“You hate the races too.” Imani crossed her arms.
“I hate the paddock. But Griffin doesn’t need me there. He just wants us in the city so he can see Hazel after his job is done. I don’t have to go near the track.”
Cleo set her drink down. “So you’d just stay at the hotel?”
“Or actually see Singapore for once. I’ve been to half these cities and never left the paddock. Might be nice to see what I’ve been missing.”
Imani drummed her fingers on the table. “That’s a lot of rationalization for something you claim you don’t want to do.”
“Maybe it is.” Hell I knew better than anyone how many times I’d sworn Taylor Swift would have to be attending a racebefore I went back to any paddock. “But at least this time I have a choice.”
Cleo nodded. “So what are you packing for Singapore?”
I blinked. “Clothes?”
“Cute clothes?” She waggled her eyebrows. “For when Griffin sees you after the race?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Something that says ‘I’m just the nanny but also I look incredible’?” Imani asked.
“Stop.”
“We could come shopping with you,” Cleo offered. “Help you pick something that screams ‘emotionally unavailable but devastatingly attractive.’”
I groaned. “I hate you both.”
Cleo beamed. “You love us.”
Imani reached over, squeezing my wrist gently. “We’ve got you. Even when this gets messy.”
A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it down, squeezing her fingers back.
Cleo nudged my shin under the table. “We should order dessert. I feel like you need it.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Fine.”
Imani raised a brow. “What, no argument?”
I shrugged. “Might as well enjoy the meal before my life inevitably implodes.”
Cleo smirked, flagging down the waitress. “Now that’s the spirit.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRIFFIN
“Christ, they’re like cockroaches.”
The paparazzi swarmed the gate, cameras flashing against the car’s tinted windows. I barely glanced up from my phone. Not worth the energy. They’d get their shots, run their stories, and by the time we landed in Singapore, the internet would be flooded with speculation about whether I was secretly dating a pop star, hiding a drug habit, or, my personal favorite, quitting racing to become a monk.
Beside me, Violet ducked lower in her seat, using her hand to shield her face from the flashes.
“Relax, Princess. It’s not like they know you live with me.”
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even joke about that.”
She stayed hunched down, watching the flashing lights fade as we left the cameras behind, but the tension never faded from her shoulders. She was tired. We both were, honestly.
