I allow a few minutes to pass before I broach the subject I want to talk to her about.
When she sets down her fork and reaches for her glass of water, I take my shot.
“So. About the money Luca owes you…”
CHAPTER 6
EVANGELINE
Water slides down the wrong pipe, and I choke out a harsh cough as Alaric’s words hang between us.
I shouldn’t have mentioned the money.
Nor should I have agreed to come into this man’s home and let him cook lunch for me.
Though the pasta really was delicious. At least the meal was worth the lack of oxygen I’m currently experiencing.
“I can write you a check today,” he says once the coughing has stopped and I’ve swiped away the moisture under my eyes. “Will ten grand cover it?”
Internally, I groan. If only. Not that I have the bandwidth to go through every transaction for every card and track the embarrassing financial footprint of my failed relationship.
Nevertheless, I don’t want this man’s money.
Luca has the means to pay me back. The money should come from him.
I’m not in a place where I can face him or make demands right now. But I will be one day. Eventually, I’ll get what I’m owed, and until then, I’ll figure it out on my own.
“I can’t take your money,” I tell him.
He scowls, assessing me, then rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers in front of him.
“Can’t or won’t?” he presses.
Okay, that’s not fair. It’s like he’s weaponizing those defined, hot-as-sin forearms against me.
I’m a strong, independent woman, but I’m also fragile right now. How am I supposed to say no when he’s flexing like this?
“Both,” I tell him with a sigh. “Luca owes me a lot: Money. Closure. And most importantly, an apology. I’m not super optimistic that I’ll ever get what I want from him, but I think I stand a better chance if you don’t take care of the money issue on his behalf.”
Alaric tilts his head thoughtfully. It’s clear by his expression that every time I mention Luca and how he’s wronged me, it cuts this man deep. Though I’ve got to remember that it isn’t my responsibility to worry about hurting a grown man’s feelings because of the shitty actions of his son. That’s between them.
Alaric hasn’t defended him or downplayed my story, thankfully. He’s taken me at my word, never hinting at disbelief or making me feel like I’m blowing things out of proportion.
Either he knows what a scoundrel his son is, or he learned a few unsavory lessons this morning when he scooped up that crusty bottle of half-used lube.
We’re at a standstill, so I take a sip of water so I have something to do with my hands. And once again, Alaric shocks me.
“I could offer you a job.”
This time I manage not to choke, instead lowering the glass and assessing him.
Is he serious? That’s hard to believe. Yet the offer gives me pause.
All my closest friends are involved in Formula 1. One of my biggest battles over the last few weeks has been handling the grief that comes with knowing I won’t be traveling the world with Mia, Shelby, and our group of friends like I planned.
Separating from Luca meant cutting off my most direct tie to professional motorsport. Sure, I plan to fly or drive to all the North America races, and Saint is hosting a big fundraiser for his foundation the weekend of the Silverstone Grand Prix, so even after the breakup, I planned to make it across the pond for that.
As tempting as Alaric’s offer is, it feels too easy.
