I was almost there when I heard banging on a window. I turned to my right and spotted Reilley inside a coffee shop, madly waving. I took a deep breath. At least I didn’t need to seek her out to make the apology about her work. I reversed direction and went inside.
“Are you following me?” she asked, grinning.
I raised my eyes upward. “There’s only one stalker around here, and that’s you.”
She laughed and rose to her feet. “Coffee?”
I checked my watch. I had a couple of hours free until I needed to go see Charlotte. “I can get it.”
“No, no. Have a seat.” She pointed to the bench opposite. “What would you like?”
“Americano, please. Black.”
“Sure thing.”
She walked up to the counter while I set my bags beside me and checked my phone for any messages. There was one from Jack, which I quickly replied to. With nothing else to distract me, I found my attention drifting to Reilley. She had her back to me and was sharing a joke with the barista. I watched as his eyes traveled the length of her body. I couldn’t blame him. She looked hellishly sexy in a short lemon-colored summer dress that showed off a pair of damn fine legs. Still, I didn’t like the way he was checking her out. I caught his attention and glared. I had absolutely no right to do that, but it didn’t stop me. He received the message loud and clear, quickly averting his gaze. Reilley seemed oblivious to the silent exchange as she strolled back to our table. She put down my coffee and slipped onto the bench opposite.
“So, had any more thoughts about my offer?”
My lips quirked up. I might have known she’d plunge straight in. Reilley was nothing if not direct.
“No.”
She linked her fingers together and leaned forward. I kept my eyes trained on her face, even though I could see a hint of cleavage—a cleavage as fine as her legs. Ever since she’d begun bugging me about this book last year, I’d spent so much energy avoiding her—as though she had a communicable disease—that I’d never taken the time to look at her. I mean properly look at her. But these last few days she’d kinda forced the issue, and it was almost as if I’d been wearing a pair of glasses that distorted my vision and Reilley had decided to take them off. I was seeing her through new eyes, and I liked what I saw.
Not that it mattered. Relationships of any kind were simply not possible. Hell, I avoided male friendships in case I found myself doused in an urge to share, so female relationships were an absolute no-no. Pillow talk was a dangerous occupation.
“But you’re tempted, aren’t you?”
For a second, I started, wondering whether or not she’d caught me checking her out, and then I realized her question referred to the book, not to her. “Not particularly,” I drawled.
She chuckled. “I’ll wear you down eventually, Devon. It’ll be much easier if you simply give in.”
“I read your book,” I said, forcing a change of subject.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Which one?”
“The one on Marchant Boulland.”
“And?”
I rested my arm along the back of the bench. Reilley leaned even farther forward. On autopilot, my gaze dropped. Blood rushed to my groin. Jesus, that woman has great tits.
“Devon?”
I snapped my eyes back to hers. Had she noticed my attention had wandered? I guessed not since she fixed me with a keen rather than irritated stare.
“Well? Come on. Don’t keep me waiting. Good or crap?”
“Great, actually,” I said, relieved I’d gotten away with my blatant ogling. As long as she didn’t ask me to stand up… “I couldn’t put it down.”
A broad grin inched across her face. “Really? You’re not shitting me?”
“I stayed up half the night reading, then finished it off this morning. And I didn’t even know who Marchant Boulland was until you mentioned him, so it’s not like I had an enormous interest in the subject.”
“Wow.” She sat up straighter. “I’m… astonished. Stunned. But extremely pleased. I hope now you understand I don’t write in a gossipy manner.”
“No, you don’t. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.”
Her face took on a faraway look as though she was recalling a memory. “I had to work so hard for that book. He refused to speak to me, as did a lot of his close friends and family initially. I researched tirelessly for almost two years before I had enough material to write about his life. I barely had a day off during that time. After I turned in the manuscript, I slept for a week.”
“Wasn’t he pissed at you for writing an unauthorized biography?”
She nodded. “At first, yeah. Extremely. I sent him the very first copy that came off the production line. A few weeks later, he emailed me, praising the job I’d done.” She shrugged. “I guess in the end he must have liked it.”
I blew across the top of my coffee then took a sip. I set it back on the table. “Why don’t you do the same with me? If you’re so determined to write this book, I can’t stop you.”
She nibbled on her lip and let out a soft breath through her nose. “Because, unlike Marchant, there is scant information in the public domain about you. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, especially as you’ve been around Formula One for so long, but you lead a very private life.” She smiled. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. With Marchant, there was a lot more for me to go on. Even then it was a complete nightmare getting people to trust me enough to talk.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus, it’s your point of view I’m interested in. I want to hear the stories from you, not from anyone else.”
I shook my head. She was very persuasive, and now I’d read one of her books, I knew she’d do a really good job. But I couldn’t risk it. Having her follow me around, interview me for hours on end, especially someone as tenacious as Reilley. That woman could drill for oil without any equipment. I worried about the secrets she’d extract.
Correction, I worried about one particular secret.
“You’re right. I am a very private person, and I have every intention of keeping it that way. I leave living in the spotlight to the drivers. All I’ve ever wanted to do is work hard, come up with innovative engineering solutions, and make sure I give my driver the best chance of being successful. I’m sorry, Reilley, but it’s just not for me.”
I expected her to receive my response with at least a little disappointment, but instead, she hit me with a brilliant smile, all white teeth and matt-red lipstick. “I’ve never failed yet, and I don’t plan to this time. I’ll find a way to convince you.”
I swept a hand down the back of my head, unable to stop a smile of my own from making an appearance. “You are something else.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “It has been said.”
“You’ll get fed up eventually.”
She stared me dead in the eye. “If it was only the book, you’re probably right. But you’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
She looked as though she was going to say something then appeared to change her mind. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She downed the rest of her coffee then stood. “I gotta dash. It was good seeing you. I’ll give you a call in a day or so.”
Before I could stop her, she’d gone. I watched her fast-walk past the coffee shop, and seconds later, she disappeared from view.
What did I say?
Reilley
Goddammit. I’d almost blabbed. I’d been this close to telling Devon I wasn’t only interested in his life story. He interested me just as much, maybe even more so. I’d nearly told him how sometimes I’d lie awake at night imagining us together, dreaming of his dark eyes and rough jaw looming over me as our slick, sweaty bodies came together. My fantasy went so deep, I could hear him breathing deeply with every thrust of his hips, then withdraw oh-so-slowly. I envisioned me grabbing his ass, urging him to go faster, to fuck me harder, except that wasn’t what
happened. Even in my dreams, he was controlled and in command.
I jumped in my rental car and drove away, half dreading, half hoping he’d come sprinting after me, demanding to know what I’d meant. Of course he didn’t. Something had shifted between us, though. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what, but in the past, he always ran in the opposite direction the second he spotted me, yet the last couple of days, he seemed more willing to chat. Maybe, just maybe, he was coming around to the idea of the novel, despite his insistence otherwise. After all, he did pick up a copy of the book I recommended. That must mean he was curious.
I meant what I’d said, though. I wouldn’t give up. Even if Simon forced me to write my backup project, I’d keep working on winning Devon around in my spare time.
A little voice whispered what spare time? I ignored her. She talked shit anyways.
I arrived back at the hotel and put in a call to Simon. If I gave him an update, embellished the facts a tad, he might be persuaded to cut me some slack, maybe even extend my deadline.
He answered the phone, and I could instantly tell he wasn’t in a good mood. I chose to go for a joke to lighten the atmosphere.
“Aww, Simon, I love it when you’re all growly in the morning.”
“Unless you’re calling to tell me Devon Gray has signed on the dotted line, you can fuck off.”
Hmm, maybe a joke hadn’t been the best approach. “Hey, don’t take your bad mood out on me.”
“Well, has he?”
“Has he what?”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “Don’t play games, Reilley.”
“Not yet, but I’m confident. He’s coming around, definitely.”
“Clock’s ticking.”
He hung up before I had a chance to respond. I adored Simon, but he could be a pain in the butt sometimes.
I sent him a WhatsApp message with a one-fingered emoji followed by a smiley so he knew I was only teasing.
He replied with a GIF of a man checking his watch.
Bastard.
I took a shower and spent more time than I usually would drying my hair, but considering I had nowhere to go—and definitely no one to do—what was the point in rushing?
I ordered a solitary meal from room service and lay down on my bed, scanning Facebook. As usual, my feed was full of happy, happy, happy.
Isn’t my child adorable in their school uniform. Erm… only to you.
I’m getting married! Coupled with a hand shot of a massive engagement ring.
Oh look, cute cat. Or dog. Or horse. Or, or, or.
And then there was the interminable ads… so many ads. The ability of these companies to track my interests was slightly disconcerting.
I switched to Instagram, but that didn’t grab my attention either. I always had this problem. If I wasn’t working, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I needed Devon to say yes.
WhatsApp pinged with a message. Maybe it was Simon with the apology he owed me for being such a grump. Nope. It was my PA, Barbara—Babs—who also happened to be one of my closest friends and allies. I opened the message.
I see the worthless asshole has been up to his old tricks again.
I groaned and typed out a response. What now?
A few seconds passed before she replied. Check your reviews for your latest release.
I didn’t have to because I knew what I’d find, but I did it anyway. I opened a browser and typed in my name and the title of my newest book. It only took seconds to find what she was referring to.
My ex-boyfriend, Eric, liked to leave personal, scathing attacks on me every time I released a new novel. We’d tried to have them taken down, but he always managed to stay just on the right side of the line. He’d given me a one-star—what a surprise—and his review stated that, in his expert opinion of the subject matter, the book was badly researched, boring, and sent him to sleep after five minutes. He went on to say that I wrote eighth grade English and the novel was full of grammatical errors. He’d spelled grammatical incorrectly, which at least gave me a chuckle. He finished with his usual flourish of an attack on my character by intimating that I’d stolen the work from another biography on the same celebrity and, as the other one was much better written, he’d advise buying that one instead.
Same old, same old, I replied to Babs.
He’s a prick, she typed back.
She was right. That was why I’d broken up with him ten months ago after dating for a little over a year. I never thought he was the one but, you know, he kept my bed warm at night, was someone to go to the movies with, share details of your day with over a meal or a drink.
At first, he’d come across as a really nice guy. Kind, considerate, the type of man who would do anything for me. But as time passed, his true colors started to emerge. He was much more attracted to my lifestyle than he was to me. He liked rubbing shoulders with celebrities, walking the red carpet at events, making sure his face was in the shot during any interviews I gave.
And then when I’d told him I wanted to end things, he’d turned nasty. It began with innocuous little things like sending me horrible emails, spreading lies about me on social media, threatening to post naked pictures of us together. Then when I hadn’t reacted, he’d proceeded to follow me, turning up at work, at friends’ houses, hanging around outside my home.
The police gave him a warning, which scared him off, and he’d quit his one-man harassment crusade. Even so, his behavior unsettled me enough that I’d moved apartments, blocked him from my social media, and changed my phone number.
The untimely reminder that disgusting men like Eric existed turned my thoughts to Devon, a man who couldn’t be any further removed from my ex. Possessing integrity and principles, Devon was a man who, from what little I’d been able to glean, cared about his parents, his sister, his niece and nephew.
Are you coming home soon?
I jerked out of my daydream at another message from Babs. Depends if I get Devon on board.
Her reply had me chuckling. Don’t you mean in bed?
Babs was well versed in my fascination with Devon Gray. I wish.
She sent me a row of laughing emojis.
And how close to ‘on board’ is our Devon?
Closer than he was. Not as close as I’d like.
This time I received a row of sad emojis. Have you put the girls on display yet? I guarantee he’s a tit man. Most men are.
I chuckled. Hey, I’m not that kinda girl.
Remember, God wouldn’t have given you maracas if he didn’t want you to shake ’em.
I laughed aloud. That quote was a line from our favorite chick flick, Dirty Dancing. We must have seen that movie a hundred times over the years. It was a rite of passage to adulthood in my book.
I’ll take it under advisement.
We messaged back and forth for a little while longer. I promised to call her in a few days, secretly hoping that call would come from Bahrain, which would mean Devon had capitulated.
If he didn’t bend to my will, that call would come from Thailand where my backup subject was based—a retired rockstar with a checkered history who was all too eager to tell his story. Urgh, the very thought of having to spend hours listening to an aging rocker bang on about snorting coke, trashing hotel rooms, drinking himself into oblivion, and screwing random, sometimes underage, girls sent me spiraling into depression.
I was far from the giving up stage, though. I’d give Devon another day or so to mull it over, then I’d up the ante.
Devon
The day following my impromptu coffee with Reilley at the mall, my phone rang as I was in the middle of eating a bowl of cereal. My pulse jolted, and I found myself hoping it was her. Reilley wasn’t the kind of woman to let the grass grow under her feet, and I fully expected her to start turning the thumb screws any day now.
I set down my breakfast and removed the phone from the back pocket of my jeans. My heart plummeted at the caller ID, and not only because it wasn’t Reilley.
> “Helen,” I bit out, sharper than intended. “Is everything okay with Charlotte?”
“Charlotte’s fine.”
Her reply had me sinking into the nearest chair before my legs gave way. “Her chest infection hasn’t got any worse, has it?”
“No. In fact, she’s a little better this morning.”
“Oh. That’s great. So why the early call?”
“Caroline is here, and she wants to talk to us both.”
I groaned. What the fuck does she want now? Another pound of flesh? “Sure. I’ll head right over.”
Leaving my half-empty cereal bowl on the side, I grabbed my keys and headed on out.
I parked in my usual spot outside the home and went straight to Helen’s office. I tapped once on the door and pushed it open. Caroline was sitting in one of the two spare chairs opposite Helen’s desk, examining her fingernails.
Prior to Charlotte’s accident, I’d only met Caroline twice.
The first time, I disliked her on sight.
By the second meeting, I despised her.
Now… well, the right word hadn’t yet been invented to describe my feelings.
Caroline and Charlotte might look identical, but that was where the similarities ended. Charlotte was warm, kind, generous of spirit. Caroline… was none of those things.
“Hey, Helen.” I purposely ignored Caroline, sinking into the other spare chair.
“Oh, Devon. That was quick.”
“Light traffic,” I explained, a pointless comment.
“Can I get you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”
I shook my head. “What’s going on?”
Caroline turned her cold gaze on me, her antipathy evident in her tight jaw, her crossed arms, and the way she deliberately arched an eyebrow every time I opened my mouth.
“I’ve been doing some research, and I’ve discovered a place in Switzerland that has had some success with removing breathing apparatus for quadriplegics. I want to transfer Charlotte there. I’ve already spoken to them, and they think she is the perfect candidate for their program.”
The Full Velocity Series Box Set Page 42
