His eyes widened. “Who the hell pays that much for a pan?”
“I do!” I threw my hands up. “And now it’s ruined because you decided to play house.”
He held up his hands. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is—” I stopped and exhaled hard. “You know what? Never mind.”
I turned on my heel and went back to the kitchen, grabbed a wine glass, and poured myself a generous serving.
When I returned to the living room, Griffin was still smirking at me.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“You will. That’s a good vintage.”
I dropped onto the sofa, as far from him as possible, and took a long sip. The wine was good. Annoyingly good.
For a moment, we sat there in the soft glow of the living room lamps, sipping wine, settling into a comfortable quiet. Griffin drummed his fingers against his knee, studying me. Something about his expression made my skin prickle.
He was relaxed.
The careful mask he wore for the press and his teammates had vanished completely.
“You’re in a good mood,” I said carefully. “For someone who just committed cookware murder.”
He stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied groan. “I had a good laugh earlier.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s suspicious.”
He smirked. “Oh, it’s a good one. Just heard from Sebastian Ritter that Sorel Racing’s new investor is already turning the place upside down. Apparently, she’s a hands-on kind of woman, and she’s got everyone at Sorel scrambling. Including Callaghan.”
That was almost good enough to make me believe in karma.
Jesse Callaghan was Griffin’s biggest rival.
They’d come up through the junior ranks together, two raw talents clawing their way to the top, both pegged as future world champions. But where Griffin was the golden boy, charismatic, reckless, impossible to pin down, Callaghan was the opposite. Ruthless in a way that left no room for mistakes.
Griffin never talked about what happened between them, but the fallout had been public enough. A brutal on-track battle that ended with one of them in the gravel and the other on the podium. A war of words in the press. A steady unraveling of whatever they’d once been. Now, they barely acknowledged each other except to exchange barbs.
I bit my lip. “Let me guess, Callaghan’s not taking it well?”
“He’s supposedly livid.” Griffin grinned, wicked satisfaction lighting his eyes. “Ritter says she’s showing up everywhere—team meetings, engineering debriefs, even the lunchroom. She cornered him after a strategy briefing and started quizzing him about car durability and whether Sorel should try copying Aedris’s aero package. Apparently, she’s full of opinions.”
I snorted. “He must be loving that.”
“Living the dream,” Griffin said, all mock sympathy. “Word is she made everyone sit through a lecture on hybrid engines overlunch. The best part? She invested so much she now officially owns part of the team.”
I shook my head. “You’re enjoying this because your biggest rival is getting upstaged by a well-intentioned, completely relentless investor?”
“Correct.”
“That’s petty.”
