“So you, as the reigning champion ofStormSprint, just won’t be in the opening sequence?”
“They have footage of me already,” he said, voice low as if bored.
“Yeah, and I’ve seen it,” I snapped. “You look as stiff as a board. Miserable. I wouldn’t be rooting for you if I saw that grumpy face on my screen.”
“It’s called being professional,” he countered.
“Try and have a personality,Armas,” I groaned and stabbed myorzo. “You’ll put those good looks to waste if you just look like a misery.”
He grunted. “If you want someone to grin and be a dork, then you have the right idea pushing to getLucaMendes on the team.”
“Pushing?”
He cleared his throat before putting on the most awful mocking female, British voice. “I fear what would happen if youdidn’tsign him.LucaMendes is the only option.” As I stared at him, he shoved a forkful of food in his mouth. “You got a little crush?” he asked, giving me a bashful grin.
Maybe I did have a little crush.
But it wasn’t onLuca. Unfortunately, it was on Nix’s stupidly attractive face.
“Am I really having to tell you a second time that I don’t fuck my clients?” I hissed. “If I did have a crush, I would be pushing for himnotto get signed. Then I could go there.”
“You could go there anyway,” he protested. “A secret fuck never hurt anyone, as long as it stays secret.”
I was not blushing. I refused to blush.
I ate myorzoin an angry silence.
Our bicker didn’t seem to bother him. He shovelled the food in his mouth, nodding at those that passed us.
“You’re there on Tuesday,” I demanded, dropping my fork on the empty plate. “I’m arranging a meeting for the two of us.Luca, too. We’ll discuss your interview with Road Racing League and your social media profiles. Bring some photos ofZig.”
I still couldn’t get over the fact he had a snake.
“Or better yet, the fluffy things you feed her.”
“Sounds a bit gruesome for you. Didn’t take you for—”
“Alive, Armas.”
“Oh.” He frowned as if he was genuinely confused by such an obvious statement. “Well, I can show you pictures of her now—”
My chair screeched as I pushed it back, done with my food. “Get an earlier flight, charter a plane. I don’t care. Just be there.”
As I turned, he stopped me, gripping my wrist. He looked up at me with his dark blue eyes. “What do I get in return?”
He was touching me, his hold warm and tight. And still.
“You get my gratitude.” I guessed. Though, it was the bare minimum. It was the expectation. Nothing to be thankfulfor when I was the one who had gone above my pay grade to arrange all of this.
“Do I get to do something with this gratitude?” A smirk fought for the surface.
“I said gratitude, not a favour.”
“Shame,” he said, finally letting me go and returning to his food.
I scanned the room to see some members ofCiclatilooking over. I placed my tray back on the table and sat beside him with a sigh. “What is it that you want?”
He shrugged again. “Not sure yet,” he said, mouth full as he got his phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll think of something eventually.”
