Chapter Seventeen - Scarlett
Scarlett:
It’s been three days.
Scarlett:
Three days since the dressing shed and cute night in. Three days since you said, “it’s just a bit of fun, then said no it isn’t.”
Scarlett:
So, tell me—what did you mean, exactly? Because I’m not trying to sign a player who has now ghosted me. I need someone with fast reflexes.
I don’t say what I really want to which is what the hell are we now because we had a moment followed by a few more and you’ve ghosted me.
The typing bubble pops up immediately.
Asher:
I didn’t ghost you. I’ve been thinking. I can’t think straight around you.
Scarlett:
Dangerous habit. Recommend fewer thoughts, more replies.
Asher:
I didn’t want to cross a line. But I’ve been reading over my contract. My agent’s grip is weak at best. There’s a clean exit clause, that my lawyers found.
Scarlett:
So, you have been reading the fine print. Proud of you. You’ve got a lawyer on speed dial? Interesting.
Asher:
You’re dangerously distracting, you know that? I can’t stop thinking about the other day. About Sydney. About what happens if I sign with you.
Scarlett:
You take over the league. I take over the agency world. We both look amazing doing it. It’s not a marriage proposal; it’s just better for your career….and mine xx
I smirk to myself as I reread the texts for the third time, my phone buzzing with notifications, none of which are more important than this conversation. If you read between the lines, we most certainly are not talking about work or are we. Who really knows eh?
11:30 AM—The Ridgebacks Seminar
The room’s buzzing. There’s a fresh Ridgebacks banner hanging behind the stage, and at least two dozen local reporters in branded polos are circling the perimeter like football-obsessed vultures ready to snap their next big meal ticket.
The media turnout is bigger than expected.
Hell, there’s even a small live-streaming crew from a regional sports network.
Shell stands next to me, clutching an iPad like her life depends on it. “I swear, if you faint during your speech, I’m not CPR certified.”
I glance sideways. “Good. I’d rather die looking hot than be revived in front of this crowd AKA Asher oooh or maybe by Asher.”
“Oh no” she whispers innocently placing her free hand on her cheek in a mocking gesture.
“Shut up.” I give Shell a cheeky smile making no eye contact because this isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.
From the corner of my eye, I spot the Ridgebacks trickling in, filing into the VIP section.
The usual suspects roll in together in their little clique—Collins. Jace. Peyton.
And then Asher.
He’s in a navy-blue polo that hugs his arms in a way that is criminal.
He scans the room, and for a moment, his crisp ocean blue eyes lock onto mine.
It’s a very subtle reminder that any doubts I was having are a big fat lie because just from one look, I can tell he has missed me and I’ve sure as hell missed him.
My heart flips, and I have to look away before I start forgetting how sentences work.
He thinks I’m a distraction. Has he looked in a mirror.
He doesn’t wave. Okay, of course he wasn’t going to.
But his jaw ticks.
It’s his you’re lucky I haven’t dragged you backstage already jaw tick. I’ve noticed that tiny telltale sign the last few times we’ve been around each other in a professional setting.
I turn back to Shell and whisper, “If I fall off this stage, tell Asher it’s his fault.”
She grins. “Maybe he does know CPR, he’d have to with how many women swoon around him.”
I shoot her a look that could kill, because that’s the last thought I needed right before go time.
The host calls my name.
I step forward.
Scarlett’s Speech
“Thank you for the warm welcome, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Scarlett Walker—Dawson’s Ridge High alumni, former tomboy turned sports agent, and very proud daughter of Coach Ted Walker, whose voice you can probably hear from the car park during training.”
Laughter.
Good start.
“I spent the last five years working with top-tier athletes across the country out of an office based in Sydney. I’ve seen talent rise, fall, and rise again.
And I’ve seen firsthand how the right support system—on and off the field—can change the trajectory of a player’s entire career and their life. ”
My eyes scan the crowd. Asher’s leaning forward. Elbows on knees. Watching.
Caleb’s watching too—and the way he looks at me I can’t help but wonder if Shell and Dad are right.
Shell’s also listening intently, honestly, she’d make the perfect first official Maroon Management employee.
Deep breath.
All eyes on me.
“That’s why I started Maroon Management. To build something different. To represent players like people—not products. Not just for what they post online, but for who they are, what they’ve overcome, and what they still want to become.”
The crowd leans in, this is good they’re hanging on my words.
“Dawson’s Ridge has guts, strength, and resilience. I’ve seen it. I’ve scouted it. And now, with our first Maroon office opening right here, I plan to put Dawson’s talent on the centre stage—where it belongs.”
Applause.
Whistles. Claps.
From the players’ section, Asher gives the faintest nod and a proud smirk lifts at the edge of his mouth. God that mouth.
And then my phone buzzes on the podium.
Asher:
You’re terrifying when you talk like that. And I’ve never wanted to be professionally exploited more.
I bite back a grin, grabbing my phone and step aside as the host announces the team’s captain, who’ll give the next speech.
“Please welcome—Caleb Farah.”
Of course, I wonder if his captaincy will change if he can’t hold that spot of his this season.
He strides up, shaking hands with the board, charming the press with that all-Aussie hospitality, before leaning over me.
His hand slides low across my waist—possessively I might add.
“And how lucky are we,” he says into the mic, voice slow, deep, calculated, “to have this woman back in town. Scarlett Walker—agent, powerhouse, and the only person in this room who has ever beat me in a sprint, even if it was in primary school.”
Light chuckles ripple through the crowd.
He turns and presses a very pointed kiss to the side of my head.
“We’re proud to have her agency here. And trust me when I say—Maroon’s going to be the next big thing in this sport.”
More applause.
I blink, frozen—what is he playing at?
Caleb walks over to the middle of the stage now, cool and collected ready to deliver his captains speech. I have a feeling he knows exactly what he has just done.
I don’t even need to scan the room to know Asher saw everything along with the rest of the people in here—and now that’ll be the latest Dawson’s gossip, they’ll be whispering in the coffee shop that I’m back to rekindle some weird high school sweetheart fairytale with Caleb. Exactly what I don’t need.
I couldn’t tell you a word that Caleb said after that because I was too busy looking at Shell who was mouthing “what the fuck was that” and Asher who was staring so hard at Caleb, he might will him to drop dead right then and there.
That’s where the saying if looks could kill comes from, now I’ve seen it firsthand.
VIP Section—A Few Minutes Later
Asher’s leg bounces wildly under the table.
Collins leans over and grips his thigh.
“Jesus, bro. Chill. You’re vibrating like my grandma’s old as fuck washing machine.”
Asher mutters something under his breath, and Collins smirks.
“Relax. It’s not like he stuck his tongue down her throat. Just the side of her head. That’s practically dad affection.”
Asher doesn’t respond.
He’s too busy watching me from across the room.
And I’m too busy wondering if I just accidentally started a very public war. Not that I can be to blame for that.