I follow as she strides into the living room. “Because you wanted to ruin the lovely morning I was enjoying with a leggy Parisian?”
Pointing at my laptop on the coffee table, she makes an impatient hissing noise. “Tsst!Get that booted up—don’t stand there gawping.” She perches on the sofa edge.
I open the laptop and slide it toward her. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, switching to her account and logging in, then tapping a link before I can duck away to comb my hair and put on a shirt.
She waves me back, angling an imperious finger to the sofa. “Sit.”
“I’m not dressed for the occasion.”
“You look like the dog’s dinner, and it’s fitting.”
“Stunning. Cheers.” I settle beside her and adjust my dressing gown to close it more, then make another attempt to calm the disarray of my auburn hair.
A window opens on-screen to display a dour-looking Phaedra Morgan, Emerald F1’s hot-tempered team principal.
“Ms. Morgan,” my mother greets, all warmth. “How are you this morning?”
“Well as can be expected,” Phaedra replies. “Sage’ll join us any second.”
My stomach twists. “Oh? She’s weighing in?”
Phaedra lifts an eyebrow. “Considering she’s the one you accused of sleeping her way to the top,obviouslyshe’ll be here.”
I can’t resist a small barb. “Thetop? Emerald? Perhaps sleeping her way to the middle…”
“Alekos!” my mother snaps. “Skáse!”
Another window opens: Sage Sikora, that pixyish beauty—rosebud lips, deep dimples, flashing honey-brown eyes, all framed with ice-blue hair. My stomach does another aerial trick, and I feel heat creep into my face like I’m an adolescent with his first crush.
“Hey, cats and kittens! Let’s get this party started.” She points at the screen. “You, sweetness,” she says with heavy sarcasm that’s clearly directed at me, “have a great future in the fast-food industry. But I’ll personally break every one of your soft little rich-boy fingers if you go near a computer again.”
“Are your soft little rich-girl fingers going to do the job?” I return, feigning boredom.
Her eyes narrow, and she rakes a tendril of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear to expose the peacock feather tattoo that runs up the side of her neck. Her pink bow of a mouth opens to throw a comment back when Phaedra speaks.
“Nefeli? I’ll direct this at you, because your fuckwit son doesn’t have the sense not to double down on his fantastic dipshittery. He’s put your magazine at risk for a defamation suit.”
“And I couldn’t be more embarrassed,” my mother says. “I understand exactly why you—”
I cut in, “I was reporting on rumors, stated in the form ofquestions.”
“You’re here to grovel,” my mother snaps. “And you’re doing a piss-poor job.”
“I’m not thegrovelingtype. Humility is for the people flying in coach.”
Phaedra rolls her eyes, but to my surprise, Sage has a lopsided smile. She studies me with challenge, as if she’s sussed out the rules to a game.
My mother’s expression, however, is near murderous. Her nostrils flare. “You’re fired.”
“Oh,stop,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m only taking the piss.”
She turns back to the screen. “Ms. Morgan, he’ll not trouble you further. We can print a retraction if that’s your preference, though you may wish not to have more attention drawn to such an offensive rumor. He’s lost admin control, and it won’t be reinstated. I suppose we could even delete the blog entirely, if—”
“Hold on a bloody minute,” I fume. “That’s my intellectual property!”
Ignoring me, she continues. “If Emerald wishes to initiate a lawsuit, I encourage you to name Alexander personally. He neglected to get editorial approval before uploading that nonsense, and as of today, he’s no longer an employee ofAuto Racing Journal.”
“Are you serious?” I demand.
