15

Mira was definitely going to bail on Violet. Clubbing sounded awful right now.

Besides, she was a hot mess. She hadn’t stopped moving since yesterday’s crisis. She’d woken up four times last night to check on the status of Ollie’s flight, and she hadn’t drawn a full breath until Will had driven his repaired car onto the grid. The anxiety had to have eaten at least two years off her life.

Just when she could finally enjoy her moment of glory, she’d walked into the cocktail party to find Will wrapped up in some tall, gorgeous dark-haired woman. She’d known this would happen eventually, and now it had.

Knowing it had been different than seeing it, though. And seeing that woman’s hands in his hair, his hands on her hips … it was frustrating to admit, but it had felt like a punch to the gut. She liked him. She’d tried so hard not to, but she did. And she knew he liked her, too, in his way. But his life was about to become a whirlwind of press and parties and beautiful, available women. There was no way he was going to keep hanging around her just for some PG-rated teasing and flirting when there were tons of better offers out there. His promise to show her a good time in every city was about to become a distant memory.

She refused to attribute her bad mood to that, however. She was just tired after all the stress. That’s why she’d turned right around and left the reception. She needed rest and maybe a good Netflix show to binge. Not because she couldn’t bear to watch him leave with that woman. Of course not.

After she’d gotten back to the hotel, she’d peeled off her rumpled clothes and walked straight into the shower, turning it up as hot as she could stand it, and stayed under the spray until her fingers shriveled. And now she was staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror in dismay. Her hair had dried naturally, which meant it had dried curly , a wild pile of messy blond curls, and there was no time to straighten it.

Plus she had nothing to wear. All she had were a bunch of conservative blouses and pants, with a few understated dresses for more formal functions. She didn’t go to clubs. Like, ever.

Violet’s knock came at her door and she groaned.

“Violet,” she said as she swung it open. “Sorry, but I’m not—”

Violet threw up her hand. “Don’t even try to tell me no. I knew you would.”

Mira waved a hand helplessly at herself. “But I’m a mess—”

“It’s a bar , Mira. Wear that. It’s fine.” Violet waved a hand at her and strode past her into her room, snatching her black boots off the floor. “And wear these. These are brilliant … I wish you wore my size so I could steal them. Put these on and let’s go.”

She glanced down at herself in faded jeans and a tank top. “Are you kidding? This is not a going-out outfit.”

Violet gave her an exasperated look. “What do you wear when you go out in LA?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, that’s just sad. Mira, I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, but you’re a young person . Going out, having fun … it’s a bit expected, you know? And after today, you’ve earned a little celebrating!”

Fine, she’d go. One drink and then she’d plead exhaustion and catch a cab.

“My hair—” She started for the bathroom but Violet grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“Is divine. Honestly, I don’t know why you straighten it every day. Those curls are glorious.”

Her relationship with her hair was complicated. First of all, it was her mother’s hair, the tumble of platinum curls that had made Cherie Delain famous. But Mira’s was a little less golden, a little less ringlet-y, just … less. Second, her hair was … well, it was the first compliment he’d ever paid her. He’d told her the riotous curls made her look untamable. And at the time, that sounded amazing. Ever since that had blown up in her face, she’d worn it straight and pulled back, as a reminder of what not to be. Tame was okay, actually.

Mira gave her reflection one despairing glance before Violet tugged her away. She managed to snatch her black jacket off the back of a chair before Violet shoved her out the door.

“You wouldn’t have believed this website guy, Mira,” Violet said as they waited for the elevator.

“That one from Formula Fan ?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Thought he was bloody Tom Hardy, trying to charm me into getting him an interview with Matteo. I swear, I get so tired of having to play nice with these wankers.”

“So maybe you should—”

The elevator doors opened in front of them but it wasn’t empty.

“Well, hello, ladies.”

Mira didn’t know him, but everything about him screamed driver. He was crazy good-looking, with jet-black hair and eyes and a killer body. He slouched against the railing with that innate physical confidence they all had.

Violet sighed, a sound of deep disdain. “Chase.”

“Violet,” he replied, grinning, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin.

Violet hooked her arm into Mira’s and steered her into the elevator, pointedly facing away from him.

Undaunted, he reached a hand between them toward Mira. “Chase Navarro.”

Violet let out a disgusted snort and rolled her eyes.

Mira twisted awkwardly—since Violet wasn’t releasing her arm—and shook his hand. “Miranda Wentworth.”

“Paul Wentworth’s kid, right?”

“She’s also a kick-ass assistant, thank you very much!” Violet shouted.

Chase raised his hands in defense. “I’m sure she is. Congrats on the race today, by the way. Lennox looks great.”

“Thank you. And you—?”

But she was cut off by the elevator doors opening on the second floor. Chase pushed off the wall of the elevator, brushing past them. “This is me. Miranda, nice to meet you. Violet …” He paused as he left the elevator, then smiled at her again. “Always a pleasure.”

“You little—” But the elevator doors slid closed again, cutting her off.

“Who in the hell was that?”

“Nobody!” Violet snapped.

“Well, he’s clearly somebody.”

She sighed impatiently. “He’s on Hansbach’s Formula Two team. Can you believe that name? A driver named ‘Chase’? As fake as the rest of him.”

“How do you know him?”

“Oh, he’s F2, so he’s always at the parties. Last season I was doing my job, chatting up this journo, and the asshole sailed right in and stole her away so he could flirt with her. I mean, all the drivers sleep around, but Will’s got nothing on that one. He’s the worst.”

Just then, the elevator doors dinged open in the lobby, and the first thing she saw was Will himself, as if Violet had summoned him.

“What is he doing here?”

The last time she’d seen Will, he’d been well on his way to getting laid with that hot brunette. Now he was pacing slowly around the lobby, alone, head down, hands in the pockets of his very nicely fitted jeans. His dark gray T-shirt should have been entirely unremarkable. But there was nothing unremarkable about the way it hugged those glorious shoulders and kept hugging down over his broad chest. Nobody should look that good in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Oh,” Violet said with false innocence. “Did I forget to tell you? Will’s coming along. You don’t mind, do you?”

She wasn’t sure if she minded. On one hand, she was feeling an embarrassing flood of relief that he wasn’t off somewhere fucking the brains out of that gorgeous brunette. On the other hand, going out with him might mean she just had to watch him hook up with someone else, from a much closer vantage point. Violet’s words about Chase Navarro were still hanging in the air.

All the drivers sleep around.

Will heard them and turned. When he spotted her, he froze, his eyes widening slightly. If she’d felt uneasy up in her room, now she felt downright uncomfortable. Her hair was a mess. She usually wore this tank when she was doing laundry—she was pretty sure her bra showed through it. Hurriedly she shrugged into her jacket.

“It’s fine,” she said.

Will was still staring at her as they approached him.

“What?” She tugged her jacket closed but she still felt wildly exposed.

“Your hair,” he blurted.

“It’s a mess.”

“I like it. A lot.”

She reached up to touch it self-consciously and then cursed herself. Who cared if Will liked her hair? Why was that supposed to matter?

His eyes dipped down her body briefly. “You look different. Good. Really good.”

She rolled her eyes to cover her discomposure, and tucked her hair firmly behind her ears, where it refused to stay. “Are we going?”

“Absolutely,” Violet said, heading toward the revolving doors and out into the night. “And Will’s buying.”

The bar was a rundown dive near the river, down an alley and a narrow flight of stairs. Mira could hear the band when they were still twenty feet from the door. People were scattered across the alley, smoking and laughing, a sea of faded band T-shirts, piercings, and tattoos. Of course Violet found this place halfway around the world. At least nobody would recognize Will. They didn’t seem like they’d be into motor sports.

Will paid their cover charge and shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar, Violet and her slipping along in his wake. When he found a clear spot, he angled himself to allow them to get in next to him. Somehow Mira ended up wedged up against him, her shoulder pressed to his chest. Being this close to him felt shockingly intimate, with the warmth of his body pressed all along her left side, his face just inches away from hers.

The bartender was run off his feet, but somehow Violet commanded his attention with a single word. She ordered a shot of tequila, and Will asked for a beer.

“Club soda,” she said when it was her turn.

Violet turned to her. “Really, Mira?”

“ Fine . Vodka cranberry.” Maybe a drink might help her stop feeling so self-conscious.

“Better,” Violet said, beaming at her. “I mean, just look at this place. It’s crawling with hot men. We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

“I think I’ll just listen to the band for now.”

Violet shrugged, her attention already snagged by a lanky blond guy at the end of the bar. “Suit yourself. What about you, Will? Any girls catch your oh-so-experienced eye?”

Mira cast a quick glance at him and then looked back to her drink. Oh, god, was she going to have to listen to him decide whom he was going to go after and then watch as he did it? She took a long swig of her drink through the straw. This was a terrible idea.

He cleared his throat. “I’m just going to, um … listen to the band, too. For now.”

Mira shot a glance at him, but he was looking down at his drink.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to grow roots here. I’m off to suck the lips off that hot Aussie at the end of the bar.”

With that, Violet downed her shot, turned away, and headed toward her quarry.

“Seriously?” Mira muttered. But within seconds of approaching him, the blond guy was smiling down at her, buying her another shot. Well, then. Violet was a woman who got what she wanted. Guess she and Will were on their own.

He leaned in to speak close to her ear. His words came on a warm wash of air across her neck. “I believe I owe you a thank-you.”

When she turned to look at him, his face was just inches away. “You said your win was for me. So we’re even, right?”

“Not even close. This is my first Formula One podium, and you made it happen. So thanks.” He lifted his beer toward her and she clinked her glass against it.

“You’re welcome.” She was surprised he could hear her breathless reply.

He held eye contact a little too long before his gaze flickered down to her mouth. She rapidly looked back at the band, taking another deep swig of her drink.

“They’re pretty good,” she said, as if the band in the Australian dive were putting on the most fascinating live performance she’d ever witnessed.

“They are.”

She took a few more sips of her drink. It was nearly gone already. The bartender must have used a lot of ice.

“Do you want another?” he asked, again, close enough to her ear that she felt his words as much as she heard them.

“Oh. Sure, I guess.” It was hot in the bar, and the drink was cold. By the time she polished off her first, she could feel the vodka starting to do its job, chasing the tension out of her neck and spine. Shrugging out of her jacket, she threw it over the stool behind her. Will handed her another drink and she sipped it gratefully. He was still so close, his T-shirt brushing her bare arm, his hip bumping hers as he moved. Her whole body tingled with awareness of his. She kept her eyes on the band, even though she was barely processing what she was hearing.

The dance floor was between the bar and the stage, and it was packed with people bathed in blue light. Everybody looked like they were having so much fun. She remembered that feeling, fueled by music and dancing, like anything was possible, like anything could happen. Like anything would happen, if she just wanted it enough.

Violet was right. She was allowed to have a little fun, especially tonight. She’d kicked ass at work—saved the day, really. That deserved a little bit of celebrating, didn’t it?

Before she knew it, she was moving along with the pulsating drumbeat. How long had it been since she’d danced? She abandoned her empty glass on the bar and moved to the dance floor so she could fully sink into it, the darkness, the heat, the music. Maybe it was the vodka but who cared? She felt flush with the day’s triumph and the feeling of endless possibility. It’d been so long since she felt that. It felt great . Violet was right. She was young and tonight, she wanted to enjoy it.