Page 22 of On The Edge

“Because I hate the color red. My rivals bathe in that damn color.”

I snort and then realize he’s dead serious. “You’re not joking.”

“Nope. I hate the color red.”

“So if the folders had been blue . . .?”

“Not sure.” He grins and then narrows his eyes. “Why won’t this work?”

“I think we’re two very different people who live in vastly different worlds. It feels like it might be a tough reality to sell.”

“And yet opposites attract every day.”

“True. But when is the last time you had a girlfriend, let alone a steady one?” I counter.

Cruz’s laugh rings out. “The woman doesn’t hold any punches. I like it.”

“Your drinks,” Mellie says as she slides what looks like a Negroni in front of Cruz and then a vodka cranberry in front of me.

What the—

My eyes whip up to hers and then to Cruz’s. An absent “thank-you” falls from my lips but confusion reigns.

A smile plays at one corner of Cruz’s mouth. “Since we’re together, I took the time to search your social media to learn more about you. This”—he points to my cocktail—“seemed to be your drink of choice and so I took the liberty to make sure we had it on board for you.”

Oh. Ooohhh. My eyes widen as I realize all the things he may have seen.

He nods to tell me my assumption is correct. “And yes, I saw good ol’ Michael there too. Should I be jealous of my competition? I’m not used to having competition if I’m honest, so this is all new territory for me as well.”

“Competition?” I practically snort. How could he ever think of someone like Michael as competition? It’s not like Michael was a slouch in the looks department, I have to give him that, but on a scale of one to Cruz, he is about a three.

“What does he think about all of this? No doubt he has strong opinions.” And the way Cruz says it, makes me uncertain if he’s amused by this or serious.

“Hitting with the hard questions right off the bat, huh?” This was not how I expected this to go. I should feel raw from breaking up with a man I dated for a year and a half . . . but I don’t. And that is . . . liberating in a sense.

“I think it’s an important one.”

“Michael and I broke up,” I say softly.

“I see,” he murmurs as he lifts his glass to his lips but doesn’t avert his eyes from mine. They seek and search, but he doesn’t ask the curious questions I can see weighing in his eyes. “So you broke up with your real boyfriend to be with your pretend boyfriend. Interesting.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh, so you’re not attracted to me, then.”

“No. I mean yes. I mean, it’s not that.”

“Not exactly a boost to my ego, Madds.” He pouts.

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re newly single. Dare I say that I see the sowing of some of your wild oats on this adventure?”

“No. Not at all. I’m working.”

He chuckles, and I swear to God, the sound vibrates through me and straight to every nerve ending. He’s charming without trying. And he’s hands down gorgeous even with his hair a mess and his jaw unshaven.

In all the chaos and, dare I say it, excitement last night, I spent hours poring over everything there is to know about Cruz Navarro. He was born into the family of racing legends. Of Formula 1 world champions. A Spaniard living the life of luxury and excess in Monaco with the majority of other drivers. He’s partied with who’s who of Hollywood and members of royalty. He’s traveled the world several times over. Being promoted to Formula 1 with Team Gravitas at the age of twenty-two, he’s come close to winning the elusive title two times in the past four years, but never actually clinching it.