Chapter 1
His assistant wore a sheepish expression.
Cameron Richter sighed inwardly. That look on Bianca’s face never meant anything good. It usually meant she was about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear.
“Just tell me and get it over with, Bianca,” Cam said in a clipped voice, grimly wondering whether he was about to get dragged into yet another sponsor event. He fucking hated Thursdays. It hadn’t always been this way, of course. But when you were a Formula One driver, Thursdays before a race weekend meant enduring an endless parade of PR obligations Cam had no patience for.
Of course, it was part of the circus. Part of the job. But sometimes he wished he could just focus on driving and ignore everything else. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, not when he was the reigning World Champion and the face of McLaren.
“You’re going to hate it,” Bianca said.
Cam snorted. “Not an encouraging start.”
Bianca gave him a tight smile. “I’ll start with the good news: the IWC photoshoot has been postponed until next month.”
Before he could exhale in relief, she added, “Now for the bad news: you have to meet and greet a VIP, give him a hot lap around the track, and maybe show him around if there’s still time.”
“Great,” Cam muttered under his breath, grimacing. There was nothing he hated more than playing glorified chauffeur to some daddy’s boy who knew nothing about Formula One but had deep enough pockets to get the premium VIP experience. If Cam was chosen to be the one to give this guy a hot lapandshow him around, that definitely wasn’t cheap. His time was precious. And expensive.
“Who is he?” he asked. He didn’t particularly care, but he’d need to at least know the guy’s name.
“His name is Scott Palmer. He’s the only son and heir of the owner of Palmer Corp.” Bianca glanced at her phone. “He’s twenty-eight, unmarried. He’s technically employed at his father’s company, but he’s always in Europe. He organizes some charity events and has his own—”
“So, a trust-fund baby,” Cam said, his lips twisting. “Basically like a Kardashian, right?”
Bianca sighed, giving him a pleading look. “Please be nice, Cam.”
“I’m always nice,” Cam said with a laugh.
She gave him an unimpressed look. “You made the last VIP you met leave the paddock immediately.”
“You shouldn’t foist them on me if you want them fawned over,” Cam said with a shrug. “I’m not going to change the way I am to appease some nepo babies who know nothing about Formula One.”
Bianca sighed again and shook her head. “He’ll be here at ten. Don’t be late, Cam.”
He gave a clipped nod. As much as he hated that part of the job, it was still part of his contractual obligations. God, he was really looking forward to renegotiating his contract next year.
***
The guy was... pretty.
There was no other word for it. Tousled dark hair, high cheekbones, light eyes—blue or gray—and skin so smooth it didn’t look real. He was tall and fit, and he practically oozed old money as he strolled gracefully through the paddock with Bianca, heading in Cam’s direction, his phone pressed to his ear.
Cam eyed him, his lips curling with derision. In his years in the sport, he’d met hundreds of celebrities, but something about this guy justscreamedprivilege. His gaze swept over the man’s tailored light-colored trousers and deceptively simple white shirt. Judging by the way it skimmed his torso, accentuating lean muscle and the curves of his pecs, the shirt was almost certainly bespoke.
Who the fuck wore white and beige on a rainy, muddy day in Spielberg, Austria? There wasn’t a speck of dirt or water on the guy’s clothes, even though it had just stopped raining. He looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.
“Hey, Cam,” Bianca said. “This is the guest I told you about, Scott Palmer.”
The guy smiled, flashing him a positively Hollywood smile and revealing his perfect white teeth. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his free hand for a handshake, a Rolex glinting on his wrist.
Reluctantly, Cam took the hand in his own and shook it. The guy’s palm was soft, his skin silky smooth, his fingernails well manicured. His own felt very rough and calloused in comparison. Cam tried not to grimace. He couldn’t imagine having anything in common with this guy. He was probably a model on the side or something. He certainly had the looks for it.
“Sorry, one moment,” Scott said, and brought his phone back to his ear. “Baby, I really have to go. I’m at the track already.”
Cam couldn’t make out what the caller said, but the voice was unmistakably male.
He stiffened.
