Page 160 of First in Line

She chuckles. “I already told you that power nap isn’t another word for nap sex.”

“A missed opportunity, if you ask me.”

We’re out on the paddock, walking toward the Altron motorhome, when a woman shouts my name from the left. After a brief look, I mumble, “Fuck. Walk faster.”

Evie picks up the pace alongside me, but it’s pointless.

“Jackson, stop ignoring me!” Justine shouts again.

I give up with a groan and turn to face her. Justine and her PA are rushing toward us, her eyes hard behind her glasses. “Justine, hello,” I say with a smile when she reaches us.

“You will end up giving me an aneurysm, I swear to God.”

“I like to think I keep you young.”

She offers me a deadpan glare and notices Evie. “Sorry, hi. I’m Justine, head of PR and marketing.”

“Hi, I’m Evie.”

“Wait, I know you… Didn’t you two use to date?”

“We were married, actually,” I remind her.

“Right … and now you are …?”

“Dating again,” I confirm.

“Wow, that’s… there’s so much potential there. We can spin a star-crossed lovers story. Wrong place, wrong time. Until destiny brought you back together and—”

“You needed me for something?” I interrupt her.

“Yes. Paddock Club. Now. Some sponsors want to see you before the race.”

“Okay, but I need a favor in exchange.”

She lets out a bothered breath. “What?”

“You’ll escort Evie around during the race. Let her watch from the garage and pit wall.”

“Really? In exchange for you doing your job and shaking a few hands?”

“Name your price, then.”

She thinks only for a moment before saying, “The ad campaign for that Scottish gin. Take it, and you have a deal.”

It’s my turn to consider it. Defeated, I groan, “Fuck, okay.”

“Yes!” Justine lets out, pumping her fist in the air.

“I’ll escort Evie to the motorhome, then head over to the Paddock Club.”

“Lily can take her,” she counters, motioning at her assistant. “You can go now.”

I raise my eyebrow at her. “I want to take my girlfriend there. Go find someone else to sink your teeth into, wench.” Justine flips me her middle finger, and I lay a hand on Evie’s back to get us going again.

“You hate gin,” the latter points out with amusement once we’re far enough.

“I know.”