Page 73 of Off the Grid

As I think long and hard about Spencer Riggs.

As I admit to myself, I’ve long since forgiven him.

Dare I say, I’ve started to like him.

Talk about creating problems for myself.

Especially when my job requires me to be face-to-face with the man I’m fantasizing about.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Riggs

“They’re waiting.”

I look over to Anya. “It seems like they’re always waiting,” I say of the one thing that I don’t think I understood about the Formula 1 side of the circuit. The sponsors.

The wooing of the sponsors.

The social events with the sponsors.

The constant presence of them during the entire five days of race week.

“Well, they are helping pay the bills, right? So make sure you wear that pretty smile of yours and bring your charm.”

“I know. I’m not complaining. It’s just hard to get a moment alone. It seems the only day I get is on Saturdays, before race day.”

She nods. “Things will calm down after this race. We’re selling your ability to them. Your charisma. Your ‘it’ factor. They need to be reassured since you’re new and they had no hand in picking you. It’s a lot of money they’re putting up. They want to vet you and make sure their money is in good hands.”

Don’t I know it.

I technically haven’t been home in almost two weeks—unless you count the one night I came back from Spain to then turn around and head back out to a private track. A track where I spent hours upon hours learning my car. Days upon days understanding any and every metric and how I can better help my crew help me. Night after night where these sponsors came out for various activities. Some made me feel like a monkey in a gilded cage. I took others around the track in the two-seat race cars provided by our engine manufacturer.

“I know, but it’s okay to miss my bed, right?” I tease.

“It is. Are your friends still partying it up in your flat like they own the place?” she asks.

I groan and nod. “Yep. They sent a new round of photos last night. They look like they’re having the time of their lives.” I act mad but don’t really care. Wills, Junior, and Micah are like brothers to me. We’ve been friends since secondary school. I trust them implicitly.

I would, however, not be angry for the chance to just kick back with them.

It’s been a long two weeks.

Home in three days. And I’m looking forward to it.

“Fix your collar and slap on a Spencer Riggs smile for me.”

“Who are we trying to impress tonight?” I ask as we approach the entrance of our hospitality building.

“VidShort.”

“Oh,” I say of the social media giant where I upload most of my videos to. The platform of choice right now for almost all age demographics.

“Yep. They’re loving your videos. The attention the app receives when you post. Camilla approached them about a potential sponsorship, and they were more than interested.”

“Wow. Okay.”