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“I have to go,” I say and wave to them as I head out, not waiting for any arguments. I need to get away from the crowd and the track, which is messed-up because for so long, it was my only safe space.

The only thing that quieted the noise in my head.

I get to the hotel and decide to walk into the swanky bar right off the lobby instead of going to my room.

Big mistake.

Because instantly, I see someone I recognize.

Someone who hates my guts and has never even met me. And he’s looking right at me.

Soren something.

Adamson? Adams?

Yeah, I think that’s it. The guy works with Leslie and has some sort of podcast or blog or something. One where he trashes me as often as he can. What the hell does he want?

I know instinctively this isn’t a coincidence and walk over to him. He’s wearing a suit and tie, fitted just right, and his dark hair is sleekly styled, even though the top is longer than the sides and his hair is kind of wavy.

“No press,” I say, stopping a foot away from him. I have a good six inches on him, and the guy has a smaller frame, but he doesn’t look intimidated at all.

“Why exactly would I want an interview with you after that race today?” His demeanor is cold and calculated as he watches me after his direct hit.

Fuck, that hurts. I don’t want it to. I wish it didn’t. But it does. Because he’s not wrong. No one wanted anything to do with me after that shitshow of a race.

“Then why the hell are you here?” I finally manage to ask.

His eyes aren’t on me though. They look past me, which makes me follow his gaze, looking over my shoulder. I curse out loud when I see my agent walking into the bar. “Fuck. Me.”

“Not a chance,” Jenny says. She hasn’t changed since leaving the track and is wearing a black leather skirt with a frilly purple top. Her hair is up in a severe bun. She reaches us and leans into Soren to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek before sweeping her arm in a motion toward the bar. “Shall we sit?”

“Maybe a table would be better,” Soren suggests, and Jenny nods, her red lipstick flawlessly painted over her grim smile.

I follow them both, unsure what the hell this setup is about. Jenny knows I’m not doing an exclusive interview. I only allow interviews on the track, right after a race. That’s it.

I don’t do events where the press can grill me. I won’t go to a studio. She knows this. And still, all three of us sit down at one of the tables and just stare at each other.

“So, I’m assuming you know Soren Adams,” Jenny says, her eyes narrowed on me.

“I do.” I look over at Soren, who, to his credit, has his back straight and his head held high. “He’s the whiny little ‘sports’ reporter who loves to bitch about track ethics,” I say, using my middle and index fingers to emphasize the wordsports.

“At least I’m not slamming people into the wall on purpose to show off,” Soren bites back, his annoyance with me clear. “And why the hell are you putting quotations aroundsports? I happen to work for one of the top sports news broadcasts in the nation.”

I ignore his question. “Why are we here?” I look over at Jenny because this guy clearly hates me, and it makes no sense.

“Because Soren can help you. And you better change your shitty attitude really damn quickly because he doesn’t have to.”

I snort at that and take a drink from the glass the waitress just placed in front of me. Jenny must have ordered when I wasn’t looking, and I couldn’t care less because to deal with these two, I know it’s going to take a copious amount of liquor. “I’m sure he’s being paid well.”

“Of course he is. And it’s coming from your account,” Jenny informs me before taking a sip from her own cocktail glass.

Goddammit.

“And how much am I paying exactly?” I ask her as I look over at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says and pulls my attention back to her steely eyes. “He’s worth the money.”

Soren huffs softly, clearly not wanting to be here, and I don’t get why he is. “I’ve agreed to do some interviews with you to show your softer side.” I turn my head to look at him, my eyebrow raised, and he just shakes his head slowly from side to side. “I told her that wouldn’t be possible, but she thinks it is.”

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