Mika grimaced. ‘I suggest you tiptoe through that minefield. Taz once threatened to fire me for asking about his love life. And Alex is never to be mentioned or discussed,ever.’
Alex had been racing royalty, Ben’s best friend and racing teammate, but he’d died in a fluke accident seven years ago after slipping and smacking the back of his head on the corner of a marble kitchen counter. In internet chat rooms, fierce conspiracy theories raged over whether it was really an accident. Imagination, but no proof, was the only requirement needed to be a part of those discussions.
Two young men from the same racing team, both charismatic and confident, both top Formula One drivers, dead before their thirtieth birthdays. Life could be incomprehensibly awful on occasion.
Millie squinted. Something about the photo of Taz and Meredith still bothered her. Should she say anything? Did she have the right to comment? Would they listen? ‘I…’ she said.
Mika looked impatient at her hesitation. ‘What?’
‘I don’t think they are dating,’ Millie stated. ‘Their fingers aren’t interlocked. That’s not how lovers hold hands. And he looks…worried.’
Sylvie sent her a thin-lipped smile. ‘I think we know him better than you, Millie. We’ve been working with Taz for more than a decade.’
It had been stupid to say anything, foolish to think they’d listen. They had known him longer, and she had only been working here a short time. But perhaps they also saw what they expected to see. He was the quintessential bad boy, and they expected bad-boy behaviour from him.
Millie looked down at her iPad as Mika and Sylvie stepped into the conference room. While she waited for Taz in the passage, she’d read through the briefing report and Taz’s schedule on her tablet—not that he’d follow it. He had a press interview with an influential sports journalist at one thirty—he shouldn’t miss that—and he needed to attend the FIA press conference. He had the sponsors’ dinner at eight…
‘How did you know that it wasn’t a date?’
Taz’s low, deep voice reached her ears, and Millie shuddered at the huff of his warm breath on her cheek. Shock kept her standing still; she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. Heat rolled off him, along with his gorgeous cologne, something summer-fresh and sexy. She turned her head and noticed his bloodshot eyes and drawn face. It was obvious he’d had no sleep, and she wondered what or who had kept him up last night.
She hated the way he made her feel, shivery and shaky. Taz De Rossi made the world shift below her feet. Around him, she felt off balance, and it took all her mental energy not to let him see how much he affected her. His ego was big enough already.
And she had no experience in dealing with men who walked through the world with complete ease and confidence. The last man she dated—if two dinners could be called a date—was in his early forties, lived with his mum and was obsessed with video games. While she wasn’t a virgin, she wasn’t experienced.
Did experience matter? For her, marriage wasn’t a long-term goal. Having grown up with the Quartet, she’d witnessed two highly dysfunctional, manipulative marriages, and she wasn’t a fan. Besides, she still needed to unpack her emotional baggage and didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with someone else’s.
Before she had the chance to answer, Taz jerked his head towards the hallway. ‘Follow me.’
Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Millie cradled her iPad to her chest while Taz closed the door to the hospitality suite behind her. He moved further down the hallway, stopped and widened his stance. He crossed his arms across his wide chest, and Millie had to tip her head back to look into his harsh face. She wondered how he’d look with a smile on his face. She’d yet to see one.
‘Good morning, Mr De Rossi,’ she said, determined to be polite. Maybe one day he’d catch the hint and be polite back. But she wouldn’t hold her breath. He didn’t have anyone in his life brave enough, or important enough, to challenge him to change.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and his lips thinned. Maybe she shouldn’t poke the bear. She looked down at her screen. ‘Can I run through today’s schedule with you? The track walk is at ten, and the final seat fitting is at eleven. Then you have aFan Zoneappearance before lunch. You have an interview with—’
‘Cancel it.’
His instruction wasn’t unexpected, but it did make her cross. He’d been messing the sports journalist around for weeks now, and she was losing patience. Millie didn’t blame her. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. She has a massive social media presence and is more influential than you probably realise.’
‘A million followers across her platforms, with a demographic of twenty to thirty-five-year-olds,’ Taz snapped back.
So he did listen to her. ‘Then, why are you refusing to do the interview?’
His grey eyes burned into hers, and his mouth tightened, but he didn’t answer. Not unexpected.
She’d try once more. Because getting him to do positive PR was herjob. ‘She told me that if you don’t meet with her this time, she is going to run her story without your input.’
He lifted one broad shoulder. ‘Let her.’
Millie sighed. Taz De Rossi didn’t give a flying fig what people thought or wrote about him. He didn’t only march to the beat of his own drum, he composed its music as well. Millie wanted to tell him he was being inconsiderate, disrespectful and rude. But, like her parents, Taz didn’t care what she thought or felt. She was his employee, and he was her arrogant, egotistical and imperious boss, a man determined to make her job a thousand times harder than it needed to be.
And she’d never told anyone off in her life.
Thankfully, she wasn’t as shy as she’d been as a teenager, and leaving home to go to university had helped her gain a little self-assurance. But she still tended to retreat into her shell when she felt uncomfortable, and Taz De Rossi made her feel very uncomfortable indeed. He was dauntless, so certain of his place in the world. In the face of people like him, she felt her self-confidence drain away. She straightened her shoulders and reminded herself that she’d taken this job, joined the De Rossi team, to do something different, tobedifferent. She wanted to change her outlook and her life because she was tired of coasting, wondering whether there was more to life, more toher. To push, as Ben had always wanted her to, through her cocoon of self-doubt. Ben had been so convinced that she was bolder, braver and more self-assured than she believed herself to be. Millie’s way of honouring him, ten years later, was to find out whether he was right or not.
It was proving to be a one-step-forward-three-steps-back situation, but six weeks in, she was still working for Taz De Rossi. She’d count that as a win. ‘Cancel the interview,’ Taz reiterated. ‘I’m not in the mood to make nice with journalists.’
To be fair, he never was. Millie sighed and nodded, hoping the journalist wouldn’t shoot the messenger. ‘I’ll walk the track, and I’ll do the seat fitting,’ Taz’s words shot out, bullet-fast.
