“That’s irrelevant,” I mutter.
“Very well. When was the last time you kissed someone?”
“Oh, I know this one.” A cruel smirk curls Delilah’s lips. “The last person she kissed wasyou.”
Keith pins me in place with his cyborg eyes. “That was at a drag show…two years ago. Not long after you broke up with Todd, if memory serves. And the kiss was only because I wanted to embarrass you as an audience participant.” He gives a weighted pause. “Really,Victoria?”
My head lands on the desk with athud. “Fuck my life,” I mutter into the ether.
“Or let a hot, tattooed, built, andrichdriver fuck you to within aninchof your life,” Delilah suggests calmly.
“Urgh!” I groan.
“Oh, love. Please don’t make noises like that,” Keith says. “They’re terribly unbecoming. You’re too pretty for them.”
“While we’re on the subject of noises, we should practice the pitch of your moans,” Delilah suggests. “You know, just in case you slip and fall on the cock of a total hunk—”
“Delilah!” I snap. “God, have mercy—”
“I’ll bet a hundred that he’ll have none,” Delilah interrupts.
I look up in time to see Keith frowning thoughtfully. “I’ll raise you five hundred that he’ll—”
I slam my laptop closed, trudge over to my bed, and fall head-first onto the pillows with a pitiful grunt.
Chapter Fourteen
Asher
The call comes as I’m pacing the abandoned race track. The clean-up crew has come and gone; the stands are empty, with row after row of bare seats climbing into the night like skeletal bleachers. The tarmac is pristine, cleared of debris and rubber shavings, leaving behind clean asphalt that stretches out under floodlights. The cars for every team are tucked away in their respective garages, due to be picked up for transport tomorrow.
Everyone’s gone but me. The silence is almost disorienting after twelve hours of engine and crowd noise, and I enjoy the glimpse of peace. Suzuka’s hills roll out around me in the dark, and somewhere beyond the tree line, a Ferris wheel juts out into the sky. This is the only time I actually find an F1 track enjoyable these days; when it’s empty of people to piss me off and boss me around.
Unfortunately, my peace is interrupted by my grandfather. We speak regularly, but he knows how busy I get during the season and usually waits until I call him. Sincethat hasn’t happened yet, I assumed I’d be hearing from him soon.
I pick up and press the phone to my ear. “Grandfather.”
“Asher.” He sounds impatient, which is fitting for a man who spent thirty years building and running a multi-billion dollar luxury imports and exports empire. He only started handing the reins to my brother in the last few years. “How are you?”
“Fine. Yourself?”
“As well as could be expected. Retirement is boring.”
A smile pulls at my lips. A lifetime of being the boss of bosses has molded my grandfather into an extremely ambitious man. “How’s Grandma?”
“Good. She’ll speak to you next.” He pauses, and I know what’s coming before he says another word. I brace myself for it, but I know it’ll hurt nevertheless. “Grant needs help. If you decide to retire F1 after the season, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to bring you on board.”
That’s the most diplomatic way my grandfather can manage to tell me that he knows I’m fucking up, and he thinks I should leave F1.
“Thank you for the offer.” I manage to keep my tone cordial.
“Yup.” I hear the phone changing hands.
“Your grandfather is not trying to be a prick—it’s a natural side effect of his personality,” Grandma says in lieu of a greeting. “A trait you inherited, so you’ll understand perfectly.”
I gaze up at the sky, unable to hide my smile. Where Grandfather is curt, no-bullshit, and blunt to the pointof rude, Grandma is diplomatic, kind, yet no less harsh when circumstances merit it.
“Hello, Grandma. I’m doing well, thank you for asking. How are you?”
