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“Of course,” I say, stepping aside to give him some room. Mason unzips his suit, letting it fall to his hips.

I stare at him, all hot and sweaty and dishevelled, the suit hanging off his hips. Mason reaches for his phone on the shelf and unlocks it. He swears softly as he looks down at the screen. “Missed calls. Dad,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m sure he’s going to blame me for that anti-stall.”

Anger surges through me. “Like he even understands how your car works.”

Mason immediately looks over at me, and I’m happy when I see a smile. “My girl is fierce when she’s defending her man,” he says.

“Well, I’m mad. He can shut up for all I care, and Alex will see that you weren’t at fault when all the data analysis comes in.”

Mason stares at me, his expression soft. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but the phone rings in his hand. “Dad must have heard you,” he quips. “I’m going to take it.”

“Do you want me to step outside?” I offer.

“No, of course not. You’re my girlfriend. You can hear anything I say.” Mason answers the call. “Hey, Dad …”

I love how trusting and open he is. This conversation is going to be painful, yet Mason is keeping me in the room, letting me hear his side of it.

He leans against the wire rack that holds his racing clothing, listening intently. I can hear his dad’s voice, and the words are angry.

Which makes me furious.

“Dad. It was the anti-stall … Yes, I know the announcers told you that, but that’s all I know at this point … No. It was NOT my fault, and you will see that when the team looks into it …” Mason rubs his hand along his jaw, and my anger increases. Of course Mason’s dad is blaming him for what happened at the start of the race.

Even if he did cause it? He’s human. He’s allowed to make mistakes. I know he didn’t make one today, but he’ll make one in the future.

I want him to be able to drive like Xavier. Race with only his race in mind.

Not his father.

Suddenly Mason’s face goes white. Like the colour just drained out of him. Panic claws at my chest at the sight.

“Stop right there,” he says angrily. “Catherine has nothing to do with my performance on the track …”

I grow sick to my stomach. His dad is trying to use me as a weapon against him. To rattle him about his abilities, to make him second-guess what happened today, and to lay the blame at my feet.

To make Mason question our relationship.

“If you think that’s the only way I’m keeping my seat, then you obviously don’t understand anything about racing,” Mason snaps. He waits a beat, listening, and then I see his eyes flash. “You know what, Dad? If you have this many concerns with your investment, then show up in Singapore and address them. Because I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

Then, to my complete shock, Mason hangs up on him.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Once the plane has reached cruising altitude, I unbuckle my seat belt and go over to Mason, sitting down on his lap. It was a long afternoon at Baku—first the argument with his dad, then facing the media in the pen. Of course, Alex broadcasting his thoughts right after the race about investigating “driver error” led to journalists asking Mason all kinds of questions about being thrown under the bus by Alex.

It was awful. I stood there, watching Mason take reworded question after reworded question about the same thing, trying to trigger him into some clickbait answer or outburst. But Mason maintained that he felt it was something wrong with the car, not him, and said he can’t control what Alex thinks, but the data will prove him right. Of course, that’s been one of the lead stories out of the race today, right behind Xavier’s win.

After that, the racing debrief was held, and Caleb told me things were rather tense between Alex and Mason, as Mason bluntly told him the car was the issue.

He hasn’t spoken about any of this with me. But that’s going to change right now.

Mason’s eyes widen in surprise as I swing my legs over his, and his hand immediately moves to my outer thigh to hold me in place. I link my hands around the nape of his neck, and as he studies me, an amused smile forms on his lips. “Is something wrong with your seat?”

“Yes. It was too far away from you,” I say.

He smiles. “Nice.”

I move one of my hands to his hair, brushing it in a soothing manner. “I’m proud of you.”