Page 46 of Worth the Scandal
The post-seminar celebration is being held in the Ridgebacks’ VIP lounge, which sounds a lot fancier than it is. Really, it’s just a very well-lit room with way too much football memorabilia, uncomfortable modern art, and waiters passing around canapés—with fancy names like duck compote parfait petit—that taste like disappointment and pure ginger.
I’m on my third flute of something bubbly that claims to be champagne but might be Prosecco with a superiority complex—apparently complexes of the sort are contagious around here because Caleb is showboating me around the room like I’ve accepted a marriage proposal, or we are the Ridge Highs formal “couple of the night”.
Shell’s talking to a local journalist near the bar, Collins and Jace are deep in a debate about who could bench more in a suit, and I’m just trying to escape Caleb, so I can chat to my potential new signing.
He’s been glued to my side all evening. Charming. Laughing. Brushing fingers along my elbow. Telling every media outlet in the room that “Scarlett and I go way back—she used to steal my crayons and now she steals contracts.”
It’s not,nottrue. But he’s laying it on thick. Too thick. Caleb’s writing his own narrative, and it’s not one that I’d like a part in let alone the damsel in distress role.
I fake a laugh at something he says—God, what was it? A pun about half backs?—and excuse myself toward the hallway that leads to the back staircase. I just need a second. A moment to breathe without his cologne making me dizzy, and his little charade making me want to throw up the fancy ginger duck thingy.
I round the corner and lean back against the wall, the coolness of the exposed concrete cuts through the sheer fabric on my back and I’m immediately more at ease. My cheeks must be so red from the pure second hand embarrassment radiating off me at the thought of Caleb’s ‘more than friends’ cosplay. I’m more comfortable here against a cold concrete wall over Caleb’s showboating, slimy fingers.
Quiet.
Finally.
A moment to breathe, downing what’s left in flute number…3,4? Look I know I have my professional big girl pants on but tonight has been torture it’s just making the whole charade slightly more bearable.
I hang my head in my hands ready to give myself a pep talk to head back in and deal with this shit storm male bravado.
That’s when a shadow emerges from the darkened hallway.Great now I’m about to be murdered.
My pulse spikes. I swear to God if Caleb’s followed me out here, I’m giving him a round house kick to the head and calling it a night.
“Asher,” I breathe, catching sight of his jaw first, then his eyes—stormy and locked on me like I’m the next mistake he’s about to make—on purpose.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, voice low and dangerous. Oh, I think he’s pissed off. It’s kind of hot; I won’t lie.
“Technically, I’ve been avoiding everyone. Equal opportunity dodging.” Just a little fuel to the fire, no biggie.
His jaw flexes. “I watched him kiss you.”
I fold my arms. “It was a press stunt. Caleb likes theatrics, you should know that by now.”
“Yeah?” he steps closer. “So do I.”
And then his hands are on my waist, pulling me against him like he’s been holding back for an hour or two—three days to be exact—and is finally losing the fight. Anyone could walk past right now.
“You know I wanted to rip him off the stage for touching you like that; break every finger he brushed across your ass.” he grits into my ear. “Myass.”
“I know,” I whisper, unable to think straight in these conditions. “That’s why I walked away, that’s why I’m out here hiding from him. He’s insufferable right now.”
He chuckles darkly. “You walked right into me instead. Dangerous move.”
I press a hand against his chest, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat and the heat of his skin through his navy polo. “I’m always making dangerous moves, nothing I can’t handle though, you know that.”
He leans in, lips hovering just over mine, and for a split second, the whole world and the drama inside the Ridgebacks function room disappears again—just like it did that night on the Sydney balcony, and the other night in the sheds—that was reckless, but it would’ve been worth the scandal—the night in my Bondi apartment, that was just plain stupid. No names. No future. Just us. If I could go back in time, I’d force him to write down his number the moment he stepped onto that balcony.
Before I can plan out my next move, someone clears their throat just down the hallway.
We break apart like guilty teenagers—again.
“Scarlett?” Caleb’s voice calls out, casual but sharp. “Everything alright?” Don’t play dumb pretty boy.
I fix my hair, reapply my professional face, and step out of the shadows.
Asher stays behind me, close enough that I feel his breath on my neck.
