Page 42 of Off the Grid

He wrestles with internal emotions I can’t name. It’s in the depth of his eyes and the pulse in his jaw. Almost as if he just grew a conscience and realized his words hurt.

“You happy? Got your answer? Can I go now?” The words and tone he has differ vastly from the expression on his face.

“You’re an absolute prick.”

I don’t miss the roll of his eyes. He glances at his watch again and swears as I try to comprehend the change from contrite to arrogant. He clearly wants to leave this conversation. So do I. “Look, is this going to be a problem here? The whole bar thing? Because it can’t be. I’ve got too much riding on this to fuck it up.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “What will it take for you to head back to your cubicle and pretend like that night never happened? Money? Signed shit you can auction off? Me giving you a shout out on one of your socials? On my social? Name your price.”

There are so many ways I could screw with him right now.

So many ways I could mess with his head.

But I think I know an even better way.

I give a slow shake of my head. “I don’t want anything from you. No worries there. I best be getting back to my cubicle now before my boss thinks I quit.”

He eyes me warily. “So we’re good then?”

I nod. “We’re good.”

And I just can’t wait to see how good he feels when we meet next.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Camilla

God, he’s hot.

Those three words have fallen out of Elise’s mouth more times than I care to count over the past hour. If she’s noticed the narrowing of my eyes each time she says it, it hasn’t fazed her.

We’ve continued adding to our list of possible marketing angles. The current focus entails studying the drivers’ social media. Andrew’s is basic and boring. Riggs’s on the other hand? The man knows how to make a splash in marketing himself.

It’s one viral video after another. Skydiving on a tropical island. Fresh out of the shower with just a towel around his waist. A silly prank on his team engineer in Formula 2. Sweaty during a workout with his shorts snug and shirt plastered to his chest.

And that smile of his. Each time he flashes it, I think Elise melts even more.

But me on the other hand? Each video we watch only serves to irritate me more. The fact that he is charming and good-looking only adds to it.

“Like, Maxim is a great guy,” Elise says as she puts her phone down, “but he has the personality of a doormat. No charisma. All racing, all the time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re fine.” I laugh. “It’s way easier to market someone who gets it. Spencer—I mean, Riggs—gets it.”

“Have you met him yet?” she whispers almost as if she’s not allowed to ask. “I hear he’s in the office today for meetings.”

I nod. “He is. Pretty sure he already did his uniform fittings and had the custom mold of his backside made for his seat. He’s currently meeting the physio guys and going over a game plan for that. Then he’ll meet with the nutritionists and eat. Have more meetings to get to know the crew and their jobs.”

“All that before he heads to the track later?” Elise asks, eyes wide.

“Yep. He’s being thrown into a blender for the next few days until it spits out the newest Moretti team driver.”

“Jesus.”

“You got that right,” I murmur, still confused by the sudden change in his demeanor earlier.

It’s not your problem, Cam. After what he did to you? The bar and the comments today? It’s most definitely not your problem.

“We’ll have to scour his bio to see what we can pull from it or if there are any angles we can play off.” I pat the thick manila folder on the table next to me. “That’s my next deep dive.”