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A hard body usually hidden by racing gear and a firesuit, but it hugs him tight enough to know he’s built. Not to mention the online vacation photos of him swimming in barely there briefs.
“Hot doesn’t do it anymore,” Jenny says easily. “Personality is king.”
“He’s fucked then,” I say all too bluntly, but she doesn’t seem offended by this.
She shrugs. “That’s why I’m the absolute best at my job and why I recruited you. We’re going to make him likable.”
I think about the man who slams into other cars on purpose. Who hits on any woman in his vicinity. Who swears like a sailor on camera and flips off the fans who boo him. Who gets into fistfights on the regular.
There’s no way to make him likable.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
CHAPTER3
ROYAL
Shit. Goddammit. That race was shit.
Tenth place?
I don’t think I’ve done this horribly in a long damn time. Maybe ever. I’m pretty sure I just started out in first place all the damn time. Fucking Jenny. I know this is her fault with all thatreputationbullshit.
She got in my head.
Axel wraps his arm around me, and I have to force myself not to push his ass away. “Why are you so damn happy? You didn’t win either.”
He only chuckles at that, married life making him all whipped and happy. “My husband did.”
I roll my eyes at that, but deep down I want to be happy for the Pretty Boy—or Sebastian Harris. He’s worked hard to get here, I know that. He deserved the win, but I can’t push away the creepy-crawly feeling under my skin at another loss.
And an embarrassing one at that.
“Come celebrate with us,” he says joyfully.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m going back to the hotel.”
Sebastian launches himself into his husband’s arms, uncaring about the cameras all around us as he should be. I’d known Axel was gay long before I knew that he was very much into the Pretty Boy, and it hadn’t bugged me at all.
I mean, why should it?
I may have grown up in Texas, but who people love or sleep with isn’t any of my concern. Never has been. Axel is one of the best men I know. Has been since I met him when he was sixteen and just an angry foster kid.
God, did I understand that anger. I’d felt it for so damn long before I figured out how to push it away and channel it into charm. I played the game, and I’ve done it well.
Until today.
Today, I just want to get the hell out of here.
“Come have dinner with us,” Sebastian tries.
A slight warmth moves through my body as I look at them together and see how happy they are, but it’s quickly washed away by the coldness running through me, thinking about that shitty race and how badly I just fucked up.
How none of the cameras are on me now. Instead, they’re on Sebastian and Axel. And if one of them had lost so poorly, the reporters still would have cared about the story. But me?
I might as well be dead and buried.
They barely acknowledge me.
