Chapter 6

Nixon knocked on my door twenty minutes later, fully dressed. Once I was back in the confines of my hotel room, I realised he had probably been smirking at my blushing face.

The pink would not leave my cheeks.

At the reception desk, I waited for the receptionist to order a taxi. Nixon best realise he was paying. I’d organised agoddamncoach.

“I’ll drive us,” he argued as I spoke to the man at the desk.

He looked perkier than before, but I’d seen the evidence of his bender.

“You are hungover as hell,” I scolded. “The last thing we need is you getting aDUI. No way.”

He chucked me his keys. “Then you drive.”

“You just happen to have a car here?” I asked as the receptionist went to call a taxi.

He shrugged. “Martín knows I need to have a car and bike rented in whatever city we stay. If we’re close enough to home, I get one of my cars driven over.”

“That’s extreme,” I commented, tapping my fingers against the reception desk. We were going to be so late.

“ I’m extreme,” he corrected, sounding nothing but chuffed. “Come on, you have a license, right?”

I nodded once. “But—”

“Surely we need to get to the shoot as quickly as possible,” he tormented. “A taxi might take a while.”

“I’ve never driven on the other side of the road.”

“The other…? Oh.” He laughed deeply. “You mean the correct side of the road. You English. My mother still hates driving anywhere other than England.” He shook his head with a fond smile. “Well, you’ll be driving across Europe soon enough, so you’ll need to get some practice in. Who’s best to teach you besides someone who drives for their job?”

“You don’t drive. You ride,” I reminded him.

He tapped my nose affectionately. “You’re learning fast.”

“Don’t patronise me,Armas,” I snapped, shoving his hand away.

He only used the movement to look at his watch on his wrist. He tapped it twice.

“Fine, I’ll drive,” I sighed and looked at the keys before calling to tell the receptionist in defeat.

Of course, the car he rented for the week was a light green sports car—Ciclaticolours.

He put his case of leathers in the boot — it was only a two-seater — and got into the low car on the passenger side. I hesitated outside until he leaned over and opened my door.

It only needed the keys close to function. He pressed the start button and the engine erupted.

“Come on, Livid,” he said, playing with the music.

“Don’t call me that,” I protested, sitting down.

The car was lit up with all different green lights around the edges of the trim. I used to feel awkward sitting in fancy cars like this, let alone driving one .

“You called me Ass-mas,” he said and chuckled. “It was actually quite good. You’re not half as serious as you make out to be.”

“Shut up and let me concentrate.”

In fairness, he did. He only spoke to guide me at the lights and any roundabouts where I started to sweat or look both ways in a panic. His voice was gentle and soothing, not patronising as I’d expected.

His phone beeped and the large screen of the car lit up with a text.

A number saved as Jules had texted him. For the second I saw it before he switched it off, the only words I could translate were ‘fucking kill you’ and ‘you’re dead.’

“Everything okay?” I asked, shuffling in my seat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just an ex.”

Because I bet someone as infuriating as NixonArmaswould make any stable woman want to go on a murder spree.

The rest of the drive, he remained helpful, while I spent less time focusing on the road and more on what he could have done to this woman for her to send him death threats.

He didn’t even question my horrific parking when we pulled up in the studio car park.

“You’d be better on a bike,” he said as I cut the engine. “You ever been on one?”

“My brother has one,” I told him, evading the question. “My dad did, too.”

“They watch?”

“My brother does.”

“He a fan?”

“He’s not really into glorifying people,” I said, getting out of the car. He was standing on the other side as I slammed the door shut. “Something we have in common.”

“You’ll get there, Livid,” he said, grabbing his leathers from the boot. “Soon enough, you’ll love my Ass-mas.”

By the time we arrived,Lucawas in front of the camera in his new leathers standing beside his bike. The set-up was the same as the one filmed a couple of months ago: strobe lights across a square room, the walls full of bold numbers of previousStormSprintlegends, the rider in question’s number lit up and larger than the others just behind them.

After joiningStormSprintand leavingSprint3, he could change his number. He’d stuck with 68, a nod to his cousin, who was numbered 86.

Nix looked atLuca, smiling and talking to one of the producers, and grunted before going to the changing rooms.

WhenLucasaw me, his smile grew. “Livie!”

“Hello, this looks great!” I said and gestured to the scene. “TheCiclaticolours suit you.”

He lifted a palm to his chest. “Oh, you flatter me.”

“Olivia Quinn?” the producer asked, offering me a hand to shake. I took it eagerly. “Jason. It’s nice to meet you finally. It’s even nicer to have a fellow Brit, too. Thanks for all your hard work on this. Must admit, it was on our list of things to do, but thanks for having the initiative to check everyone’s schedules.”

“I mean, it’s mostly forCiclati, so it’s my job,” I said. If the show’s opening sequence was without one of my members, my role as media manager would be fleeting.

“Above your job,” Jason commented. “Thanks. And thanks for dragging in Nixon.” His brows rose and his lips pinched together in distaste.

“He just needed a little push,” I offered.

“Right,Luca, back on the bike, mate,” Jason said. “Let’s go.”

For the next twenty minutes,Lucafollowed the producer’s instructions seamlessly, smiling at the camera and laughing off any compliments the staff gave him. I took some pictures and video footage to promote him joiningCiclati, news that would be revealed later in the day.

“We ready for the team shot?” Jason asked me. “Nixon may need another push, as you called it.”

“I’ll go and check,” I said and followed the route he had taken. As a last-minute booking, we didn’t have free reign of the studio, only a small section. He would have changed in the general rooms, where the extras often did.

I opened the door, secretly hoping to get another glimpse of him. There was a partition wall that I immediately pressed myself against when I heard his desperate, hushed voice. In French.

“ No, Mum, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay ,” he was begging. “ Yes, I’m safe. No, I haven’t heard from them. Well, I’ll let you know what they ask of me… I can’t, Mum, I had no choice; we had to film something. I’ll be back next week. I’ll get the first flight out. Mum, Mum — we have protection, I swear to you.”

There was a pause.

“ Love you, Mum. ”

Fuck, maybe the ex-girlfriend was more of a threat than I’d first thought.

I took a silent step back to open the door with so much force it banged into the wall. “Armas? You in here? We’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, come on in.”

He was sitting on a bench in the middle of the room, his clothes hanging directly in front of him. His leathers were on but not zipped up the front.

I didn’t think I was into leather, whips and BDSM, but with Nix — with the smell of testosterone in the room — I couldn’t help but swallow a breath.

Which was pathetic.

“Want to zip me up?” he asked, standing and leaving his phone on the bench.

I gestured at his frame. “Surely a big, strong man such as yourself can pull up a dainty zip?”

He shrugged.

Nothing infuriated me more than shrugs.

“Nothing is happening here, Nix,” I told him. “You’ve got a job to do, as do I.”

Another shrug.

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, we’re waiting for you.”

The whole time the two men posed by the bike, I ran through the conversation I had overheard and how his voice was broken and agonised.

His mother was clearly frightened and going through something and I was forcing him to be here.

Jason bumped his shoulder into mine and muttered, “Any ideas how to make Nixon not so bloody rigid?”

The camera adoredLuca. It hated Nix, who looked just as grumpy as he had in the original shots, folding his arms.

He was handsome beyond description in that dark, dangerous way.

But that wasn’t what we needed .

“Hey,” I said softly, passing his drink as we took a short break. “You know the camera won’t bite you. You don’t need to act all big and scary right now.”

“I hate this shit,” he muttered and took a long guzzle. His throat bobbed up and down with the swallow.

“Just… just smile.”

His glare suggested his face couldn’t commit such an act. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it just hours ago.

Nixon Armas needed a change.

And there was one way I could think that might help with that.

Though my entire body screamed at me not to.

I balled my hands into fists, forcing myself closer to him.

I rose to my tip toes to whisper in his ear, “Remember what I looked like when you came out of the shower? You couldn’t stop grinning then.”

Dangerous game. I was playing a very dangerous game.

But I’d been told I may need to use some unconventional methods when it came to him.

Though this was crossing the line.

I hadn’t flirted with anyone for over six months. Since Adam sacked me and we broke up. In the same ten minutes.

He gripped my elbow, keeping me on my toes and close to him. “What, when you wanted to join me in the shower?” His voice lowered. “While I was in there thinking of you joining me?”

I’d known it, but it felt good to have it confirmed. It felt too good.

His eye contact was intense as I lowered back to the floor.

And, just like that, a smug smirk graced that beautiful face.

“Quick!” I made a theatrical moment of gesturing everyone back. “Places, everyone! He’s showing feeling! ”

He laughed and Jason got everyone into position. Nix managed to smile for longer, his gaze falling upon me and when I threw a dramatic thumbs up his way, his smile reignited, more laughing at me than with me. As long as it got results, I didn’t care.

“Okay, we’ve got it,” Jason said. “Nix, we’ll only need you when we do the big group shot in half an hour.Luca, we need someheadshots.”

Waiting for Nix to collect his things, my eye caught onLuca’snumbers discarded at the side by my chair. “Tell me if this is an awful idea, but for the group shot, could we haveAlv’snumber in the background? It would be a good way to honour him.”

Jason gave me a measured look. “We’re keeping a shot of him for the end of the intro… yeah, okay. Let’s give that a go and if it doesn’t work, we can edit it out.”

Luca beamed. “That’s a great idea, Livie.”

Nix looked down at the numbers on the floor, unlit and dull. It took a couple of times for him to hear me say his name.

All smiles were gone.

AndLucaand the production team were walking off for hisheadshots. It was just Nix and me and I didn’t dare to interrupt him, rapt, staring.

I couldn’t even begin to understand how he felt. Guilt? Shame? Grief?

My heart broke for him.

Then he shook his head, looking up and blinked when he saw me standing there.

I should have walked away.

He opened his mouth, then stopped, slamming it shut .

“I need a video of your hands,” I blurted.

His blink this time was slow and he said with a chuckle, “Sorry?”

“Subtly.”

He frowned with another breath of laughter. “What?”

I straightened and walked towards the bike. “I need a video of your hands. A picture of your hands. Last night, several reels about your hands went viral. So we play into that. Tell me about the buttons. The screen. Point.” As I instructed, he got onto the bike, staring at the handlebars and started to flick them.

“My hands?” he asked in astonishment.

He lifted his palms to stare at them in wonder. I gently turned them over. “The back of your hands.”

“The — what?”

“Women find them attractive,” I said, getting up the camera app on my phone.

His frown deepened. “My hands?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” he said, gaining himself and once I nodded to tell him he was filming, he was in his element, explaining each of the buttons, the screen, how to save fuel consumption. He moved his hands masterfully, slowly, gliding his finger against the smooth metal.

I got it.

I really bloody got why his hands were going viral.

They were large,veiny. Strong.

When he was done and I lifted the camera to look at his face, he gave a dashing smile and I had to stop the video right there and then to no longer watch him through the lens. “Is there anything you could hold with your thumb out, fingers together? Something wide?”

“Why?”

“Hand necklaces,” I muttered, looking for something to picture him holding. A large mug? He had a thermal flask… could that work?

When I looked up, there was a deep crease between his dark brows. “Hand… necklaces?” he asked, French accent strong. “What does this mean?”

I peered around us to check if anyone was about, then lifted my hand to my throat to lightly choke myself.

His expression didn’t budge.

“Like…” Fucking hell. “Come on now, Nixon. You know what I mean.”

He blinked with understanding multiple times, head inching back. I hated that he could be cute. “Oh. Hand necklaces,” he said with a laugh. “Why call it that?”

I shrugged. “It’s just the… PC term.”

“Do you know much about hand necklaces?”

I hadn’t discussed sex in a very long time. Especially not any kinks I liked.

“Not your business,Armas,” I muttered, but I could feel my face heat.

His smile became a smirk. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I was thinking of trying to use your mass consumption of petrol as a positive,” I said, watching through the video. “Donations and events for global warming. There’s an upcoming campaign I want to sign you up for. We can use your arrogance to our advantage.”

“My arrogance is advantageous,” he agreed, but I didn’t look up from my phone, cropping the length of the clip. I’d have to browse through my saved trending audio later .

“Something along the lines of as you’re the fastest, and therefore consume more petrol, you’re fighting the most against climate change.”

“I am the fastest,” he agreed.

“Sorted,” I said, saving the draft and thankful it was time for the group shot by the shouts across the studio.

“You really care about this, don’t you?” he asked, looking me over.

“Your image? Yes. It’s my job.”

“So it wasn’t just because you like the thought of wearing my hand necklace?”

“No,” I snapped but Nix walked off with that same satisfied smile.

And I wanted to hit him.

Queueing to get on the coach back to the hotel withLuca, a hand grabbed my shoulder. “You not going to drive me back, Livid?”

Lucapaused at my side, letting the others go up and get seated as he waited for me to talk to Nixon.

“You can drive yourself now, I’m sure,” I said and went to go again.

“I think I’m still too hungover,” he pressed. “And seeing as we couldn’t have our meeting here, because we took so long at the hotel…”

Oh my shitting god.

I could feelLuca’scuriosity through the curtain of my hair.

I turned to face Nix and watched his pleasant, gormless smile.

“Fine.”

“See you on the other side,Livie,”Lucasaid with a hesitant glance Nix’s way.

The moment the coach doors closed, Nix was walking back to his car in the car park. “Thought you didn’t fuck your clients?”

“I don’t,” I snapped as he unlocked his car.

I pretended to get in confidently, turning it on with the big start button and gesturing for him to put his seatbelt on.

“Right, if I’m driving, you need to get my iPad out of my bag,” I said, handing it over to him with a huff.

He opened the bag and pulled it out as I started the car and pulled out of the space.

“Go into my notes. There are questions there. Firstly, I need your logins to your socials.”

“Excuse me?” he spluttered.

“I won’t go snooping,” I promised, looking both ways as I left the car park. “It’s only if you post something incriminating so I can delete it. You’ll be notified whenever I’m on it.”

“No,” he said, locking the tablet. “No way.”

I already knew this would be his answer. “You’re certain?”

“Certain.” The word slammed into me with the appalled force he gave it.

“Okay,” I said as if it was no big deal, trying to focus on the road. “It’s not normal practice, but neither is that time you posted dancing with a girl who had cocaine around her entire face.”

“That was— well, it wasn’t around my face, was it?”

I gave him a dull, disbelieving look. “The option is there.”

“I won’t be taking it.”

“Okay,” I sighed. I couldn’t wait to explain this toNazmin. “You have an interview with Road Racing League magazine on Thursday. There’s a list of questions printed in my bag that they’ve told me they will ask you. It’s not all of them, and I don’t doubt there will be follow-ups, but think them over and tell me generally what your responses will be.”

He stared down at the piece of paper he slid out of the bag.

“The questions are already emailed to you and on an online file, where I can log in and see your proposed answers. You don’t even have to email me back.”

His eyes flickered up to mine. “You’re efficient.”

“I like my job most of the time,” I said, grateful the first leg of the journey was a straight road. “I like to have control of things.”

He gestured down to himself with a raised brow.

“Now, in general, there are some different approaches I would like to take and show of your personal life,” I said, voice still strong and sure but softer, trying to break the news softly. “There are some charitable events I have planned that fit into your schedule—”

“What charities?”

“Homelessness, women’s aid, animal cruelty, mental health, global warming. The generals,” I explained.

He nodded. “Put women’s aid and homelessness at the top of the list, please,” he said. “And make it personal. I don’t want to deal with some suited CEO of a charity. I want non-profit. I want to help the people. ”

I tried not to let that affect me, pulling into a higher gear.

Most people I worked with liked to make donations and be seen leaving the building, strategically showing just enough of their face behind their hand or hat or hood.

But he didn’t say he wanted to be seen doing those things; he said he wanted to help .

“Okay, I can make some changes,” I said, mentally noting some of the events I could rearrange. I didn’t realise he would want to get down and dirty.

“And drug rehabilitation,” he added. “Especially when we’re in France.”

“That can be done.”

“Good,” he said, looking down at the interview questions. “There’s one more thing.”

His words were cautious, slow. They made me glance back over.

He didn’t look up. “I want to run a charity for girls to get involved in the sport. Start racing. There’s one woman in the whole of the championship. She’s inSprint3, and, frankly, I don’t think it’s good enough.”

When I didn’t immediately respond, his eyes met mine.

“Or… would that look weird?”

A curt shake of my head. “No, that would be good. We could get the woman you mentioned involved.”

“Good,” he said. “She’s nice, so that could work. I want to buy them dirt bikes and make tracks in places we don’t often race. Places where women aren’t treated equally.”

The way he spoke, almost angrily as he stared at the paper in his hand, told me this was personal.

“I’ll speak to your manager,” I said, voice still not as strong as normal.

He didn’t speak as I went round a roundabout, ready to guide me. “I wouldn’t waste your time.”

If he knew his manager was awful, why did he keep him?

I knew the answer before I even finished thinking the question. Because he didn’t care.

“Will you do this forLuca, too?”

I shrugged. “Seeing as he’s about to get a lot more attention than he is used to, for the first season, probably.”

“This is not my first season,” he countered.

“No,” I agreed. “But it’s the first season where you will get positive press.”

He breathed in deeply and his clothes screeched against the leather seat as he sank further into it. “What else?”

“To make you seem more… stable,Crisand I have agreed for you to have a relationship for the media,” I told him, trying not to wince.

His eyes blazed with fire behind the iris. He breathed heavily through his nose. “Crisagreed?”

“We’ll have a ‘soft release’ of the relationship,” I continued. “So a photo here or there, a shadow of a woman’s figure—”

“Who?” he asked, looking thoughtful as he leaned back.

“Well, we still need to find a volunteer.” I sighed as if it would be difficult.

He raised a critical brow.

I waited for him to tell me a name—a girl he had on the side or someone he liked.

Instead, he said, “But just random ones for now?”

“No,” I said quickly, blinking out the shock. “We’ll find someone quickly. For the meantime, you can use me. My shadow,” I corrected.

“So I get your body in shadow form,” he commented with an amused smirk.

“In a way,” I said begrudgingly.

“And what about when it comes to the shower? You going to be on the other side of the door every morning?”

“Take this seriously, Nix.” Fuck, I should not have brought that up earlier. “I’m hoping you understand the other ramifications. ”

“You’re telling me not to go fucking anyone and get caught,” he said as if it was simple.

“And you’ll be okay with that?”

“No,” he snorted. “Fuck no.”

He leaned over as if to tell me a secret, and, with a warning glance, I gave in and leaned in to hear.

His voice was a low, lusty whisper as he said, “How long until I get to fuck someone again?”

His question caressed my spine all the way down to where I had to press my thighs together.

I sat up straight and pretended I was really focused on the directions on my phone. “It has to last a couple of months at least, ideally six. I’m not saying you can’t sleep with people, but at least people you trust. Like the married woman you’ve been seeing, as she clearly would want it a secret, too.”

“That’s not happeninganymore,” he said, looking over the questions.

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. He’d been so persistent on it continuing just weeks ago. “Right.”

“Not because you said to,” he confirmed. His voice lowered as he continued. “Because as much as I enjoyed the sneaking around, I would like to sneak around with someone who I can keep to myself. I’m not up for sharing.”

“Right,” I said again. “Just… sleep with people who won’t go gossiping or to the papers. And, who knows, whoever you have this relationship with—”

“We could have an arrangement,” he finished for me. “Are you putting your hat in the ring?”

“Definitely not,” I laughed. “Hopefully, you’ll have realistic chemistry with whoever we decide is a good match. They can’t just be anyone,” I warned .

“They have to be squeaky clean, just like how you want me,” he groaned. “Good girls are boring.”

I fought an eye roll. “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

“Four years ago,” he told me. I felt his gaze on me. “It’s hard when I’m only attracted to ambitious, determined women but also want someone to travel the world with me. I can’t really have both.”

“Right,” I said, shutting down the conversation. “What about the woman that texted you, though?”

He shrugged. “Nothing serious.” He shifted. “And won’t go to the papers. Just like my new shadow girlfriend.”

And then there was the flash of his phone as he took a picture.

“What was that?” I asked, focusing on the road as we approached a left turn. My heart raced with panic.

“Just getting a picture of my girlfriend,” he said, typing away.

“Hey! Let me see it before you post,” I protested, peering over to spy on what was on his phone.

“Her driving my car is sexy as fuck,” he said, pausing between words as he wrote it out.

“People will know it’s me!”

“Your face isn’t in it,” he said and put his phone away. “I put a filter on so you can’t quite make out how pale you are, just your tiny little wrist and your rings.”

“And what if the person we set you up with doesn’t—”

“What, wear rings? Drive?”

I shrugged, keeping my attention on the road. “Well, yeah.”

“I like those classy little rings you have.” He peered down at the picture. “God, you have such a small wrist, I bet my thumb and pinky finger meet around it.” He reached over to test it out despite my verbal protest. “You’re tiny.”

That wasn’t true. My thighs were larger than most and disproportionate to the rest of my body. Even if I was shorter than average, I wasn’t tiny.

“Small and shouty,” he mused. “Livid and little. Aha! Little lividLivie.”

I groaned and he talked me through the next roundabout as my nerves got the better of me.

“Lucawill know,” I mumbled as we got back on the straight. “He knows I’m driving with you.”

“And? Doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I have a little crush on you.”

My hand held the wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road and not his flirting. “Nix…”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. He doesn’t follow me. I don’t follow him.”

“What!” I screeched, holding the wheel tighter. “Rectify that right now. Right this second,Armas.”

“Okay,” he grumbled and went tapping on his phone. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” I deadpanned.

He carried on scrolling and then I felt his gaze on me again. “Damn, Livid. Let’s go to the pool.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Seeing as I’m in the spirit of following people, I decided to look at your profile, too.”

There was no way he was actually interested in me. Especially if he found good girls boring.

“Wow, you’ve got some followers,” he said, scrolling slowly, then stopping, pinching a finger and thumb to zoom in. “Nearly as many as me.”

“Hardly.”

“You’re a littlefashionista, aren’t you?” he said, before double-tapping dramatically to like one of the posts.

“Remember what I said earlier? Sweet-talking me won’t get you what you want. I still have a job to do.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, head back on the headrest. “That job being to ruin my life.”

“To progress your career,” I argued.

“To progress your career.”