Taz’s shrug suggested their discussion was over. But she still had questions. ‘I don’t think—’
‘It’s done. Moving on.’ Just like that.
‘The F1 stewards doled out community service as a punishment for me pushing the rookie,’ he informed her, sitting down on the couch and casually placing his bare feet on the glass coffee table. He looked at her and grimaced. ‘In a meeting late last night, they agreed that I’d punished myself enough by punching the wall and putting myself out of commission, but they still had to censure me.’
Millie had to think fast to keep up with him. She’d come back to her promotion and her worries around it later. ‘Community service isn’t so bad,’ she said, linking her hands around her knee. ‘How much do you have to do and by when?’
‘The only proviso was that I had to make an impact, so it’s up to me.’
Millie mentally ran through some options. ‘You could do what your brother did and visit a children’s hospital or an orphanage, speak at high schools, do a shift at a community kitchen feeding the homeless.’
An emotion she couldn’t pinpoint flickered in his eyes before they turned flat and unreadable. Was it frustration, annoyance or anguish? She wasn’t sure. ‘No. I don’t want to be seen to be taking the easy way out by doing what he did,’ he replied. But something in his tone suggested it was a pat answer, one he trotted out to get over what he thought was a bump in the conversation.
‘Your brother got a lot of good press doing those appearances,’ Millie pointed out. But doing community work had reportedly been part of Alex’s personality, fed by his deep desire to help people less fortunate than himself. Alex was as lauded as much for his philanthropic endeavours as he was for his racing. Losing him was a tragedy. It must still be deeply painful for Taz.
Yet, how could two brothers grow up in the same house, under, as she believed, the same set of circumstances and turn out so different? She’d often wondered if she’d had a sibling whether they would have been like her, quiet and withdrawn, or more like her parents, a sunflower constantly turning its head to the light, happy to bloom?
Ben was raised in much the same way as her, but he’d been happier, sunnier, more confident. Was it a male thing or was it because he discovered his passion for racing young and was able to pour all his energies into his sport? The sport that he lived—and died—for.
‘Why do the good ones always die young?’ she murmured.
‘You assume Alex was good?’ Taz asked, dropping his feet and leaning forward, his eyes blazing with an emotion she couldn’t identify. Millie frowned, confounded by his fierce expression. In reality, she’d been thinking about Ben but wasn’t about to reveal that. She rarely told anyone about her semi-famous parents, and she’d yet to tell anyone, including Taz, that she was related to Ben, partly because talking about him was still hard and partly because she wanted to avoid comparisons between her and her gregarious and popular cousin.
Still, his reaction was…confusing to say the least. Almost as if he was daring her to contradict the narrative.
‘Um…he was well-known for giving his time and attention to causes he cared for, always visiting sick kids in the hospital or making guest appearances to help charities,’ Millie stated, confused.
‘He was a saint.’ Taz’s tone was so bland she wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Then as quickly as it had come up, he moved on.
‘I haven’t had a moment to read Mika’s reports on the PR my crash and fracas caused. Update me.’
‘It’s a train wreck,’ she warned him.
‘Not unexpected,’ Taz murmured. ‘Give it to me straight.’
Millie took a deep breath and told him how he was being calledtemperamentaland anuncontrollable, spoilt, overprivileged hothead. How he was risking his title and his brand, and when was he going to grow up?
‘That reporter I wanted you to meet on Thursday? She’s now one of your harshest critics. Her podcast, the one where she discusses how different you are to Alex, has shot up the popularity charts.’
Taz narrowed his eyes at her. ‘If you tell me I shouldn’t have blown her off on Thursday, I will fire you.’
Chance would be a fine thing. Millie gritted her teeth. She’d almost let that phrase slip. She could handle managing his press—press releases, interviews, the usual chaos—but being responsible for hisimage? Spinning it, rehabilitating it? That terrified her. Taz didn’t need a PR manager, he required a miracle worker. Someone with the nerves of a pro gambler and the skills of an acrobat juggling ten balls on a unicycle. Someone who exuded confidence, who could command the narrative with unquestioned charm.
How could she possibly reshape his image when she barely understood her own? Sure, she could write a flawless press release or schedule his interviews down to the second. But transforming the world’s perception of him? That required unshakeable confidence and bold, unapologetic chutzpah—qualities she didn’t possess.
‘Why isn’t your PR team here?’ she demanded, still looking for an out and hating herself for not throwing herself into this new challenge like she knew she should after all the promises she’d made to herself and Ben. ‘They have far more experience than me.’
‘They are also set in their ways and have a narrow way of thinking,’ Taz replied. ‘Why are you still trying to talk yourself out of this promotion?’
‘Because you need someone more qualified!’
‘We’re done talking about this, Millie,’ Taz retorted. ‘You’re bright, observant and clear-thinking. Stop putting yourself down, and get on board.’
Millie’s mouth opened and closed in shock. It was an unexpected compliment, and she didn’t know how to respond to it.
‘Tell me about the press coverage.’
His sharp order made her pull her thoughts together. ‘You’re getting annihilated. And the sponsors aren’t happy.’
