“For some of it,” I said. “The promo post on Thursday received comments about how happy he looked.”
I’d been worried about it at first, especially so soon afterAlv’saccident, only five weeks earlier. But the camera team had worked wonders, and at the end of the clip, as all the other riders walked away from the set, there was a still of Nixon in the dark looking up atAlv’snumber.
It had almost brought tears to my eyes.
For some who posted on social media, it had.
“Those shoes won’t do, though,” he groaned. “Slides? In a garage? What if something falls on your feet?”
I lifted my hands up. “No intention of getting near the bikes at all.”
He grunted and said, still eyeing my footwear, “Heard it was your idea forAlv’snumber to be in the background. That’s whatLucatold me, anyway.”
“It might have been,” I said. “He’s my client still.”
Crisnodded thoughtfully, glanced down at me and then offered me his hand. “Let’s start again,Livie. You’re doing a good job. Welcome to the team.”
I shook his hand just as firmly as I had last time. “Just got to get Nix a girlfriend now. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you a miracle,” he chuckled and we watched the riders leave.
“Break a leg!” I shouted. “Bonnechance!”Good luck.
Crisagain looked down at me. “You brushing up on your French?”
I shrugged. Clearly, no one knew about my language skills here. Funny, I’d thought that was what got me the job. “Thought it might be helpful for when Nix grumbles about me.”
We settled in around the screens. People of my status — not important regarding the bikes — often watched up in the VIP lounge. I knew that was whereSalihawas, but I wanted to watch the first race as part of the team. Especially now that I had been welcomed into it.
The intro played, the dark colours contrasted by the light beams and the smiling faces of the riders. I couldn’t help but grin at how I had helped arrange it. The men all together underAlv’snumber and then that shot of Nixon. Seeing it all together for the first time, I knew this would bring some positivity to theCiclatiteam.
I’d wait a few minutes for feedback to come in, and then I’d stalk the posts online.
The aerial shot of all the riders in the grid box showed Nix in second place after qualifying yesterday.Lucawas further back in seventh, which for the first time qualifying inStormSprintwas insane.
A woman stood beside each of the men, holding an umbrella to protect the rider from rain, slate, and sun rays. They were all beautiful and glamorous, but the men didn’t seem to pay them any attention. Abbe was talking to Nix. And then I saw it.
Nix passed the girl beside him his can of drink with a warm smile. She returned it with her own.
He smiled at me like that. Maybe he smiled at every woman like that.
He could be charismatic when he wanted to be.
Women doted on him, obsessed with what he posted. There were forums dedicated to the curve of his ass.
So, if I noticed that, they certainly would.
“Who is she?” I asked, knowing with the question, I had to follow it with action.
Cristook a while to respond, struggling to focus on anything but the screens. “Clara.”
The race started, but I wasn’t checking the comments or how Nix andLucaperformed. I was in the VIP lounge, trying not to be intimidated by all the beautiful grid girls.
The one I sought out sat up when I joined them. “Livie, isn’t it?” she asked and pointed from herCiclatitop to mine. Hers fit far better.
I nodded. “Clara, can we talk? I have a proposition for you.”
Chapter 9
