She wasn’t wrong about him.
He’d never been in a serious relationship. Not once.
Not in karting, when every weekend was a race and every spare minute was spent on simulators or begging sponsors for tires. Not working his way up, when he was living out of a duffel bag and sleeping in cheap motels, too broke and too focused to think about anything beyond the next grid slot. Not even when the wins started coming and the women did too.
Women who liked the thrill of him—the smile, the accent, the way he could make a room feel like it was just the two of them. Wild nights in Monaco penthouses, tangled sheets in Vegas suites, laughter and skin and the kind of heat that burned bright and fast. He’d always been generous in bed, attentive, playful—leaving them smiling and a little dazed. But no one ever asked for more. And he never offered.
Maybe his charm was designed for short bursts—fun, fleeting, easy to walk away from. Maybe people got tired of him the way sponsors and owners were starting to: great for a season, great for a headline, but not someone you built anything lasting around. He’d never had to find out. He’d never wanted to.
Until tonight, when someone had looked straight through the easy grin and called it exactly what it was.
He exhaled, slow and rough.
The plan was still far-fetched. Borderline absurd. Pretending he was tied down wouldn’t magically turn his season around.
But Claire’s text was sitting there like a nudge he couldn’t ignore. Positive press. Owners noticing. A shift in the narrative.
He started fresh.
Hey Aria – Jax here. If you’re around on the weekend, how about you come to the Grand Prix? My guest. Let me know. If you come… we can talk about your proposal.
He hit send before the second thoughts could catch up.
Then he set the phone face-down on the nightstand, leaned back against the headboard, and let out a long, slow breath.
The city lights flickered across the ceiling in slow pulses.
Maybe the plan was crazy.
Maybe it was exactly the kind of reckless, calculated risk that could change everything.
Claire thought it was working. The owners were already noticing. And deep down—beneath the bruised ego and the instinct to protect himself—Jax had to admit something else.
He was curious.
Not just about whether it would save his seat.
But about her.
About what it would feel like to stand next to someone who saw through the charm, who didn’t need him to perform, who was willing to play the game as ruthlessly as he sometimes had to.
He closed his eyes.
The phone stayed silent for now.
But he knew it wouldn’t for long.
???
Chapter Seven
Jax
The Mexican Grand Prix weekend hit like a wall of dry heat and high stakes. The thin air at altitude made every breath feel earned, every tyre warmer a gamble, every sector time a small war. Jax had been in the Ashworth garage since dawn on Friday, already wired from telemetry reviews, when his phone buzzed.
Aria:Landed. Security cleared me. Where do I go?
His thumb hovered. His heart gave a stupid, single thump. He typed back: Garage entrance. Tell them you’re my guest. Come up to the hospitality deck.
