Chapter 5

Despite our fond moment, I didn’t trust Nix. I kept tabs on his calendar, even watching his private plane travel across Europe on an app I downloaded for the occasion.

The correspondence between Nix’s manager and me was getting increasingly abrupt as I micromanaged his movements. It was about time someone did. His manager undoubtedly was paid a fortune to hardly exist. So my job was even more complicated than I’d first expected.

In the hotel, I waited for him at breakfast. All the riders were there, ready for the coach that would take us to the shoot.

I stabbed my hash brown angrily, watching every person who entered the food hall.

He might have got his breakfast delivered to his room.

He might be waiting outside for the coach.

He might have got a taxi by himself to get there early.

All lies to comfort myself, and I knew it with each passing and progressively desperate thought.

Then, a ray of sunshine distracted me from my cloudy mind.

A man, no older than twenty-three, with golden blonde hair spiked up as if he had just risen out of bed, was grinning down at me .

“Luca,” he said, offering me his hand to shake. I struggled to put my cup of tea down quickly. “Nice to finally meet you, Olivia.”

I swallowed my mouthful and corrected him. “Livie.”

“LivieandLuca,” he said, voice whimsical as he sat beside me. “We sound like we’ll be a good duo.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, sitting up straight. He was a younger version ofAlv, and it took me a second to look past the similarity. The blonde hair, tanned skin, dimples. Just a touch more bad boy.

LucaMendes had been racing since he could push a peddle. The only reason he’d not been dominatingStormSprintfor far longer was that he was a boxing champion. He had a cut across his eyebrow, and a nose that looked like he’d had more than just one breakage, but it didn’t take away from his good looks. It made him more rugged.

No one knew why he’d given up boxing in the last couple of years, butCiclatiwere grateful to have him.

“Though I heard you may have more on your plate than you first expected taking this job,” he commented. His eyes were the brightest, light blue. Icy yet warm. “You thought you’d only have to deal withArmas’ shit. Now you’ve got to deal with mine, too.”

“I would have had to deal withAlv’sas well.”

He didn’t stall at the mention of his cousin in critical condition. His smile only became fond. “He would never give you any trouble. The man is a saint.”

His accent was less strong thanAlv’s. More American than I expected, though I knew he’d gone to a private school in the US at twelve.

“You have a bloody good reputation yourself,” I reminded him. “Boxer and racer extraordinaire.”

He sighed, drumming his fingers along the back of the chair next to me. “Not so much the boxinganymore.” He looked up with a strained smile. “So, we’re leaving in twenty? Do you want to ride in the coach together?”

“Sure,” I said and pursed my lips to fight the smile. It was about time I made some more friends.

His grin matched mine. “Look forward to it,Livie.”

And he got up, putting me back in the present.

I surveyed the court—still no Nix.

And noCris, either. Abbe’s head was bowed into his beans, nearly half asleep.

There would be no help for me.

Fuck sake.

Holding back a groan, I got up, threw my bag over my shoulder and stormed to his room.

The organisers always put the teams together on these occasions, so Nix’s room was opposite mine. I hammered on the door. This was his manager’s job, not mine.

“ Pas aujourd’hui, ” he called. Not today.

“Right now!” I shouted and slammed on the door with my palms. “Right now, Ass-mas!”

I continued to knock, so when the door flew open, I hammered my fists onto his chest. His bare chest. His furious face filled my vision. “Don’t call me that again.”

“What, because it suits you so perfectly?” I snapped, pushing past him into the room. It stank of alcohol and smoke, and if I could be anything other than angry, I would be disgusted.

“Because it’s rude,” he bit back and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He looked tired, lifting his hand to massage his eyebrows. “You can call meThree-Time-StormSprint-Championor Ar mas.”

My anger saw past his half-naked state for a second longer. “Not coming to an event I’ve planned for your team is rude! The coach leaves in five minutes!”

He rolled his head against the wall to stare at me.

And that was when I saw him properly.

Shirtless, toned, tanned.

Wearing the grey joggers from the picture I’d seen on his phone last week. The picture where I had seen far too much of him.

This bastard really wasn’t planning on coming at all! He’d probably just got out of bed to stop me from banging on his door.

My blood ran hot.

He didn’t move, only muttered in French, his voice so low, I couldn’t make out his words.

But I caught him murmur, “ Livielividé .”

If he wanted livid, he would get livid. I stomped to the en suite, the only reprieve from the stench, and grabbed a bright white towel before pushing it into his chest.

He caught it, jaw tight.

“Shower. You stink.”

“Make me,” he purred.

So I put on the shower, checking the temperature with the sensitive skin of my elbow as if preparing a bath for a baby. Because that’s what he was. Fucking childish.

I flicked the water that trickled down my arm onto his face before gently pressing him towards it, hand on his chest. “Get in.”

He looked down at my hand before taking it. “Are you going to leave or are you staying to see me naked?”

I paused, mouth hanging open. He was so close, unshaven and rugged and the rest of my arm pressed against his very smooth and solid chest.

“You’re welcome to join.”

“I’m leaving,” I snapped, and with the leverage of his hold, pushed him towards the gushing water again. He didn’t let go. I looked him over, the grimace almost painful on my face. “Why would I want to stay with you a second longer than I have to?”

He dropped my hand.

“I have to make a call to say we’re going to be late.”

“We’re not going to be that late,” he muttered, turning to the shower, thumbs in the waistband of his joggers.

“Yes, we will! You are making us late!”

I ran out of his en suite, slamming the door behind me.

No one had ever infuriated me so much.

Even his room was frustrating.

Two empty gin bottles were on the windowsill, and cans of tonic were everywhere. On the sofa was a duvet as well. Who had he had in here?

Cigarette butts were not just in the ashtray but across the TV stand.

I told myself I was tidying up just in case housekeeping took any pictures or found anything incriminating. But, really, I was doing just that. Trying to find anything incriminating.

White powder.

Tiny baggies.

Rolled up notes.

So much as syringes.

AsNazminandSalihahad said, I was his live-in nanny. I mumbled under my breath about the child while picking up his toys.

Muttering so enthusiastically, I almost missed the noise from behind the door as I threw rubbish in his bin.

A deep grunt.

And my imagination spiralled.

I knew what that grunt meant.

He was in the shower — the shower he’d invited me to join him in — fisting his cock.

To the thought of me.

I could have heard that noise in my ear, felt his breath on me, laboured and uncontrolled. I could have been the cause of it.

The shower turned off and it took longer than it should for me to realise. I sprung into action, grabbing the bag I’d left on the sofa. The en suite door opened, and I turned with a swallow, standing straight.

Nix had the towel I had thrown at him hanging low around his hips and was rubbing another in his wet hair, a lousy attempt at drying it.

He froze on seeing me, his eyes full of humour as he looked me up and down. A tight breath escaped me.

“You staying for the whole show?” he asked, holding his towel. “You could do more than listen if you like.”

Walking to the door, I said, “I’ll be in my room. It’s just across from yours.”

The humour didn’t leave him. Instead, it was accompanied by a knowing smile.

He stepped closer to me. “If you’re trying to tell me where you’re staying—”

“I—I’m not,” I stuttered .

And pictured my brother sighing.

I crossed my arms. “You can do this all you like,” I said, gaining myself again and gesturing to his stupid physique. “Mindlessly flirt because you think it will make me flustered and lenient on you. You think I will weaken just because some flashy, handsome man is paying me attention. Well, I’ve been with plenty of flashy, handsome men, and it has never stopped me from doing my job. You can give it up.”

He stepped forward again. “Who?”

“If it’s something to pass the time, then that’s cute, I guess,” I continued as his eyes narrowed at the accusation. “But if you want anything more from me… that sucks for you.”

“Sucks for me?” he asked, French accent stronger than usual.

Yes. That was how I knew I had cracked him.

“Knock on my door when you’re ready,” I said, hand already on the doorknob. “That’s the only time you’ll knock on my door. Not for a booty call.”

I walked out.