Page 6 of Worth the Scandal
Spotless.
My folded clothes are stacked neatly on my favourite little white boucle lounge. Books back in place on the bookshelf. Every dish washed. Rubbish gone.
Who is this man?Wasthis man.
I do a double take of the space; he is certainly gone.
I blink at my bedside table—also now clean—and spot a yellow post it. A note scribbled in pen and a handwriting that only a man with a sporting career would possess.I’ve seen enough signed contracts to know.
Thank you for the distraction. You’re welcome, as well.
Sometimes we just need a fresh start—and someone to take care of us.
Try keeping your apartment clean, you’ll feel better. Trust me.
PS: Sorry about Rule Number Four.
PPS: I’m not sorry at all.
Xo
I read it aloud.
And grin.
The goofiest, dopiest, can’t-fight-it grin.
No one has done something like this for me before. Not in a long time.Everactually.
I feel a tiny sting of disappointment—just a flicker—because I did make the no-names rule. But now I hate that I did. No number. No last name. No “let’s do this again sometime.”
Did we have different nights?
“No,” I mutter to myself. “The man cleaned your apartment after giving you the best night of your damn life, Scarlett. Pull yourself together.”
It was exactly what I needed.
The universe delivering Mr Perfect on a platter to get me out of this self-loathing, man hating—man less—slump.
Now I can start fresh.
A little lighter. A little more space. A little more hope.
Definitely less tequila, though.
My phone pings.
My heart jumps—could it be?
Nope. Of course not, just Jen.
How was your night? Coffee catch up at our place to discuss logistics. See you in 20.
I smile and reply, already picturing her face when I spill the whole ridiculous, steamy, soul-shaking truth whilst surrounded by unsuspecting café regulars at our favourite café in town—Roasted Brew.
See you soon. You’ll beat me—order me a caramel latte and something very greasy x
Chapter Three - Asher
