Heart lurching, I zero in on Alaric, who’s hovering behind my mischievous friend, glaring at the back of his head like he’s prepared to intervene on my behalf.
“I’m fine,” I rush out. The last thing we need is Alaric making a scene that hints at a connection any deeper than company executive and lowly employee. While he knows I’m close with many of the drivers on the grid, I suppose this is the first time he’s seen me interact with them. I’m not about to let him accidentally reveal our relationship to unnecessarily defend my honor.
Ren looks over, frowning. Kenji smirks, looking from me to Alaric, then back to me again.
Oh shit.
Standing, I give my ridiculous friend a pointed look, silently begging him to walk away. Then I smooth over my hair a few times and offer Alaric a casual smile. “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Steele. It looks like they’ve got us arranged by team.” I nod at his name scrawled on a piece of paper that’s been taped to the couch.
With one final knowing look, Kenji walks away. And Alaric shoots daggers at him the whole way.
“Kenji’s one of my closest friends,” I mutter as we take our seats and get situated.
His only response is a cocked brow.
I shake my head. And here I was worried I’d be the one to overreact and blow our cover.
“This is going to be painful,” he murmurs as the sound guy makes his way over to place our mics.
I blow out a breath and straighten. As I do, Luca takes his seat on the couch across the stage, wearing a closed-off look.
Painful may be an understatement. What have we gotten ourselves into?
The next fifty-five minutes are an excruciating exercise in masking and self-restraint. My proximity to Alaric is almost impossible to handle when my body is so attuned to his. I’m high-key panicked that every person in the room can tell the Granata team principal ate me out this morning.
I squeeze my thighs together at the memory. God, I can’t think aboutthat right now. We’re almost done. In a matter of minutes, I can drop this façade, find a quiet place to work, and hide away until it’s time to head back to the condo.
As if he can sense how horny I am, Alaric shifts, his leg brushing mine.
Fielding questions has been easy compared to keeping my heart rate regulated and my focus tuned in to the moderator while sitting inches away from the man I was riding last night.
Mercifully, I’ve only had to answer three questions, and every one of them was a lowball, requiring little thought or wordsmithing. Most of the more intrusive questions are directed at the drivers, so Alaric and Beatrix haven’t had much time with the mic either. Neither has Auri. She did take her sunglasses off just before the Q&A started, but by the tightness of her jaw, it’s clear she’s struggling with the bright lights and the volume of the microphones.
As I expected, the spirit of the event is fun. Not even Luca’s surly scowl or pompous attitude has detracted from the entertainment since there are so many of us on stage.
At one point the moderator put a picture of Auri and me as kids up on the screen. In it, she’s a teen, and from her race suit, I’m pretty sure it’s from her time in Formula 3. I’m wearing a hand-drawn T-shirt with her number on it, my blond hair a mess, grinning up at my big sister.
Alaric emitted a quiet hum under his breath, shifting incrementally closer in a way that made it almost impossible for me to stay focused.
His reaction warmed me from the inside—then quickly reminded me that I had to keep my shit together.
“We only have a few more questions for our gracious panelists,” the moderator says. “This next one is for Luca.”
My spine goes rigid like it has every time the focus has turned to my ex.
“Unlike the Young sisters and the Diallo siblings,” she says, “your family member around the paddock isn’t another driver. But he is still direct competition as the team principal of Granata. Does your competitive spirit ever affect your personal relationship with your father?”
Alaric stiffens beside me.
Internally, I brace myself.
“My father and I aren’t close,” Luca deadpans. He glances at Alaric before quickly glossing over me. “Competition doesn’t affect our relationship, because we don’t have much of one these days.”
My stomach rolls. What the hell is he doing?
“Honestly,” he goes on, a sneer in his tone, “I’d like to think I’vemade a name for myself that’s completely separate from my father. Not many people even knew who he was until Granata’s big scandal last year.”
My lungs seize up. Really, Luca?
