“End. It.”
Fury coursing through my veins, I cross my arms over my chest. Leslie and I rarely disagree. Our world views and leadership styles are closely aligned. But when it comes to Evangeline, I refuse to yield.
“Dammit.” She sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth. “End it on your own before this gets out of hand and someone ends it for you.”
My mouth drops open. The audacity. “Is that a threat?”
She shakes her head, sighing. “It’s not. But it’s a hunch. A gut instinct I can’t ignore.” Softer, she adds, “All it took was one picture of you two together for me to suspect something, Ric.”
Pain lancing my chest, I close my eyes and rub at my temples. Leslie’s instincts are historically spot-on. I trust her gut more than I trust my own most days. But she can’t be right about this. She just can’t.
Her hand brushes my arm, startling me.
“Listen, if you really care for her, think about her reputation. She dated Luca for quite some time. I couldn’t find much on my own this morning, but there has to be photo evidence of them somewhere out there. It won’t take long for the internet to connect the dots.”
While neither her socials nor Luca’s show any sort of connection—I know because I’ve found myself mindlessly scrolling through Evangeline’s online accounts when we’re apart—I’m sure there must be at least a picture or two of them floating out there in the ether.
Despite the media’s willingness to keep quiet about yesterday’s incident, there’s still the very real chance my son’s outburst will go public eventually. And it’s not unfathomable that his accusations will take off like a perfect start from pole position depending when and how they’re shared.
Leslie stands, her brow knitted with concern. “I have work to do. I don’t have time to sit here all day telling you what you already know. If nothing else, think about her. Women are always the ones who take the fall in situations like this. The media will hound her. Bloggers will destroy her. Granata will have to let her go. She’ll never work in Formula 1 again. When all is said and done, she won’t even be able to show her face around the paddock.”
Horror washes over me. Dread percolates low in my gut. I hate every sensible, logical word that comes out of Leslie’s mouth. But god dammit, she might be right.
What have I been doing, thinking I had any of this under control?
More importantly, what the hell am I risking, putting Evangeline in a situation that could not only harm her mental health but could also risk her job and her closest friendships?
Leslie’s phone chimes, and she glances at her smartwatch. “I have toget back to the motorhome. I’m sorry I had to be the one to make you see the truth. But at least you can handle this now before it spirals out of control. Don’t forget we have the MedLife Gala tonight.”
I wave her off mindlessly, lost in my head as the reality of what I have to do starts to sink in.
CHAPTER 52
EVANGELINE
Itrail my fingertips along the quartz countertop as I make one last pass through the bathroom. It’s been a bittersweet morning, packing up so I can head to my assigned hotel room for the rest of the week.
Though I woke up alone, evidence of Alaric’s thoughtfulness was everywhere. He left a single rose for me in the kitchen, along with coffee and the most delectable pain au chocolat. He also left me a note, reminding me that he had a meeting this morning but promising he would be back by lunchtime so we could eat together before I head to the hotel.
The truth is, I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want to walk away from this perfect bubble of bliss we’ve created for ourselves. Alaric’s condo has become our sanctuary. I’m comfortable here, which is a big deal for a place I’ve only been for one week. That sensation has less to do with the physical location than with the man who’s welcomed me into his home and his life with such stoic, consistent, sincere adoration.
I’m double-checking the bedroom side table when the front door opens.
“Evangeline?”
Giddiness bubbles up inside me at the sound of my name on his lips.
“In the bedroom.” I snag the charger I left plugged into the wall and coil it up as I head toward the door.
He meets me at the threshold, his hands shoved into his pockets.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to register the heavinesssurrounding him. His meeting must not have gone as well as he hoped. Or maybe he’s also feeling the weight of our impending separation.
I’ll miss him something fierce, but we already have plans to meet up on Thursday night. Then I’ll be back here again for a few days before we head to Austin.
“Hey,” I chirp, stroking his cheek.
