The facts that she had been the only individual he’d seen on the premises, apart from the driver she’d sent to pick him up from the airport, and had had her hands all over a car that most kings and queens would be afraid to touch, should have made it all obvious, he realized now.
As had the fact that she had not been intimidated by him in the least.
And why would she be? He might be a crown prince, but so were most of her clients. And hadn’t she just successfully demanded that he jump at her command?
Jag said, “I assume that’s my car?”
Rita moistened her lips, leaving them plump and glistening, and said, a bit breathlessly, “It’s the only 1962 Ferrari GTO that’s ever come through my garage.”
There were those who said it was the rarest car in the world.
And the purists of the world would decry that he had ruined it by ordering the conversion.
The two of them, however, knew that her work had made a unicorn into a legend.
“It’s lovely that you appreciate its rarity,” Jag said, unable to stop the bit of humor threading into his voice. Clearing his throat before he spoke again, and straightening his already upright posture, he added, “However, I imagine that there was a greater purpose to your summoning me here than a discussion of that. Otherwise, I’m afraid I need to take it home now.”
To his utter shock, she held her palms up, with a firm, “No.”
“Excuse me?” Jag asked, apparently still capable of being surprised despite the fact that she had already proved exceptionally bold.
“Wait—”
“I can’t,” he said, and there was some real shame in that. But kingdoms came before beguiling women. They had to when people’s daily lives depended upon the behavior of a handful of individuals. “It is an honor to own one of the world’s most precious automobiles, and an even greater one yet, that it is also the work of such a renowned engineer as yourself. However, I cannot linger nor offer any more than my appreciation, compliments and the substantial amount of money I’ve paid you for the privilege.”
She disabused him of the notion that she was looking for more money, however, with the next thing she said.
“Take me with you,” she blurted out, the words running together in her rush to get them out. “I heard about the exhibition, I know what you’re planning to do, and you need me around to make sure it happens. If you’re going to succeed, the car has to be perfect at all times. No one can keep it that way other than me.”
Jag froze. She had no idea what he was planning to do with his exhibition. She had likely read the official marketing materials about the exhibition and thought it was all about the cars.
“And what’s in it for you?” he asked, voice low.
“I have to be there. It’s the best place I can showcase my work, my talent. The place to make the connections that I need to in order to achieve my long-term goals. The most important names in electric vehicles will be there, so I have to be there, too. The connections I could make...you wouldn’t even need to acknowledge me. I just need to be in the room where it happens,” she pleaded earnestly.
It made sense.
Of course she would want to be a part of it—she was the world’s leading engineer when it came to electric vehicles.
But electric futures were not the only thing his exhibition was about, and she had no idea the kind of danger and intrigue that boiled beneath the surface.
Only his close friends, the total of whom he could count on one hand, knew just what his plans were. There was no conceivable reason to add babysitting a strange and alluring woman into that mix.
Except for the fact that she was right about the car.
And that she was alluring and strange and beautiful.
But most importantly, the car.
It did have to be perfect, for every moment of the exhibition. And not just for the race, but for the countless showcases and press events and demonstrations as well. Old cars, as well as converted cars, were high-maintenance under the best of conditions. A weeklong showcase of the power, range and capacity of electric vehicles, starring a vehicle that had been born in the same year as his mother, rest her soul, was not exactly the best of conditions.
NECTAR guaranteed lifelong service for all of his—or rather, her—vehicles, but that service required to and fro international transport and resulted in intolerable waiting times.
Her offer made absolute sense.
But still, Jag refused. “Absolutely not.”
He owed it to her to protect her—even if it was just against her own recklessness.