Page 33 of On The Edge

“Only time will tell,” he flirts.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t sleep naked.”

“Well, I do, so see? Both of us will have to make adjustments. I’ll have to wear bottoms and you’ll have to get used to me in our bed.”

“This isn’t happening,” I say more out of principle because this is so happening. I know it. He knows it. This whole conversation is for argument’s sake.

“But it is. It’s going to be quite the adventure, you and me. So many firsts for both of us.” He squeezes my shoulders again before taking a step back and moving toward the bed. “I can already feel the fights coming. The glares from across the room. The gritted teeth when I annoy the fuck out of you. The where do you want to eat since we don’t know each other’s preferences. I mean, talk about a crash course in fake dating.” He shakes his head, his grin widening. “Just promise me one really public fight. Those always sell well.”

“Only if they get to record you groveling for me to take you back,” I reply. “Everyone loves a good grovel.”

“I don’t grovel.”

I laugh. “We’ll see about that,” I say but it’s interrupted by a ridiculously dramatic yawn on my part.

Cruz just quirks a brow as if to say, I told you so.

“Fine,” I huff, but head to the only place I can have any type of privacy—the bathroom. I take my time washing the day’s travel off me before moving back into the room and making a show of getting ready for bed. Organizing my things on the little table on my side of the room. Hanging my clothes up so they don’t wrinkle. Checking my phone because it was easier than making eye contact with him. And then finally unable to postpone the inevitable any longer, crawling into bed without saying another word to him. His chuckle every few seconds in response to something I do or a response I don’t give a question he asks me, only serves to fuel my obstinance.

I’m staging my own private protest despite being all too well aware of the man who is lying next to me.

“Aren’t you even going to say good night?” he asks to which I grunt. His sleepy laugh fills the room as I turn on my side so that my back is to him. He emits another playful chuckle that feels like it’s feathering over my skin. As if I weren’t already aware of his presence.

I struggle to fall asleep, despite Cruz’s slow, even breathing.

My mind replays the events of the craziest few days of my life.

My brain tries to wrap itself around the idea that Cruz Navarro is in fact, in the bed beside me.

Three days ago, I didn’t even know who the man was. I had a boyfriend—albeit a loose interpretation of the term—a job I was content with for the time being, and a stable, normal life. Now? Now, I’m loosely responsible for a billion-dollar deal between F1’s playboy prince—the tabloids’ term, not mine—and a global company, whose ladder just became way more possible to climb.

How is this my life?

And the sinfully handsome man beside me?

He’s a rung on that ladder, Maddix. Out of your league. A means to an end.

At least I know my heart will be safe.

CHAPTER TEN

Maddix

“We need to stage our social media accounts.”

“What?” I glance over to Cruz as he opens the door to the hotel for me. We walk outside and I’m hit with a rush of fresh air and sound. But it’s not like sounds in Texas with Jake Brakes and angry horns. It’s bike bells and accented hellos. Soft voices, quiet streets, and birds tweeting.

“Our social media. We need to explore—the city, the countryside, the landmarks—and take some pictures together so that we can sell this. Then we’ll do a photo dump where we act like we like each other.”

“Gee. Thanks,” I say but then falter when he stops at a car parked on the curb. It’s a top-of-the-line sports car with sleek lines, a sexy profile, and easily worth more than everything I own added up together. And of course, Cruz steps forward to open the passenger door for me. Because why wouldn’t this be his? “What . . . where did you get this?”

You need to stop looking at all these things with your jaw dropped, Maddix. This is his life of luxury. He’s used to it. Your reaction only makes you look like a country bumpkin.

“Per contract, drivers are required to drive the cars off the track that we do on the track. The team transports and delivers them for us. This one was delivered last night for me.”

Questions, so many questions, float through my mind about the extravagance of this sport, and I’ve only been part of it for a few days. No doubt, those questions will double and quadruple as the days wear on.

“Oh. Okay.” I slide into the passenger seat and remain silent, only to jump a little as the engine fires to life and rumbles through my body.