Chapter 12

Nixon and I ignored each other.

For two days.

I’d toldCrisabout his ridiculous plan to see his friend andCrishad let out a frustrated sigh before telling me he would handle it.

An hour later, I received an email.

[email protected]:

Dear Media Manager,

I am now available on Sunday for any post-race interviews.

Nixon Armas

And I wished I could be pleased that I had won. But the way he had seemed certain he was going to attend worried me more than anything. Was it because six weeks into the season, he was desperate for a fix?

I had to keep a closer eye on him.

But calling me media manager? That was a new level of petty.

At qualifying,Lucawas his usual charming self, spinning me around when he was the fourth fastest to lap and asking if he could mention it on his Instagram. I told him with a smile like that, he could do anything.

Just as Nix walked in.

He glared atLuca, jaw tight.

ButLucahad natural charisma. He would easily show how chuffed and proud of himself he was.

Nix was the fastest. Pole position.

Like he’d said, he was going to win. I didn’t doubt it.

But I’d had to deal with a media frenzy all morning. One I didn’t want to bring up before he went for qualifying in case it threw him off.

“Nixon,” I said and he slowly lifted his head to glare at me.

“Yes?”

“I need to speak to you.”

“Speak to me here,” he grumbled, unzipping his leathers before shoving his belongings in his bag.

I glanced atCris, who was talking to Abbe and the mechanics. It wouldn’t be wise for them to overhear.

“You liked a tweet ofVelazco’s,” I muttered, standing closer to him. “And Twitter has gone crazy. I’ve kept it under wraps but you need to unlike it and block him. Immediately.”

His shoulders hunched. “No.”

“Armas,” I warned. “You have to unlike it and block him. He’s a drug dealer who used the sport you love to send drugs across the world. He made a mockery of your only love.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to block him.”

“Sorry, did you not hear me?” I snapped, my voice raising. One of the mechanics glanced over. “You’re such a prick. You are a role model, you are the face ofStormSprint. The face. Kids look up to you, they want to be you. Grown adults want to be you! You’re making a children’s charity for racing! And yet you can’t give up this bizarre friendship with a literal drug dealer? You don’t deserve your fans. Unlike the fucking tweet. Block him before senior management finds out. ”

“What do you think will actually happen if I don’t?” he hissed, but his eyes shifted toCris.

“Kids, teens, the CEO ofStormSprintwill all see this as you approving his crimes. That you don’t care what he did if you’re still finding him funny .”

“Kids don’t have Twitter,” he argued.

“They do!”

“If I do as you ask, what do I get in return?”

The bribery was getting old.

“I’ll tell you what you won’t get,” I snapped quietly. “Your fans’ adoration, nor mine. Not even my respect.”

His jaw clenched as he looked down upon me.

“Unlike the post, Nix,” I demanded, voice strong and unyielding. But it was a beg. Both of us knew it.

He looked me over. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

“My looks have nothing to do with my job,” I retorted. “Which I’m bloody good at, by the way.”

He smirked and slid his phone into his bag as if I wouldn’t notice his tactic. “I know you are,” he said, then leaned forward to whisper, “You’re good at lots of things, Livid.”

“Block now. Let me see.”

He huffed and got out his phone. I watched him unlike the tweet and when he hesitated to block, I snatched it, doing it myself. He sighed beside me.

“When you win tomorrow, Nix,” I called over to him as he started to leave the pit box, “make sure you say something about Clara. Ideally, something subtle.”

“ Putain, tu es sérieuse? ” he snarled. Fuck, are you serious?

Though I was pretty sure I knew what he said, it was confirmed byCriswhipping around to give Nix a warning stare. I acted oblivious.

“I’ll take that as a yes, no problem,” I retorted.

He muttered in French all the way out of the room.

“He’ll stop sulking eventually,”Crissaid and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t care if he doesn’t stop sulking. He can do what he wants,” I said and then paused, thinking about it. “Actually, no, he can’t. That’s the problem.”

Crischuckled to himself. “At least you can laugh at him.”

But I didn’t laugh about him that night.Salihaand I went for a facial before getting a drink at the bar. The riders never drank at the weekends, saving themselves for the Sunday and Monday nights before we flew to our next destination. Frank andLucajoined us, as well as some others, as we drank.

Salihanever had any issue spending a ridiculous amount of money on alcohol. Or clothes. Or food. Or skin care, for that matter.

Whereas, I was limiting myself to one. The facial we’d had ate into more of my money than I would like to admit.

“I can’t afford to drink until I’m paid,” I said. Payday was Wednesday. Thank god. I’d never had to count the days before, but for some reason, I was counting my pennies far more.

“How long do you have left of the contract on your flat?”Salihaasked.

“Two more months.”

Lucasat at my side, sliding the bottle of water I’d requested in front of me. “You’ll have loads more money when you don’t have to pay for thatanymore.”

“I…Do none of you rent places during the season?”

Salihashook her head. “I live with family during the holidays and often travel in between.”

“I… I’m not on a permanent contract,” I admitted. “I can’t risk my home until I am. ”

Saliha’smouth dropped open. “Shut up! They haven’t offered you a permanent contract? They should have the second you got Ass-mas to smile!”

“Ass-mas?”Lucaasked, trying to stifle a laugh.

Frank didn’t try and stifle it. He let it all out. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good.”

“Don’t go calling him that,” I warned and half-heartedly nudgedSalihain the ribs. “That was our secret.”

Frank leaned forward. “What other secrets do the two of you have?”

I cracked open the bottle. There was safety in the noise of the seal breaking.

Salihaonly raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you love to know? Buy us a couple more rounds and maybe we’ll consider telling you.”

And they did. Only for us to reveal nothing but juvenile virginity stories and our most awful dates. Though revealing, I steered any conversation about the job in the other direction.

Even at the pit box before the race, I was avoiding any topic to do with Nixon. Especially avoiding him.

I found myself dancing aroundCris, wanting to ask about my contract but knowing it wasn’t the time. I kept my head down, tapping mindlessly on the tablet.

When the riders left for the grid, I breathed a sigh of relief. For at least half an hour, I would not have to be cursed with his presence.

Standing behindCris’ chair, I watched the commentary as the riders readied themselves. The grid girls held umbrellas to protect them from the sun’s rays before they put on their helmets.

An aerial shot showed them all mounted on their bikes, sipping last-minute energy drinks. And Nix looked serious in pole position, place number one, ready to win like he had for the last seven years.

The camera panned out toLuca, who had missed this race last year due to an injury but had watched his friends inSprint3earlier with absolute glee.

But then, as the camera turned, I saw something that had me clutchingCris’ chair in front of me.

Nix had his arm around the umbrella holder next to him and reached up to kiss her.

At this angle, it was clear she returned the kiss, bending down.

It was not clear who she was.

But I knew.

Cris knew.

That was not Clara. She was discussing her brand deal.

“No!” I shouted. “Oh my fucking god, what is his problem !”

It was to spite me. A thousand per cent.

He couldn’t go to a party and instead decided to ruin what we had worked on for the last month.

His reputation would be back to square one. No, worse.

Cristurned to give me a sad smile. “Let’s see what happens.”

And precisely nothing happened. It had been a last-minute change from Clara toArabellastanding in, so maybe no one had caught on. They had the same long, dark hair.

That didn’t mean cameras wouldn’t have caught it and as much as everyone on the planet could tell the difference between the two girls, maybe the press wouldn’t notice.

For the whole of the race, I refreshed all social media. I checked the hashtags:StormSprint, Clara’s name,Arabella’ sname, his name.

Nothing.

You’d think it would make me happy. It just made my toes tap against my slides, and the sinking feeling lower in my stomach.

I didn’t care when he won or when he was covered in champagne. I didn’t give a shit when he subtly mentioned Clara during his interview because, if anything, that could damage us more.

All I could hear was ringing in my ears. All I could see was red.

Until he walked back into the pit box.