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Jax presses the button. “Trust me, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences when I was younger.”
“Because you’re more likely to get anxious around others?”
“Part of it.”
Vague, but I let him keep his secret. The elevator doors open, and we enter.
I press the button for the lobby. “How long have you been anxious?”
“Since forever.”
“And it’s gotten worse?”
“You’re not a therapist. Stop poking around my brain searching for answers.”
I laugh as I lean against the railing. “It’s called having a conversation. You should try it sometime with the opposite gender. You’d be surprised what women can talk about when you’re not fucking them into silence.”
“You’re cute, goading me into more dirty talk. Does it get you hot and heavy thinking about me with other women, wishing it was you?”
Oh, shit. Nice going, Elena. Enjoy talking yourself out of the mess you created.
I roll my eyes. “Nope.”
“Yet you like to bring it up. Why is that?” His smirk annoys me.
My eyes narrow at his lips. “It’s called a joke.”
“I can assure you sex with me is anything but.”
I scrunch my nose in distaste. “Yuck. You’re like a five-star review from the owner of a sketchy Chinese buffet restaurant.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“No one should trust your glowing recommendation until they try it themselves.”
A burst of laughter escapes him. “How the bloody hell do you come up with half the shit you say?”
“I have a quick tongue. It’s a talent.”
His eyebrow lifts as my words sink in. Well, shit, stupid tongue is more like it at the moment.
I attempt to recover. “Let’s ignore that. And we’re going to be spending a lot of time together so maybe you can learn to speak about things other than sex.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“I prefer the term assertive. Bossy tends to carry a negative connotation, especially for women.”
His eyebrows raise. “You’ve gotten a lot of shit for being a woman working in F1, haven’t you?”
“What gave it away? How there are barely any women around the racing paddock or how all the men ignore me in the press room?”
He shakes his head. “Another reason to hate people.”
“I don’t see it that way. I think of it as another reason to prove people wrong.”
Jax and I walk into the Shanghai gala thirty minutes later. Crystal lights hang from the ceiling, casting us in a golden glow as Jax navigates us through the crowd. Luxurious doesn’t begin to cover it, with waiters walking around offering hundred-dollar glasses of champagne and food straight out of Gordon Ramsey’s kitchen.
Jax’s attitude takes a nosedive once he’s forced to speak to strangers for longer than five minutes. I chalk up his irritability to unwillingly having to play nice for hours on end.
