Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“You fucking asshole!” I shout, but Sebastian grabs my arms from behind and pulls me back.
“Lex, stop!” he yells as Ronan slowly rises from the floor, rubbing his jaw.
And the fucker smirks at me.
I’m going to kill him.
Harley bursts into the room, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” she roars, putting herself in between me and Ronan. Her eyes are intense with the promise of retribution as she murmurs to me, “We are on live television right now. You can sort this shit out later.”
I glare at Ronan, my fists still clenched, but I back off. Harley glares at us, shaking her head in disgust.
“Excuse me,” a woman says from the open doorway that leads to the podium staging area. She’s one of the FI staff. “Everything’s ready for the podium ceremony.”
The last thing in the world I want to do is stand up on that stage and smile as if this is the best moment of my life when it feels like the worst. But it’s my job on the line and I have to balance that with the need to make things right for Posey.
The next fifteen minutes are a blur. Sebastian and Ronan take their spots out on the elevated stage to the roar of cheering fans. I come out last, waving in acknowledgment and step up onto the middle tier. Clasping my hands behind my back, I barely hear “God Save the King” being played—it’s tradition for the winner’s national anthem to be played first, then the constructor’s national anthem. Since Crown Velocity is as British as I am, the song is only played once, thank fuck, because I’m ready for this to be over. Trophies are handed out and I go through the motions, my mind buzzing with dreadful thoughts.
Large bottles of sparkling rosewater are handed to us to spray each other with, a small deviation from the tradition of using an Italian sparkling wine in recognition of the laws of Islam prohibiting alcohol in this forum.
But I can’t even bring myself to care to continue this happy farce. I’m smiling for the fans, but inside, I’m desperate to find Posey, to make this right. I do my duty, shake my bottle and spray it directly at Sebastian for all of two seconds before I drop it to the ground and walk off the stage.
I know that choice in and of itself created a dramatic scene that’ll play out in the press, but they already have the salacious details about Posey. Who the fuck cares what I do?
I ignore people trying to speak to me, making my way through the paddock and to the motorhome I rest in while on the premises. My phone is charging on the dinette table and I practically rip it from the cord so I can call Posey.
The door is thrown open and Harley’s walking in. Her face is hard to read, but I’m not in the mood. “Save it,” I tell her. “I fucked up by keeping this secret—”
“Fuck the secret,” she snaps back at me. “I knew Posey was a romance author and not a journalist from the start.”
Nothing could have shocked me more and my jaw sags as I look at her stupidly.
Harley rubs her temple, clearly staving off a headache. “When I got her request, I recognized her name because I read her books.”
My mouth gapes further than I thought my jaw hinges would ever allow. “You… read… romance?”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew what she was doing and well, I thought it was cute the lengths she was willing to go to so she could learn about FI. I did a phone interview and as you’re well aware, she’s too charming to say no to. So I opened up Crown Velocity and put her with you because she was the perfect person to keep you in line.”
“You set all this up?” I ask in shock. “How could you know that me and Posey…”
“I didn’t know. Not really, but Maeve filled me in after the reporters accosted her before the race. There was no way in hell I was going to tell you what was going on—”
“You should have,” I blurt out angrily. “I could have stopped her.”
“You would have fucked your head for the race and you wouldn’t have won,” she snaps at me. “Get over it. I’m here to tell you that I’ll handle the press fallout on this. I expect you to get your ass on a plane and go find Posey. I assume she went back home as Maeve said she checked out of her hotel, and she also confirmed a handful of flights that left for the States in the last hour.”
None of this makes sense. “You want me to leave? Avoid the media? You don’t want me to help do damage control with the press?”