Chapter Thirty-Five
Victoria
The article is splashed all over the internet tabloids by that night. There are many different variations and flashy titles.
The one that caught the most attention reads:TROUBLE IN PARADISE: Gaston’s drivers spotted in a public fistfight!
I was obviously too hasty in insisting that Asher have lunch with Elio. I wanted to help Asher get ahead of Ilya’s demands, and it has backfired spectacularly. I’m so furious with Asher over his behavior, I practically vibrate with it.
Being an asshole in private is one thing. Letting yourself getphotographedpinning your ownteammateup against a brick wall with murder written over your face is another thing entirely.
How the hell am I supposed to help Asher if he doesn’t help himself? The work we do together is only one part of the equation. It’s integral for what he does on the track, butoffthe track, Asher needs toseriouslystart working on his image.
I’m so mad at him for shooting himself in the foot that I can barely evenlookat him when we meet on the airstrip. I’ve once again been invited to fly on the team’s plane, but the convenience and privilege is overshadowed by my anger with Asher, and my concern that having him and Elio in such close quarters will result in another fight.
I don’t know exactly what happened yesterday—I didn’t ask and Asher didn’t offer information. I only know what I read, which was probably blown out of proportion. The picture of Asher pinning Elio up against a wall sends a cold rush of dejection through me. How can I work with Asher to improve his career when he pulls stunts like that?
Asher must sense my mood, because he greets me with a terse, “Intern.”
“Asshole,” I hiss in response… and that’s the last thing I say to him.
Unfortunately, we’re both late, which means we get the last two seats on the plane—the ones right next to each other at the very back of the cabin.Wonderful.
After we’ve stowed our luggage, we take seats next to each other in tense silence. I work on my algorithm silently while Asher alternates between glaring at his phone and glaring at me. Even with the whirring of the plane’s engines, the silence is deafening, so I eventually put on my headphones to try to tune the world out and help me ignore thefar-too-attractive man seated next to me.
His leg brushes mine about an hour into the flight. A charge travels up my spine, mixing with a thrill in mycore. I ignore the gesture and squint harder at the lines of code in front of me.
His legbumpsmine a little harder. When I turn to glare at him, I find him looking out of the window. The gesture doesn’tfeelaccidental, but he’s putting on a convincing show… so I turn away again with a sigh of irritation. It’s much harder to focus when he’s made me acutely aware of his presence. His scent, tangible even among the overpowering smell of lemon disinfectant and tired travelers. His warmth, which is akin to the kiss of a burning hearth on a cool winter morning. The slight brush of his pants against mine, which reminds me of his hands on—
His knee bumps mine again. I jerk off my headphones and hiss, “Cut it out!”
Several heads turn—Ilya’s among them, who’s sitting across the aisle a row in front of us. He flicks a glance over me, rolls his eyes, and turns away.Fuck.
“Cut what out?” Asher is the picture of innocence with his elegant eyebrows raised and his expression mellow. “I’m just enjoying the scenery.”
The scenery? It’s cloudy, there’s nothing to see out the window.
“Your leg keeps touching mine.Stop,” I whisper-hiss.
“Is it? My mistake. I didn’t notice.” There’s a challenging glint in his eyes, daring me to call him out on it.
“Just… keep your big man-legs to yourself.” God, could I sayanythingdumber? Even when I’m mad at him, he gets to me. No,especiallywhen I’m mad at him.
“Big man-legs?” he repeats, amused. “Any other big parts of me you’d care to mention?”
“Urgh!You’re the… the…”
“Worst?” he supplies. “Best? Sexiest? All true.” He rakes his gaze over me. “At least you’ve quit ignoring me.”
“I wasn’tignoringyou.”
“Oh? What do you call refusing to look in my direction or acknowledge my existence?”
My jaw tightens. My next words are spoken through gritted teeth. “Ididacknowledge your existence. I greeted you.”
“By calling measshole.”
“Well, you greeted me by calling meintern.” I glare at him. “I was keeping the status quo.”
