And the man standing beside me was the one who’d won.
EIGHT
VANCE
Kissing Emery made me feel . . . something. I didn’t know how to describe it, other than the moment of freefall when you’re speeding along and air gets under the hull of a boat. I knew the water was there beneath me and that I’d land safely on it, but that experience of floating just before crashing down was always thrilling.
This wasn’t like any kiss I’d ever given before, and it left me disoriented. I wanted more—a hell of a lot more.
You’re just tired, that’s all this is.
Fuck, I couldn’t even convince myself. I’d been with her in Monaco for all of six hours and already kissed her. How the fuck was I going to last a week without having more?
I focused on the task at hand, rather than think about it. The black sports coat fit well enough, and I appreciated how it was lightweight so I wouldn’t get too hot under the warm sun. Nearly every event would be outside.
The jacket was paired with jeans and a cream-colored knit shirt. I exited the dressing room to show the women how it looked, only to find Petra missing and Emery talking to—of all people—fucking Niko Leitner.
I didn’t want her within a hundred yards of the Austrian Asshole, and certainly not standing right beside him. His reputation on the track was just as bad as it was off it. He was aggressive and selfish in everything. When his brakes overheated, it was the car’s fault and not his. If he won a race, he’d deliver the standard line that it had been a team effort, but no one believed it—most of all, him.
Niko had won the drivers’ championship last year, but it needed an asterisk beside it. In the final race of the season, he’d interfered with Sem Janssen’s line, and when their tires had touched, it had sent his rival into the barrier at two hundred miles an hour. Janssen had thankfully walked away with only a concussion, but Leitner had made the podium, cementing his lead in the points and the championship win.
I understood the drive to win, but even I had my limits. He could have killed Janssen.
Seeing Leitner next to Emery and laughing like they were old friends started a fire inside me, and it grew into an inferno when his focus turned my direction. He gave me a once-over, dismissed me as inconsequential, and returned his attention to her.
Money was power, and if I were my father, I’d use this opportunity to let Leitner know exactly how powerful I was. But I preferred the indirect approach. He wouldn’t know me as an adversary if I came at him as a friend.
My tone was warm and pleasant as I strolled toward him. “I’ve always wanted to meet you,” I lied. “Looks like my girlfriend beat me to it.” I offered my hand and a disarming smile. “Vance Hale.”
The Austrian took it, and his grip was as strong as I expected it to be. “Hale? Like the bank?”
“Yes, like that.” I slipped an arm around Emery and was pleased at how she responded. There was no hesitation. She leaned into me and acted like this was natural for us. Her sleepy voice from earlier rang through my head.
It can be real if you want it to be.
Part of me did, but a larger part of me warned that I should be cautious. She’d manipulated the alarm system to get close to me, and then told me in no uncertain terms that she was willing to do whatever needed to be done. I’d gotten the suspicion more than once she wasn’t telling me everything. Or that she had an agenda I hadn’t been clued in on yet.
But her friendship with Jillian? That seemed real. Her grief and guilt couldn’t be fabricated because no one was that good of an actor . . . or maybe my lust for her was blinding me. I didn’t know what to believe.
Petra materialized from the back. “Niko!” She hurried over to him with a huge smile on her face, grabbed his hands, and dropped a friendly kiss on his cheek. “I thought I wasn’t seeing you until tomorrow.”
He looked sheepish, but only for a split second. “I came early. Monaco is a special race and I’ve always loved this track.”
If that were true, he had to be one of the only drivers who felt that way. Since the race was run on the winding, twisting streets of Monte Carlo, the cars never got up to full speed, and there were rarely any opportunities to overtake. Janssen told me it wasn’t Formula One; it was rush hour traffic.
Petra dropped one of his hands but used the other to pull him toward the back. “Well, then, since you’re here, I’ll have Phineas pull some ideas together for you.”