Jules’ eyes are murderous, and my hope of her having amnesia and forgetting who I am goes from slightly possible to absolutely fucking ridiculous.
‘A truce.’ I hold the take-out cup toward her. ‘Let’s talk over a coffee. I hear you’re partial to a rose iced latte.’
She stares at it like it’s purple and frothing. I knew I should’ve listened to Isa and gone with soda, but Jules was pictured with one of these yesterday and you can’t talk over coffee without an actual coffee. Since I have to be strategic with my caffeine intake on race weekends, it has to be hers.
‘You have three seconds before I karate chop you,’ she snarls.
‘Woah, what?’ Karate chop? That’s her violence of choice? ‘I just… I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.’
She jerks back. ‘How hard did you hit your head in free practice?’
‘Honestly, pretty hard,’ I admit, ‘but I know that was figurative, and I can assure you I’m a perfectly sane?—’
‘Youaccostedme in Japan.’
‘That sounds kinda sexy.’
‘Yousabotagedme in Australia.’
‘A misunderstanding.’
She looks even closer to karate chopping me. ‘What the fuck is your problem?!’
I hold my two cups up, partially as self-defence. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. For everything. I’m going through a really shitty time and when I found out you wanted Tom, I lost it. He’s not as deserving as me. He’s doing great, while I’m… you know. You saw the Casa Verde commercial.’
Her eyes thin. ‘You have a personality disorder.’
‘It’s more boring than that; I’m just wildly desperate. Look.’ I scooch over to let some hot girls into the F1 Academy hospitality suite, since I’m blocking the entrance. I resist the urge to do a double take like the willpower hero I am. ‘I was let go from my team over some confusion?—’
‘There was no confusion.’ She couldn’t cross her arms any tighter. ‘Your reputation soiled the team.’
‘—and now I’m lumped with a team I don’t deserve to be in. I really need to change my image so I can move back to my rightful place at Volare.’
Jules looks totally unfazed. ‘Sounds like a you problem.’
Ouch. ‘But I have a plan.’
‘I don’t care.’ She tries to step around me but I get in the way.
‘Things going well with Tom, are they?’
She freezes. That’s more like it.
‘I can help,’ I whisper.
‘What, like you helped before?’
‘I didn’t have a vested interest before. I saw that little spat with Étienne. The?—’
She grips my arm and yanks me into the bushes. My blood pressure spikes at the scent of her perfume. I remind my stirring junk this is not kinky. This abstinence thing’s really getting under my skin.
‘Keep your voice down,’ she snarls.
‘The guy’s a problem,’ I explain, ‘and Tom’s team are protective as shit. Martinelli know who you are and they don’t want any part of it. You need access to Tom away from his personnel, away from Martinelli, and away from Étienne.
‘You might think afterparties are an easy route, but my man’s not much of a party animal. You might think a mutual driver friend like Jack’s a way in, but they’re not best buds. That’s where I come in. I have intel and access.
‘Tom’s an early bird, Étienne’s not – I could get you into the paddock first thing in the morning. I could bring you into our garages and hospitality suites, away from the eyes of his team. You could “crash” our coffee date. We could go for a group lunch. You wouldn’t need to keep searching for invites – you’d be my guest. We could make something up: friends or… exes.’
