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“Reservations all set? I ask her.
“They normally don’t take reservations, but they cleared the top floor for you.”
Excellent. Mila gets shit done. I don’t know how she pulls some of this stuff off, but she never lets me down.
“Change her plane ticket home tomorrow?”
“Why do you ask?” She snips at me in her thick accent, “You know better.”
“Just checking, calm yourself,” I tease her and put an arm around her shoulder. She shrieks and throws my sweaty hook off.
Inside the motorhome, it’s buzzing with the crew already starting to break gear down and pack up. Most of them will head straight to Belgium to set up for the next race.
It takes me a few minutes to find Emily, fiddling with the coffee machine, as usual. Girl’s got a caffeine addiction if I’ve ever seen one.
“Hey,” I step up beside her as she’s attempting to froth milk.
She turns her head, and her eyes widen and travel from my head down to my waist. The milk steamer is still hissing and blowing, though her mug has wandered off it, so I flip the switch off.
“Sorry, I’m gross,” I look down at myself, my white fire suit stuck to me, sweat dripping from my head.
I see her throat constrict as she swallows hard. “What’s up?” She asks, her voice cracking.
Emily Walker, are you turned on right now?
“Emily, Emily,” I hear someone call in a French accent. The very tone of this guy’s voice is smarmy.
I look up, and that cockblocker Olivier is rushing across the lobby of the motorhome.
“Ugh,” Emily groans, “he gives me the creeps.”
“There you are, mon cher,” Olivier butts right in and invades her personal space despite the visible cringe on her face and the clear step she takes away from him.
I see the way he looks at her, she’s gorgeous. I can’t blame him there. But a real man would back off, listen when her body language says ‘nope,’ not try to intimidate her. But before I can step in, E
mily’s inner badass comes out.
“Olivier, I need that information from you,” she starts in on him immediately.
“Yes, of course. I’m trying to get it for you. You know how scientists can be,” he chuckles.
I watch Emily’s head jerk back, and her eyes scowl.
Fuck, this guy can’t get out of his own way to save his life. His charming rich guy in a five-thousand-dollar suit act may work with most chicks, but Emily is not most women.
“Would you like to have a drink with me this evening, Emily? We can discuss it then.”
Oh, hell, no.
“She has plans,” I bark, and I know I sound like some kind of alpha asshole, but enough is enough.
Emily’s head tilts toward me then snaps back to Olivier. “I have plans,” she agrees.
Good girl, baby.
“Oh, I see. Another time, then. Perhaps in Brussels,” he suggests.
“Sure,” she mutters, utterly unimpressed with his bullshit.
