Page 13 of Scout

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I stare at his profile.

Then I hit Book.

For Dr. Maddoc’s retirement party.

A petty, perfect move.

Two can play this game, Kendrix.

And I just made my opening move.

Scout

I’m halfway through folding laundry when the email hits.

The little ding on my phone chimes, alerting me to another booking request, probably some lonely tech bro needing a plus-one for a fundraiser.

But then I open it.

Subject: New Booking

I was close. It’s for some high-end hospital retirement gala. Semi-formal. Swanky. The kind of event where everyone's pretending they liked the guy and the shrimp cocktails come with edible gold flakes.

Then I read the client’s name.

Xavier.

It can’t be.

…Can it?

I keep reading. Thirty-two, a doctor.

This isn’t a coincidence.

Then I see the photo.

And yep. It’shim.

Dark hair, slicked back—as if he actually gives a shit. A neatly trimmed beard that accentuates his sharp jawline. He’s wearing navy scrubs in the shot, tight across his chest as if they were tailored, sleeves rolled just enough to flex. A stethoscope hangs casually around his neck—oh yeah, I save lives and maybe steal souls too.

His eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses are somehow worse. Intense. Judgy. Hot in that,I’ll ruin your life in the supply closetkind of way.

I stare at the screen for way too long.

So this is real.

Xavier just booked me.

I sit down hard on the edge of my bed, a pair of my socks still in my lap.

What the actual hell?

I read it again. And again. The screen doesn’t change. His name is right there, bold and smug, like it knows exactly what kind of emotional chaos it’s stirring up.

He booked me. For a party I’m sure Kendrix is going to be at.

“Be memorable,” the notes said.

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