Chapter 8

The first race of the season. First official race, anyway.

The last two days had been hectic with the media coverage overLucabecoming the new rider forCiclati. We’d gone for the ‘honoured, grateful but living life as normal’ approach. He’d posted a picture of his breakfast that morning and nothing could stop him from wishing his mum a happy birthday for all to see. With an adorable shot of four-year-old him in her arms, covered in yoghurt.

He was easy to manage.

Nix, not so much.

After hearing he was having a shorter interview with Road Racing League, he had ‘forgotten’ the meeting and I had no option but to scream at his door for twenty minutes to get him up.

At least I didn’t have to worry about him making it to the track on time. He was often the first one there, groaning about track conditions and the hotel facilities.

All week, I had been forced to spend time with him, taking ‘soft-launch’ photos as his girlfriend. A number of tweets had followed from his picture of me driving his car, but no actual reporting.

We’d gone out for dinner as a team and, sat opposite him, he snapped a picture of his hand holding mine across the table, showing off my ‘classy rings’ he kept mentioning. We touched for the length of time it took for him to angle the photo, snap it and crop me out.

Crishad eyed the touch with a wrinkled nose.

High off the news of his front-page cover,Lucawas skipping around the pit box. The first race was in Singapore, the next in Hong Kong. Last year,Lucahad started the season ofSprint3well, and he watched his friends race from the VIP lounge, cheering them on.

He brought that energy to the pit box, ready in his leathers, grinning as he sucked on the straw of his energy drink. He didn’t need to be any more buzzed.

“Quick,Luca, Nix, a photo!”

Nix groaned at me andLucagrinned, all teeth, eyes closed.

He really was a puppy dog.

“Smile, Armas,” I warned.

He rolled his eyes but turned with a grin. I snapped the picture, tagged them, captioned it and posted it within thirty seconds.

So caught up in it, I didn’t noticeCrisstanding behind me. “Livie.”

I looked up at him with an awkward smile. He was my boss. As much as Nixon andLucawere my clients, the only man I had to prove myself to was him.

“Cris,” I said.

“You made him smile,” he said, looking after Nix as he watched his bike being wheeled out.

I nodded, checking the comments onLuca’sfirst post in his new leathers from his shoot earlier in the week. “It’s not easy. ”

“And the new show intro,” he said. “That’s… was he laughing when you filmed it?”

“For some of it,” I said. “The promo post on Thursday received comments about how happy he looked.”

I’d been worried about it at first, especially so soon afterAlv’saccident, only five weeks earlier. But the camera team had worked wonders, and at the end of the clip, as all the other riders walked away from the set, there was a still of Nixon in the dark looking up atAlv’snumber.

It had almost brought tears to my eyes.

For some who posted on social media, it had.

“Those shoes won’t do, though,” he groaned. “Slides? In a garage? What if something falls on your feet?”

I lifted my hands up. “No intention of getting near the bikes at all.”

He grunted and said, still eyeing my footwear, “Heard it was your idea forAlv’snumber to be in the background. That’s whatLucatold me, anyway.”

“It might have been,” I said. “He’s my client still.”

Crisnodded thoughtfully, glanced down at me and then offered me his hand. “Let’s start again,Livie. You’re doing a good job. Welcome to the team.”

I shook his hand just as firmly as I had last time. “Just got to get Nix a girlfriend now. Wish me luck.”

“I wish you a miracle,” he chuckled and we watched the riders leave.

“Break a leg!” I shouted. “ Bonnechance! ” Good luck.

Crisagain looked down at me. “You brushing up on your French?”

I shrugged. Clearly, no one knew about my language skills here. Funny, I’d thought that was what got me the job. “ Thought it might be helpful for when Nix grumbles about me.”

We settled in around the screens. People of my status — not important regarding the bikes — often watched up in the VIP lounge. I knew that was whereSalihawas, but I wanted to watch the first race as part of the team. Especially now that I had been welcomed into it.

The intro played, the dark colours contrasted by the light beams and the smiling faces of the riders. I couldn’t help but grin at how I had helped arrange it. The men all together underAlv’snumber and then that shot of Nixon. Seeing it all together for the first time, I knew this would bring some positivity to theCiclatiteam.

I’d wait a few minutes for feedback to come in, and then I’d stalk the posts online.

The aerial shot of all the riders in the grid box showed Nix in second place after qualifying yesterday.Lucawas further back in seventh, which for the first time qualifying inStormSprintwas insane.

A woman stood beside each of the men, holding an umbrella to protect the rider from rain, slate, and sun rays. They were all beautiful and glamorous, but the men didn’t seem to pay them any attention. Abbe was talking to Nix. And then I saw it.

Nix passed the girl beside him his can of drink with a warm smile. She returned it with her own.

He smiled at me like that. Maybe he smiled at every woman like that.

He could be charismatic when he wanted to be.

Women doted on him, obsessed with what he posted. There were forums dedicated to the curve of his ass .

So, if I noticed that, they certainly would.

“Who is she?” I asked, knowing with the question, I had to follow it with action.

Cristook a while to respond, struggling to focus on anything but the screens. “Clara.”

The race started, but I wasn’t checking the comments or how Nix andLucaperformed. I was in the VIP lounge, trying not to be intimidated by all the beautiful grid girls.

The one I sought out sat up when I joined them. “Livie, isn’t it?” she asked and pointed from herCiclatitop to mine. Hers fit far better.

I nodded. “Clara, can we talk? I have a proposition for you.”