Page 43 of Off the Grid

“You haven’t looked him up at all yet?” Elise asks me, her expression curious.

“No? Is there something important I should know?”

“Yeah. His dad was—”

“Cami?”

We both look up to my dad’s assistant, Halle, standing in the doorway of my office. She’s one of those too cute, too bubbly for her own good types of people but she’s so damn nice you can’t be mad at her for it. You can only wish you had a tenth of her everything for yourself.

“Yeah?”

“Your dad asked if you could come up to the conference room.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say as she walks away, and Elise squeals.

“You’re going to get to meet him right now, aren’t you?” she asks.

The only thing I can do is chuckle because while she may be excited, I may be plotting the perfect way to walk into the room and shock him. No doubt the hour of watching him shirtless and being charmed by his antics have helped fuel the little crush she has for him.

“Most likely.”

“I bet he smells good. And that he’s even hotter in person.” She catches herself and her cheeks heat. “I promise I’m professional.” She laughs and then says low and playfully, “Way to make a first impression with my new boss by lusting after our new driver.”

“It’s actually a good sign. You’re the demographic we want to target so if he can elicit that reaction from you, that means we have hope of overhauling our image.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Really. I think you’re going to be a huge help in getting us there too.”

“Awesome.” Elise preens with a huge smile and wide eyes. I remember being new at a job and hoping to be noticed. In wishing that my boss would look at me and see potential rather than a younger kid who didn’t know what they were doing.

It’s only when I’m on my way to the conference room that I realize Elise never got to finish telling me about Riggs’s bio. I’m regretting not picking up the folder when I left so I could peruse it on the way up.

Can’t blame a girl for wanting to be informed while she shows someone up.

When I arrive, the meeting is already in full swing, so I stand in the doorway and wait to be pulled into the conversation. Spencer’s back is to me, his shoulders broad, hands clasped on the table in front of him, and his head nodding as my dad talks.

Is he nervous? Excited? Cautious? Worried about failing again? Probably a mix of all four and then some.

And why do I even care?

Because I have to.

Because my dad is hanging his hopes on this new driver, who I don’t want to like, but it seems everyone else does.

My dad laughs and pulls my attention to him where he’s perfectly in his element. The CEO part of Moretti is what he does but it’s this—talking to the drivers, discussing the sport, being hands-on with the people who make this world happen instead of behind his desk—that he loves more than anything.

And the expression on his face confirms that.

His smile widens when he notices me. “Cami. C’mon in.” He holds his hand out to usher me in while my eyes are one hundred percent fixed on Spencer Riggs.

What’s his reaction going to be?

“Spencer Riggs, this is my daughter and the woman in charge of marketing, Camilla Moretti.”

A slight flare of his nostrils. A quick clench of his jaw. A tensing of the tendons in his neck. I have to give it to Spencer. He hides his shock well. Well enough that I don’t get the satisfaction I was hoping for in surprising him.

Damn it.