Page 115 of Off the Grid

She shakes her head and laughs. “If you had pulled that off you would have been hailed as a serious, seasoned F1 driver. But you didn’t hear me say that.”

“I didn’t hear you say a thing,” I say, grateful for the vote of confidence but not so ready for the upcoming media questions.

“But you’ll need to hear me say this. It was a bullshit move that you’ll be questioned about relentlessly. Harlan Flanders? You just gave him the material he’s been dying for. The people still doubting you? You just made it that much harder to win them over. When risks pay off in this sport, you’re a hero. When they don’t, the hole is hard to dig out of. Especially with your pit crew.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I suggest you do this presser and then go on an apology tour in your garage.”

“I will.” Fuck.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

I follow Anya down the hallway, accepting the baseball hat and sports drink she hands me to replenish my electrolytes. We’re just about into the garage when we pass an open door and something catches my eye.

Anya keeps walking, unaware that I’ve stopped. Through the cracked doorway, I see Camilla standing with Carlo. His hands are on her shoulders but shaking, tremoring, as she holds his waist and tries to what looks like, stabilize him.

For the briefest of seconds, my fuck up is forgotten as I blatantly stare, trying to understand something that clearly isn’t my business.

Camilla must sense me there because she looks up over her dad’s shoulders and meets my gaze.

There’s a quick look of panic that flashes in her eyes and then a subtle shake of her head.

What does that mean?

What is going—

“Riggs?” Anya calls me from the end of the hall. “We have media waiting.”

“Yeah. Sure. Right.” I force myself to look away, to push aside what I saw.

To not care even though I do.

“You’re going to get a firestorm of questions. You need to . . .” She continues directing me on how to respond, while I just keep seeing Carlo and Camilla from moments before.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Camilla

It’s late. The lights are off in most of the cubicles and the whole building is quiet.

And Riggs is standing in the doorway of my office. He has his trademark black V-neck on, blue jeans, and ironically, Jordans. My shoe of choice.

There are so many things that probably need to be said after what he saw after the race this past weekend, but I’ve been avoiding him so the chance to talk hasn’t been there.

Doing other things with him occupy my mind instead. It’s so much easier to think about sex. To think about pleasure. To research ways to return the favor for him since I’m not exactly the most experienced lover out there.

“You do know it’s not usual for a driver to be this present around headquarters, right? Most live in Monaco and only come in when needed.”

He nods. “Yes. I’m more than aware. But seeing as I’m not a full-time contracted driver yet, Monaco seems to be an extravagant bet I can’t make just yet. Besides, I figure if I’m around more often than not, you guys won’t have cause to fire me. Maybe I’ll grow on you. Maybe you’ll want to keep me around. Maybe you’ll keep me on for next year.”

“That’s why you’re here this late? Hoping I’ll want to keep you around?”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m putting some time in on the sim,” he says. “My home module is having issues, and I didn’t want to skip a day.”

“Look at how dedicated you are.”