Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I’m so focused on the track and TV and the activity surrounding the VIP and pit lane that I almost don’t notice him at first. It’s only when I turn to glance at the sector times on the big screen that I see him.
Lance.
He’s standing a few meters away, just inside the VIP suite, his eyes locked on me.
My stomach drops. I know he’s not allowed in here and I look around the crowded suite. There must be at least thirty people, so I know I’m physically safe.
I’ve got two choices. Call security or confront him, and I choose the latter.
I step off the balcony into the interior lobby, weaving through tables, and Lance moves closer. He appears casual like he’s just here to chat. Like everything between us hasn’t shattered.
“Lara,” he says, voice heavy with feigned regret. “Thank you for talking to me.”
I come to a dead stop with a table between us that’s thankfully empty. “I’m not going to talk to you. I only came over to tell you to leave. You’re not allowed in here.”
His mouth tightens, anger simmering below the surface. “Please. Just a minute.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Lance. What you did is unforgivable and we are over. We can work out details later so I can move my items out of our apartment, but now isn’t the time.”
He leans in, letting out an angry hiss. “You’re making a mistake.”
I stare him down, every bit of my prior fear burned away by sheer exhaustion. “The only mistake was staying as long as I did. Especially after you cheated on me.”
Before he can say anything else, a security official approaches.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”
Lance glares at me one last time, but he leaves—shoulders stiff, ego bruised.
My shoulders sag and I’m trembling, but proud.
“Are you okay, Ms. Candlish?” the guard asks.
“Yes, thank you for asking him to go. I appreciate it.”
He tips his head to me, and I return to the balcony. Something new flushes through me and I realize I feel lighter. I made my position clear to Lance, and I can’t see how he could even want to talk to me again. Like it’s… over.
And I can move on.
CHAPTER 9
Reid
There’s a kind of euphoria that follows a great qualifying run. It hits just after the adrenaline fades but before the weight of the race settles on your shoulders. Some could get addicted to this feeling and I am at risk for that, no doubt.
Second on the grid. P2.
It’s not pole, but it’s damn close. Lex Hamilton edged me out by two-tenths, and even though I would’ve killed for that top spot, I can’t shake the idea that tomorrow is mine to take.
P2 is powerful. P2 is dangerous. It means I’m right there—ready to launch, ready to disrupt—and Matterhorn has a car that can do the job.
Just because qualifying is over doesn’t mean there isn’t work still to be done. The rest of the day is the usual pre-race madness—press interviews, media scrums, team meetings that stretch longer than they should. Felix wanted to review tire data one more time. Tariq kept tweaking race simulations like he was trying to code the perfect Sunday outcome into existence. There was talk of potential safety car deployment probabilities, first-stint tire wear and undercut windows.
All of it mattered. But all of it blurred.
Because the whole time, my brain kept circling back to one thing.
Lara.
She’s more on my mind now than ever as I reach the hotel suite door and swipe my keycard. The lock clicks open with a soft beep. I push inside and find her curled up on the couch, a paperback in hand. My breath catches as I note she’s wearing one of my Matterhorn hoodies, which swallows her and makes her look way too sexy.
She looks up and smiles like she was expecting me, but not quite yet. “Hey. I thought you were at dinner with your parents.”
Yeah… that’s where I’m supposed to be. It’s where Lara’s supposed to be too, but things changed once my brother fucking put his hands on her.
I close the door behind me and shrug off my jacket. “They’re having dinner with Lance.”
Her eyebrows lift. “And you’re not?”
I shake my head as I cross the room. “Didn’t feel right. I told them I wanted a quiet night.”
She tilts her head, studying me with quiet curiosity. “Because of Lance?”
“Because of you,” I say simply.
Her cheeks flush, and I see the way she tries to hide it behind a half smile. I grab the room service menu off the coffee table and hold it up. “You hungry?”
“Starving.” She scoots forward, pulling the second menu out from under a notepad. “Let’s order something. I’ll call it in if you pick.”
We settle beside each other on the couch, menus in hand. It’s easy. Comfortable. Domestic in a way I hadn’t expected but don’t hate. We debate over grilled chicken versus pasta, finally compromising on getting both to share, and she calls it in.