels surprisingly chill.”
I hold up my glass dramatically. “Oui oui, to new friendships and French martinis!”
“Oui oui indeed, babe,” she echoes, giggling into her drink. Okay I definitely like her, and I feel I can trust her. “But seriously, your dad’s a pretty laid-back boss. I mean, I’m technically on call, but most of the time, I’m free to do whatever.”
I nearly choke on my sip. “Dad and chill in the same sentence? Now, that’s a first.”
Shell grins knowingly. “Oh, I’ve seen him unleash his inner dragon on the boys. He’s got quite the temper.”
She flicks her eyes subtly toward the door, then shifts the spotlight back onto me. Odd, she’s probably seen someone she knows “But enough about work. What about you, Scarlett Walker? Beyond the whole agent-to-the-stars thing, who are you really?”
I take a dramatic pause, sipping thoughtfully. “Let’s see. Single, Taurus, fiercely independent—but now, ready to chill out a bit and see who Dad really is these days, you know, since Mum passed.” My voice dips slightly at the mention of Mum. “I’ve been so consumed by work that I haven’t been around as much as I should’ve been. How’s Dad really been?”
Shell offers a gentle smile, her eyes sincere. “He’s doing better now. But yeah, some days were rough. I’d sit at the house working in silence, while he just… sat there, barely noticing me.”
Guilt twists uncomfortably in my gut. Way to earn daughter-of-the-year, Scarlett. Slow clap.
I offer a small warm smile “I’m back now and I really want him to open up to me so I’m going to do what I can, and I knownothing gets him talking more than football and my line of work. I think it’ll be the perfect combo to fix what I broke.” I drain the residue from my first French martini and the night and this new friendship with Shelley is looking oh so promising.
As predicted, the evening picks up speed—and laughs—as the cocktails keep flowing. Shell and I rapidly transition from awkward acquaintances to giggly besties, armed with inside jokes and relentless banter. Tonight’s entertainment, watching a particularly hopeless man we have affectionately dubbed Casanova strike out from table to table with his near pitiful attempts to wooh women.
“Oh God, incoming,” I mutter, desperately biting back laughter as Casanova struts our way. “Hello, ladies,” he drawls with misguided confidence. “I’m only passing through, but I’d love to take a lucky lady home tonight.”
I lose it immediately, bursting into laughter. The level of sleazineness takes me back to the way Jason would act around other women, the way he thought he commanded a room, and all eyes of the opposite sex were on him. Little did I know all eyes were on me—feeling sorry for me and what I didn’t know was happening behind my back. “Cass—can I call you Cass?—there’s a reason you’ve been skating between tables solo tonight. That pick-up line was aggressively sleazy.”
Shell gasps, choking on her martini, eyes watering with laughter. “My name’s Brendan,” he sputters weakly. Clearly unimpressed with my joke—if he even gets it.
Shell cracks up further. “Seriously? That’s all you took from what she said?”
“Well, ladies, how would you suggest I improve?” Brendan counters desperately with a wink almost as sleazy as his first pickup line.
Without missing a beat, I reply, eyes glued mischievously on Shell, “Well, Cass, you could start by buying a girl a—”
Two fresh French martinis hit the table, delivered by a distinctly muscular calloused hand. “No need, mate. I’ve got these ladies covered. Might be best to move along to your next rejection—or just cut your losses now.” I’ve been fantasising about this hand for far too long, to not know who it belonged too.
