“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marques?” Harrison demands.
“I’m sorry,” Marques says, standing to face Harrison, “Were you under the impression that this is any of your business?”
“She’s clearly not interested in you,” Harrison goes on, “So why don’t you act like the gentleman you’re clearly not and back the fuck off, yeah?”
Andy, Cora, Sara, and Shelby appear behind Harrison, peering around his staggering form. I watch confusion cloud each of their faces as Harrison places himself between me and Marques. This can’t become a spectacle. It just can’t.
“Harrison,” I hiss, “Leave it, would you?”
“He’s the one who needs to leave,” Harrison spits, “It’s men like him who give this sport a bad name.”
“That’s rich coming from you, Davies,” Marques laughs, “You’re not exactly a boy scout, are you? Glass of whiskey for breakfast, as many racing groupies as you can fit into an evening’s time, unsightly tattoos and never a proper shave to be seen—”
“You don’t know me, Marques.”
“And you don’t know me,” he returns, “So why don’t you back the fuck off and leave me to my conquest? I was just about to get her nice and liquored up.”
Without even thinking, I wrench my fist back and swing at Marques’ smug face. Harrison’s arms wrap me up, holding me back from the chauvinist pig. I swing wildly, aching to crack my fist against those pretty cheekbones of Rafael’s but Harrison pulls me back just as my fist narrowly misses. How dare he speak about me like that, and right in front of my face?
“Easy, Siena,” Harrison says, “Come on, he’s not worth it.”
“What the hell is going on here?” I hear Enzo’s voice call out.
I look up and see that my brother, Bex, Rostov, and Landers have returned for their drinks. It occurs to me what a strange scene this has become. Five of F1’s top racers, a handful of puzzled teammates, and me at the center. Boy, do I know how to make a scene or what?
“This asshole was terrorizing Siena,” Harrison growls, nodding toward Marques.
“You were what?” Enzo says, rounding on the Spanish driver.
“Terrorizing is not the correct word,” he says coolly.
“No, harassing would be more apt,” I say, wrenching my arms from Harrison’s grasp.
“You’d better get out of here,” Enzo warns Marques.
“Or what?” the other driver challenges, “You’ll sick Davies on me?”
“I don’t know what the hell Davies has to do with this,” Enzo says, “But trust me. I can cause quite enough trouble for you all on my own.”
“Doubt it,” Marques sniffs, “But that’s adorable coming from daddy's boy.”
“You really wanna fuck with me? You fuckin' Spic grease ball?” Enzo says, stepping up to Marques.
Rostov and Landers each lay a hand on Enzo’s shoulders, holding him back, as Marques jumps up and spouts off a verbal assault in incomprehensible Spanish.
“Easy boys,” I say, “The five of you need to cool your goddamn shit. You want a dozen gossip bloggers to get a hold of this little powwow? You’ll be fielding schoolyard bullshit questions for the rest of the championship.”
“The lady is right,” Marques drawls, “I, for one, am bored stiff of you all. Until we meet again, my friends.”
The Spanish driver saunters away, leaving the rest of us alone to stare at each other, perplexed. Rostov and Landers make sure Enzo’s not about to fly after Marques, Bex looks on anxiously, Enzo eyes Harrison and me, and the McClain team is completely bemused. Well, except for Shelby, that is. She, for one, looks downright tickled.
“Well,” Harrison says, breaking the supremely awkward silence, “Glad that’s taken care of, at least.”
“What were you doing, swooping in like that?” Enzo asks Harrison.
“It looked like Marques was giving Siena a hard time,” Harrison answers.
“I’m sorry. Do you two...know each other?” Enzo asks icily.
I decide that a dash of truth might be in order, here. Might as well cover our asses as best we can.
“We met in Barcelona,” I say quickly, “I hung out with the McClain guys at a club there.”
“You never mentioned that,” Enzo says, his brows furrowing.
“You never asked,” I remind him.
“We PR types tend to run into each other a lot,” the red headed Sara speaks up, taking a tentative step toward Enzo, batting her eyelashes and smiling coyly. “I’ve actually been dying to meet you since we ran into Siena. I’m a big fan.”
“You...are?” my brother asks, astonished by the confident beauty.
“Oh, definitely,” the blonde haired Shelby interjects, stepping around Sara, moving toward Enzo with swinging hips, “We’re all big fans.”
“That’s...great,” Enzo says, his eyes locked on Shelby’s curvy form.
A little rush of panicked anger runs through me as Shelby locks her eyes on my brother. For all I know, she could be plotting my professional and romantic downfall. Now she’s trying to get chummy with my brother? This chick is hardcore.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Andy says loudly, throwing an arm around Cora, “But I could use a drink.”
“I second that,” Landers says.
I look around from face to face, trying to pinpoint the moment when this night became truly bizarre. I was just hoping for a chance to blow off some steam with my brother and Bex. But now Enzo and Harrison are face-to-face, Bex is being courted by Rostov, and Shelby is sidling up to my brother like nobody’s business. Not to mention that whole episode with Marques. It’s all becoming a little bit too much for me.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, “I’m just going to get some air.”
“I’ll come with you,” say Harrison and Enzo in unison. I hold my breath as their eyes lock. There’s fire smoldering behind Enzo’s eyes as he takes in his rival.
“Just because you happened to be here to intercept Marques, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly my little sister’s protector,” Enzo says coldly.
“Well, someone has to be,” Harrison says, cocking an eyebrow.
“What was that?” Enzo retorts, taking a step forward, “Are you implying something, Davies?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Harrison says, “I’m saying outright that you were too busy trying to score some tail to keep an eye on Siena.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on Siena her whole life,” Enzo spits, pulling me away from Harrison’s side, “I’ve always watched out for her, and I always will.”
“Well. Bang-up job, buddy,” Harrison laughs meanly.
“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” Enzo asks, “I’m not liking this sudden interest you seem to have in my family, Davies. What, are you trying to get in good with me so I don’t beat your ass too badly in the Grand Prix next week?”
“Oh, yes. That’s exactly it, mate,” Harrison drawls sarcastically, “I’m so desperate to beat you that I’m picking off your teammates, one by one.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Enzo says, “You don’t seem the type to play fair.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harrison says, exasperated, “Are you just making shit up now?”
“Absolutely not,” Enzo says, placing himself between me and Harrison, “You showing up for this season, without ever having shown your face before in F1, was a dirty fucking trick, Davies. Everybody thinks so.”
“He’s got a point,” Rostov says.
“It’s true,” Landers agrees.
“So this grudge is about the fact that I didn’t come bearing fruit baskets and warm wishes before jumping into the season?” Harrison laughs, “Give me a break.”
“You don’t just come out of nowhere and try and take what’s not rightfully yours,” Enzo says, “You haven't paid your dues.”
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it just seems like good strategy.”
�
��And on what high ground do you think you’re standing, Davies?” Enzo asks, “Because to the rest of us, you’re lower than dirt.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your opinions to heart,” Harrison replies hotly, “I’m not really one for listening to egotistic narcissists who’d rather score with groupies than look out for their own flesh and blood.”
“Mind your own damn business, Davies,” Enzo snaps, “Siena is mine to take care of, and certainly not yours to worry about.”
“Certainly not anyone’s,” I cry, fed up with this little chest-pounding fiasco once and for all. “You guys are absolutely incorrigible. Listen to yourselves, the both of you. All of you. You think because you spend your lives speeding around in your little toy cars that you have some kind of unearthly power over the rest of us? It’s deluded. It’s pathetic. You’re just men. And neither one of you has any place looking out for me, or telling me what’s best. So why don’t you both back off, quit it with the pissing contests, and do your goddamn job—which, last time I checked, was racing, not constantly whipping it out to see whose is bigger.”
“Don’t talk to me like that in front of him,” Enzo hisses in my ear, “I’m your brother. I do know what’s best for you.”
“Bullshit!” I exclaim, “You’re all a bunch of clueless little boys, you know that? God. To think that people actually look up to you. It’s laughable.”
“Why don’t we go get some air?” Harrison suggests, crossing to me.
“I’m fine on my own,” I snap, “You all enjoy the rest of your evening.”
I turn on my heel and storm away from the huddle of drivers and teammates. I hear a murmur rise up as I make my exit. I’m sure my outburst has most of them raising their eyebrows, but I couldn’t keep silent any longer. Between Marques’ presumptuous advances, Harrison’s unthinking interference, and Enzo’s posturing, I’ve had it with the theatrics for the night. All these racers think they’re gods, masters of the universe. But I, for one, am through letting their whims dictate my life.
Looking back over my shoulder, I see that the group has fallen back into partying. Bex has gone off with Rostov once more, Landers and Sara are chatting at the end of the bar, and Andy is dancing with Cora. I stop in my tracks as I see Shelby’s crown of blonde curls bobbing right in front of Enzo. She’s practically sitting on his lap. Her tactics don’t make any sense to me. Is she actually interested in my brother, or is there something more malicious behind her actions?
I feel a hand on my arm and whip around to find Harrison standing beside me.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me toward him.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Taking you out of here so that we can have some privacy,” he says.
“Are you crazy? There are people everywhere.”
“Really, Siena, I don’t really give a shit,” he says, “I can’t let you storm out of here, furious with me. We need to figure a few things out.”
“Not here. Just...come on.”
I shake him off my arm and whirl away, tears stinging my eyes. For what it’s worth, he lets me make it out of the club before hurrying right after me. I dart across the street, away from the snaking line of people waiting to get into the club. Harrison stays right on my heels, following me by a pace or two until I duck into a narrow alleyway. We slip into the shadows, finally away from prying eyes. I lean back against the brick wall and cover my face with my hands, biting back bitter tears.
“Hey,” Harrison says, his voice a quiet growl, “Siena, come here...”
I collapse against him as he takes me in his arms. I’m beyond the point of crying now, but my shoulders shake with frustrated anger.
“This is such bullshit,” I say through gritted teeth, “Look at us! Hiding out in some alley like a couple of criminals.”
“I know. It’s fucking miserable,” Harrison says, cupping my chin with his hand.
“You’re not exactly making matters better,” I tell him, stepping away from his embrace, “Why did you have to fly off the handle in there?”
“Pardon me?” Harrison says, “Are you actually angry with me for getting that asshole to lay off?”
“I would have been just fine on my own, Harrison,” I tell him, “I’ve been taking care of myself for twenty-five years without your help. I know how to shake off a creep.”
“You can’t blame me for losing my temper,” Harrison says, “He was all over you.”
“I can absolutely blame you!” I exclaim. “You’re a grown man. You need to learn how to control yourself. Have you forgotten about the hundred pictures of us that could come out at any minute if our blackmailer sees us together again?”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Harrison snaps, “I’ve got just as much to lose here as you do.”
“Then what were you thinking, racing to my defense like that?” I demand, “If that’s not a tip off that something’s been going on between us—”
“I was thinking,” Harrison growls, “That the woman I love was in trouble. And I’m not going to apologize for wanting to take care of you.”
“I’m not—”
“Maybe we should really take these weeks away from each other,” Harrison says, “No more of these chance meetings. I’ll see you in front of the State Museum in a week’s time. Until then, don’t you worry. You won’t see hide or hair of me.”
“Harrison—” I say, reaching for him. But he slips back out of the alley before I can catch him, leaving me alone once more. Deflated and confused, I make my way back toward the club. Time to make good on that second martini, after all.
Chapter Five
Out Of Dodge
I bury myself in work for the next several days, hoping to distract myself from the increasingly awful shit storm swirling all around me. Rising up six in the morning and heading out to a secluded cafe in a far corner of Moscow to research, I manage to steer clear of anyone related to F1. I claim exhaustion and impending illness and bow out of evening excursions, and keep my door tightly barred against visitors. The only person I actually want to see right now is Harrison. And since he refuses to see me for an entire two weeks, I’d rather just be alone.
Luckily, there’s always plenty of work to be done for Team Ferrelli. It’s a bottomless well to draw from. In this age of digitization and instant access, PR is both a nightmare and an exciting challenge. With so much of our private lives becoming open to the public through social media and the Web in general, there’s a lot more potential for something to come along and really derail even the best attempts at good behavior. And don’t I know it.
I’ve been crafting Enzo’s public persona since I was brought onto the team after graduation. He’s always been a pretty easy driver to manage, in that respect. The face he shows to the public is composed and conservative, professional and sportsmanlike. Sure, his private indulgences may not be as clean and shiny as all that, but those transgressions are easy to divert the media’s attention from. At least, it’s been easy in the past. But this season, my brother’s become more difficult to handle than ever. He’s always had a temper, but he’s getting worse and worse at restraining it these days.
This is the first year that Enzo really has a shot at taking first place. From the start of this season, the awareness of that fact has been changing him. He’s cockier than ever, not afraid to look like a hot head in front of the press. But more worrying is his behavior on the track. He’s become reckless with his advantage, bordering on careless at times. And it’s only getting worse with every passing race. The old Enzo would never dream of cutting another driver off unnecessarily, or threatening to drag a personal feud onto the track. As I scramble to dust off Enzo’s public image, I start to really get nervous about the impending Grand Prix. Would he really be so vindictive, so stupid as to mess with Harrison on the track?
I shake off the question, unable to face it. I have to believe that my brother is better than that. It’s the only way I’m going to make it through
this Grand Prix with my nerves even remotely intact. For the first time in about three hours, I look up from my computer screen, taking in the small, quiet Moscow cafe. It’s so peaceful here, so quaint. Sitting here, alone at my little table, deeply immersed in my work, I can almost forget that this sport is so much more to me than a job. God...what I wouldn’t give to be able to go home for the night after a good day’s work. I glance toward the barista behind the counter longingly. Maybe he’s got the right idea.
With a heavy sigh, I close my laptop and begin to gather my things. I’m just about to stand up and pay when a flurry of fuchsia settles in across the table from me.
“Not so fast,” Bex says, crossing her arms.
“Jesus Christ,” I exclaim, startled by her sudden presence. “When did you—How—?”
“I followed you here, obviously,” she says, flicking a blonde curl off her shoulder. “You’ve been a ghost for the last three days, Siena. I had to get creative with my tactics.”
“I’ve just been really busy with work, Bex,” I tell her, leaning back in my chair, “I was trying to find a little peace and quiet to get ahead with—”
“You can’t lie to me, Lazio,” she cuts me off, “You forget that I’m not your best friend these days, I’m also your coworker. I know how much work there is for us to do, and I know you well enough to know your ‘I’m a dirty liar’ face from a mile away. You're sunk, my darling.”
“So what is this, then?” I ask, a bit more harshly than I mean to, “Some kind of interrogation? What do you want from me, Bex?”
“I want you to tell me what’s been going on with you since Budapest,” she says, “You’ve been locking me out ever since the last Grand Prix. I’m so worried about you, Siena. I can tell that something’s gone to shit and all I want to do is help. Will you let me help you?”
“I...I don’t know if you can,” I finally say, my throat thick with swallowed tears.
“At least let me in,” Bex urges quietly, “Whatever’s going on, you shouldn’t have to shoulder it alone. Come on. This is what best friends are for.”
Take Me Series (COMPLETE BOX SET) Page 20
