Page 86 of Worth the Scandal
“Wait, you? The last few years it’s been you?” I studied his expression, how did he know what today is? I’m at a loss; how has he been pulling this off.
“Yep, after I cleaned your apartment, I saw the calendar with the date. I know what it’s like to lose someone so the last few years I’ve sent you the yellow roses. I didn’t know your name, but I knew where you liv-.”
I cut him off before he can finish, our lips smack together and no one in this office exists right now just Asher and me.
“Oh, far out get a room you two.” Shell teases and we all break into laughter.
“I’m not cleaning these up” adds Jen gesturing to the flower shop that’s taken over our temp office.
Everything is back to the way it should be, and Asher Kingston, is the name of the man who has my heart. The man Ilove. The man worth every scandal.
The End.
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Dawson’s Ridge Stadium–Maroon Management Office
The baby boots sit in a small navy box on my desk, soft leather in Ridgebacks maroon, the tiniest studs you’ve ever seen. I’d kept them hidden in the back of my closet for weeks. Every time I opened the box, my breath caught. They made it real.
Twelve weeks pregnant.
I’d planned every announcement I’d ever given in my career—red carpet reveals, trade rumours, brand pivots—but this? I didn’t want flash. I wanted real. Just me, and the man I built this life with.
The office smells like fresh dirt and eucalyptus oil from the physio room down the hall. Maroon Management has its own wing now—overlooking the Ridgebacks field, the heart of Dawson’s Ridge. My name isn’t on the building, but my reputation is carved into every square inch of it.
Asher steps in without knocking, curls damp from training, skin flushed, shirt half tucked into his sweats. I had a whole life before him, but somehow, nothing felt real until he walked into it.
“You called?” he says, still catching his breath. “Shell said this was urgent. If this is about media training the reserves again, I swear to God—”
“Just open the box.”
He blinks. “What is this? Am I being tricked into another sponsorship campaign? Because I’m not modelling cock socks again, babe. That was a dark time.”
I cross my arms. “Open it.”
He does.
The shift in his expression breaks something open in me. Confusion. Wonder. Then something quieter. Deeper. Reverent.
His voice is barely a whisper. “Is this real?”
“Twelve weeks.”
He looks up at me like I have just rewritten the rules of the universe. “You’re… we’re… you waited this long to tell me?”
“I wanted to be sure. And I wanted to tell you here. Where it all technically started.”
He is in front of me in seconds, arms around me, one hand already pressed gently against my stomach.
“We’re really doing this,” he says.
I smile into his neck. “We are.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Me neither.”
