Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Lex

T he cafeteria at Crown Velocity isn’t what you’d expect from a racing team’s headquarters. It’s modern, sleek—like everything else here—but with an open, relaxed vibe. It’s not some five-star restaurant, but it’s damn good. The place buzzes with staff, mechanics and engineers, all grabbing their lunch before heading back to their departments. The smell of roasted chicken and something spiced wafts through the air, making my stomach growl.

Posey and I grab trays and move down the line. She picks out a sandwich, a simple ham and cheese on brown bread, while I grab a bowl of spicy Thai noodles with grilled chicken.

She watches me with a raised eyebrow as I load up, and I snicker. “What? I’ve got to keep up the calories,” I say, shrugging. “Race car drivers eat more than you’d think.”

I get an awkward smile and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that we barely know each other. We’ve been thrown together by Harley and the team for this “article,” but I haven’t really had the chance to figure out who Posey is. I gesture to an empty table by the window, and we sit down.

“So,” I start, stirring my noodles, “tell me more about this romance gig. How did you get into that line of work?”

Posey shifts in her seat, looking a little unsure, then straightens her posture like she’s giving herself a pep talk. “Um… I guess I started as a reader. I’ve always loved reading romance novels,” she says, unwrapping her sandwich and I don’t miss her cheeks turning red, as if that admission is embarrassing.

“Don’t they label those types of books bodice rippers ?” I ask with a smirk.

Her cheeks flush a deeper red, but her eyes narrow on me. “Don’t call them that. That’s an antiquated term.”

“Mommy porn?” I say with a chuckle.

She’s poised to take a bite of her sandwich, but she sets it down. “Ewww… no. That’s not what romance novels are about.”

“But there are porn scenes in them, right?”

“No! Where are you getting this?” she demands.

I lift a shoulder, holding up a forkful of noodles. “I did some research on romance novels today. Looked at your website… which is very nice, by the way.”

“Well, I’m so sick of people saying stuff like that, or referring to it as nothing but smut. There are some wonderful stories out there full of complex and rich plots, amazing character arcs and emotional experiences.”

“And sex,” I add before taking another bite of my lunch.

She rolls her eyes, cheeks still red, but waves her sandwich at me threateningly. “Yes, sex, but what are you? Like, twelve or something? Sex is a natural and essential part of a romantic, loving relationship. I portray it in a positive way—”

Holding up my hand, I swallow my bite. “Relax, Posey. I didn’t mean to offend you. I think what you do is cool. So you went from reading to writing?”

She eyes me warily, as if she doesn’t trust my earnest interest, but there’s no doubt… I do find her fascinating. I keep my smile in place, swirl some more noodles, and I notice her shoulders relax a little. “I never thought I could actually write one but my dad kept encouraging me to give it a try. I was working in retail—a floral shop, actually—and I decided to give it a go.”

I lean back in my chair, curious now. “A florist? I can see you doing that.”

“My mom was a floral designer. I guess I inherited her talent.”

“You said was ,” I point out gently, coming to an obvious conclusion.

Posey nods but I don’t hear a lot of emotion in her response. “She died when I was three years old. I don’t really remember her but that’s what she did for a living and well, I guess that was my way of maintaining some connection to her. She’s the one who nicknamed me Posey.”

“A bunch of flowers,” I quote, remembering when she said that before. “Did your father remarry?”

A sadness creeps into her eyes. “No. He never remarried. Raised me on his own. Just the two of us.”

There’s too much sorrow in her tone. “And he’s dead too?”

She blinks in surprise, perhaps at my blunt question, but nods. “Yeah… three months ago from cancer.”

Ouch. I didn’t figure it would be that recent. “I’m sorry. Sounds like you two were close.”

“The closest,” she whispers, a fond smile playing at her… very full lips. “He was always supportive of my writing, even when I thought I’d never make it. He had these… weird sayings, you know? Like, he’d try to pass off wisdom, but they never really made sense.”

I grin at her. “Yeah? Give me an example.”

Posey’s eyes shine with memories. “Let’s see… he’d often say, ‘You can’t climb a tree with a spoon, but you’ve got to give it a good stir.’”

A bark of laughter erupts. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Posey’s laughing too. “It’s basically advice about perseverance and trying new angles if something doesn’t work. And I only know that because he had to explain it to me. He always had to explain it but once he did, it made sense.”

“Brilliant.” I chuckle with a shake of my head. “And yeah… it does make sense now that you say it. Sounds to me like he would have totally supported this little charade you have going on.”

That makes Posey laugh and fuck… it’s really pretty. Sweet and lilting. “Yeah, he would have totally pushed me to do this.” Her eyes sparkle. “But to get back to your original question about how I became an author, as a voracious reader, I was curious to see if I could translate that into writing my own stories. I definitely have a deep creative side, so I worked by day and wrote at night, after work,” she explains. “I self-published my first story, and it took a while, but after a few books, I started building a fan base and the business just grew from there. I was able to quit my floral designing job after about a year as an author.”

I’m nosey and not afraid to ask impertinent questions. “I’m guessing you make more as an author than you did creating pretty flower arrangements, but can you make a good living that way?”

For the first time, I see Posey’s confidence shine through. I’d dare say she almost looks smug. “I made just over a hundred thousand dollars last year from my books and I’m on track to surpass that this year.”

I do some quick math and realize that’s over seventy-five thousand pounds, which is nothing to sneeze at. I nearly choke on my noodles. “You’re joking.”

She blushes but shakes her head. “No joke. It’s taken three years of hard work, but… yeah, it’s a good living.”

Now I’m supremely impressed. I had no idea there was that kind of money in writing. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

Posey blushes again, but this time it’s a pretty pink that serves to highlight her smooth, porcelain skin. She laughs lightly, and I notice it’s the first time she seems comfortable around me. “It’s not easy, but I love it. Writing gives me the freedom to create worlds and relationships where anything is possible.” Her eyes go soft and dreamy. “Romance is about love—about people overcoming obstacles to be together. The point is the connection between two people. There’s always a happy ending. That’s kind of the rule.” She pauses, ducks her head. “And now I’m blabbing.”

Admittedly, she’s kind of cute when she blabs. I can’t help but poke a little. “Happy endings, eh? You really believe in that stuff?”

Posey looks down at her sandwich, shrugging. “I don’t know. I write it, but… I’m not sure if it exists in real life.”

I pause, considering that. I never gave much thought to romance, but I find it fascinating that a romance author might not actually believe in it. “You’ve never experienced it yourself?”

“No,” she admits with a wry smile. “Not really.”

“Same here,” I say, rapping my knuckles against my chest. “I suppose it takes commitment that I just don’t have time for.”

“I can see how busy you are and you travel so much. I think it would be very hard to have a relationship.”

“I suppose if you want it bad enough, you make it work. There are a few blokes in FI who are married.” I pause a moment to shove another bite of noodles in my mouth and she takes a dainty bite of her sandwich. I swallow and sip from my water. “Where are you from? I haven’t traveled extensively in the States but you definitely have a pronounced accent.”

“North Carolina,” she says with a laugh. “A little town you’ve probably never heard of, and yes, we all talk like this.”

I find it charming. “You have any other family back there?”

“Sadly, no. An uncle and two cousins in Virginia, but that’s it.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “All right, enough about you since I’m the one you’re writing about. What do you want to know about me?”

I get an eye roll and she doesn’t answer right away, feigning indifference. She’s here to learn and me opening up like that will be too good of an opportunity for her to pass up.

Finally, she asks, “What about your family?”

“Yeah, my family’s pretty tight-knit. Mum used to be a fashion designer—proper elegant and all that—but now she runs a few charities. Always keeping busy, you know? Dad’s a corporate lawyer. Serious bloke, a real workaholic. He’s proud of what I do, but he’s not too keen on the lifestyle that comes with it. Thinks I should focus more on the racing, less on the partying.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Then there’s my sister, Claire. She’s the smart one—human rights lawyer living in Geneva. Always been the golden child, really. She’s brilliant but still keeps tabs on me. Tries to keep me out of trouble from halfway across Europe.” I wink at Posey and she blushes again. “Doesn’t always work, though.”

“You get in a lot of trouble?” she asks.

“Oh, come on now… surely you researched me.”

Another blush and I think it might become a favorite pastime of mine… if I can get Posey to blush.

“You’re admittedly one of the bad boys of FI racing. Along with your teammate, Ronan.”

“Yeah,” I say wistfully. “We’ve had some good times getting in trouble.”

I notice Posey detaches a little, her expression flattening at the mention of Ronan. “You don’t like him,” I observe.

“I didn’t say that,” she exclaims with indignation.

“Didn’t have to,” I reply, pointing my fork at her and waving it in a circle. “It’s all over your face.”

She doesn’t admit or deny anything but makes an observation of her own. “I noticed that you seem close with Ronan and Carlos, but you compete against them. How does that work? Being friends with people you race against?”

That’s a bloody good question and one that would be pertinent to her writing about FI racing. It’s something many people wonder about.

“Easy. We’re enemies on the track, but off it, we’re mates. It’s weird, yeah, but it’s the way things are. We all know what we’re here for—to win—but that doesn’t stop us from grabbing a drink after a race.”

“Carlos seems like a really nice guy,” she muses. The distinct lack of inclusion of Ronan says it all.

I laugh, amused. “Yeah, well, admittedly Ronan’s a prick most of the time. But he’s wicked talented on the track. Carlos, though… he’s been one of my best mates since we were kids. We started karting together. He’s practically family.”

Before I can say more, I notice Spencer Montgomery approaching our table, looking every bit the racing mogul that he is. Spencer is tall and well-built, his dark hair streaked silver at the temples. He’s wearing jeans, of all things, but paired with a crisp Crown Velocity button-down shirt that somehow makes the casual look refined.

“Afternoon,” Spencer greets, his voice smooth and cultured as he claps me on the shoulder before turning his gaze to my lunch companion. “You must be Posey Evans. Welcome to the team.”

Spencer sticks his hand out and they shake.

“Thank you,” she says, clearly a bit awestruck. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

I can’t help but grin at her because the opportunity that Spencer thinks he’s given her is not the same opportunity she’s taking. I don’t know why it amuses me so much that she’s pulling a ballsy fast one, but it does. I know I should be protective of my team, but I’ve learned just enough about Posey to know she’s harmless. There’s nothing she’s doing here that’s going to hurt Crown Velocity and honestly, the last few days have been some of the most interesting I’ve had in a long time.

Spencer side-eyes me and then inclines his head her way. “I trust Lex is behaving himself?”

I chuckle and answer for her. “Trying to keep me on a short lead, is that it?”

Spencer chuckles, but there’s a sharpness behind his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about your little scrap with Lord Edward. You know how much trouble that caused. But… the bloke’s a right arsehole, so I’m sure he provoked it. Still, no more of that, understood?”

That shocks me he’d say that about his own cousin, but I don’t underestimate his desire for me to improve my behavior when out in public.

“Understood,” I reply earnestly, then look to Posey. “Besides, this lady right here is keeping me on the straight and narrow.”

Spencer looks intrigued, studying me a moment before turning to Posey. “We’re glad to have you here. I’m sure you’ll get a good story out of this lot.”

Again, she blushes and that’s the coloration of guilt, which makes her even more adorable. They shake hands again and then Spencer is off to do the million things swirling on his plate to make this team one of the best on the circuit.

Posey watches him go, looking slightly overwhelmed. “He’s… formidable. And slightly intimidating.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Spencer’s not just a figurehead. He’s the one who makes sure this team runs smoothly. But don’t let his charm fool you. He’s not above giving someone the boot if they step out of line.”

“Seems like you’ve been close to that a few times,” she teases. “Because yeah… I did my research on you.”

I grin. “Maybe once or twice.”

Posey glances at her watch, then back at me. “I’ve got to run. I’m going to check out an Airbnb nearby. I hate that commute here from London, what with you crazy Brits driving on the wrong side of the road.”

I roll my eyes at her but secretly, I’m enjoying her fluffy mockery. I love how she tries to have bite but can’t quite achieve it because it’s not in her nature. “Yeah… you’ll want to be closer to Woking as things are heating up these last few weeks before the first race.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I nod, loading my fork up again. “I’ll be testing the adjustments the engineers made. Be ready.”

Posey gives me a small smile as she stands up, tray in hand. “Well then, as they say, cheers.”

“Cheers,” I reply with a grin.

As she walks away, I rake my eyes over her critically. She dresses like she doesn’t want to be noticed. Regular, comfortable clothes—jeans, weather-appropriate jumpers, sneakers. But under that, I see curves that would look amazing in skintight clothing but somehow, I don’t see Posey as being comfortable with that.

What’s more, I like the mystery of what’s underneath. It’s… refreshing being around a woman who doesn’t feel the need to catch my eye with cleavage.

Not that I’m opposed to a beautiful woman flaunting what she has, but admittedly, it can get a little stale. I think about what Posey said at the club, that it’s the same old women, doing the same old thing to catch my attention.

And Posey isn’t even trying to catch my attention, yet she has done exactly that. I’m just not sure in what way. Intriguing in ways I hadn’t expected, it’s more than just her determination to infiltrate Crown Velocity as a fake journalist. It’s the fact that she’s made a successful career out of spinning stories from her imagination and her admission she might not even believe in them.

I mean… hell, I don’t believe in happily ever after either, but I had an urge a bit ago to prove her wrong. Or to at least argue with her that she’s wrong. And yet I don’t know anything about the ways of love and romance. I’m a twenty-four-year-old multimillionaire who drives fast cars and faster women.

I’m still mulling over our conversation, my attention on Posey as she takes her tray to the rubbish bin, when Ronan sits down in her vacant chair. I blink and focus in on him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s watching Posey over his shoulder as she heads toward the exit. “How’s it going with the dork shadowing you?” he asks, his tone dripping with scorn as he turns to me.

I frown, irritation bubbling up. “Don’t call her that. She’s nice.”

Ronan raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. He glances at Posey, who’s almost out of the cafeteria now, her green puffy coat a hiding the woman beneath. “Nice, huh? I guess that’s the best thing you can say about her.”

I follow his gaze, watching her leave. Nice doesn’t do her justice. Sure, she’s no supermodel, but there’s something undeniably pretty about her. She’s got this natural thing going on—no frills, no airs. Her dark brown hair is thick and wavy, just past her shoulders. The freckles across her nose give her an approachable, girl-next-door vibe. The fact that she’s not fawning over me like most women do is so fucking intriguing. I respect the hell out of her determination to pull off this whole gig just to get a feel for the sport, and the way she’s created a lucrative career writing books about love and obstacles—that’s commendable.

But I don’t say any of that to Ronan. He wouldn’t get it, and frankly, I don’t feel like justifying myself. I shrug and change the subject. “What’re you up to tonight?”

Ronan’s eyes flick back to me, his cocky grin returning. “Big party in London. Loads of people going. You in?”

For the first time, I hesitate. Normally, I’d be all in for a night out, but something about the way Spencer talked to me earlier gnaws at the back of my mind. I can’t afford to screw up again. “I dunno. That sounds like trouble waiting for me and I have to keep my behavior under control.”

Ronan waves a hand, brushing off my concern. “Relax, mate. It’ll be fine. You’re not going to get into a fight with some bloody earl again. Just come out, have a few drinks, unwind. You need to have fun while you can. Once the season starts, it’s going to be all work and no play.” Ronan considers that, then laughs. “Oh, who am I kidding… we always have time to play.”

I ponder it for a moment, still on the fence, then I say, “I’ll invite Posey.”

Ronan’s smile falters, his eyes narrowing as he leans forward, his tone dropping to something more serious—almost disgusted. “Why would you do that?”

I shrug, playing it off like it’s no big deal. “She’ll keep me out of trouble.”

Ronan’s eyes harden, his jaw tightening. “Do you… like her or something?”

I blink, taken aback by the question. “What? No, of course not. She’s just a reporter, that’s all. I have to be nice to her so she writes a good article.”

Ronan studies me for a moment longer, then leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “Good. But don’t encourage her. The last thing you need is someone like her falling for you. You’re way out of her league and then you’ll be stuck trying to give her the brush-off.”

His words hang in the air, and I feel a flash of annoyance. Yeah, Ronan’s kind of a douche. Sure, Posey’s not the type to turn heads in the VIP clubs we usually go to, but there’s more to her than that. I don’t need to defend her to him, though, so I keep my opinions to myself.

“Whatever, man,” I say, standing up and grabbing my tray. “I’ll see you tonight.”

As I walk away, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe Ronan doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.

Or maybe I don’t know myself as well as I think I do.