Page 28 of Worth the Scandal
I snort. “This is my ‘I’m definitely not meeting a guy but also please tell me I look hot as fuck outfit’.”
Shell winks. “Approved. And if you accidentally want to wear it again tonight, I booked us a table at Osteria Rosa. Girls’ dinner. You, me, wine, pasta. Jen’s coming too—already roped her in on FaceTime while I was doing my hair. Which wasn’t hard because it’s her dad’s birthday so she’ll be in town for the weekend she said.”
I grin, relief washing over me. Shell’s been helping me with Maroon things when Dad doesn’t need her and Jen has been holding down the Sydney fort, so they’ve been getting along quite well, which I love. “Perfect. I need wine. Possibly tequila. But not that night again. Not Golden Sparrow levels.”
“Oh please,” she says, laughing. “You thrived at Sparrow. Took down Brendan the Casanova and got VIP’d faster than you could say ‘Coach Walker’s daughter.’”
“Fair. That place has a chokehold on me now.”
Shell flips her laptop toward me. “Before you go—quick Ridgebacks thing. Marketing team needs a few tweaks approved for the media seminar next week. Your speech is the headliner, and the press are drooling to see the prodigal daughter return.”
“The press or the nosey senior citizens down at Lucy’s Café?” I let out a sarcastic gasp, tilting my head and raising one brow.
“Ted happens to be one of those senior citizens girl, he was telling everyone and anyone who would listen that you were coming back” she counters gesturing down at the laptop.
I scan the mock-up of my profile on the Ridgebacks’ website, my name bold under “Guest Keynote: Scarlett Walker – Founder of Maroon Management.” There’s a photo of me from an awards night, sleek bun, wine-red dress, winning smile I wore like a mask.
We scroll through the bullet points. Career stats. Appearances. A new blurb she added that reads: “Scarlett’s strategic athlete-first approach has revolutionised representation.”
“You wrote that, didn’t you?” I glance at her.
“Guilty,” she says, sipping her coffee. “Now go revolutionise someone else’s morning with your hot coffee date.”
I head to the door, tossing my bag over my shoulder—just as I hear a knock.
I pull it open and instantly regret it.
Caleb. Which means I may have forgotten that I planned to get breaky with him.
Keys in hand. Grin in place. Dressed like a goddamn golden retriever who thinks we have matching outfits and interests,particularly emotional love interests—which we do not. Unless he’s got a hard on for Asher too.
“Hey! Thought we were doing breakfast?”
“Oh… shoot.” I fake-shoot. “I forgot. I have coffee with a potential client.”
He raises a brow, sceptical of course because the only potential clients in this town are Ridgebacks. “Who?”
I flash a wink, casual but probably infuriating. “Can’t say. Confidential. Agent stuff.”
Caleb narrows his eyes, and I feel him loosen back up a bit. “You’re a menace.”
“And you like it.” Maybe more than like, who knows with our history.
He exhales, then points to his ute. “Fine. I’ll drive you. Can’t have Dawson’s finest agent walking the streets alone, now, can we?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal and hop in.
The silence in the truck is weird. Heavy. Like he knows.
Finally, Caleb breaks the silence. “A few of the boys said you were out at Sparrow’s the other night, caught a few eyes I heard” the thing with us Aussies especially small-town folk we shorten everything.
I fake a laugh “oh I wouldn’t say that much, it’s such a cool vibe though. Next time you should come, I like being around someone who knows me as well as you do Cal.”
He pulls up out front of the coffee shop, leans over the wheel, and spots Asher already waiting inside through the glass window.
Caleb’s voice is ice-cold. Like the words I’ve just spoken never made it to his ears “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Suddenly I’m hot, the blazer I’m wearing feels like too much and my baggy jeans are suddenly skintight feeling.
I open the door. “Thanks for the ride, Caleb.”
