Page 44 of Off the Grid

And the megawatt smile he flashes as he rises from his seat and holds his hand out to me says he knows it too. “So nice to meet you, Camilla. I look forward to working with you.”

Our eyes hold as I try to ignore the heat of his hand and the sudden jump of my pulse. “Congratulations on the call up, Spencer—”

“Call me Riggs. Everyone does.”

I nod. “Welcome to the team. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

His dimple winks as he lets go of my hand. “I think everybody is.”

“This is a different caliber than what you’re used to,” I say, trying to get a subtle dig in. “Think you’re ready for it?”

“No need to worry about me. I always rise to the occasion.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and I swear to God, he’s flirting with me in front of my dad.

Flirting with me, a woman who isn’t his type.

I wouldn’t have kissed you a second time if the card were true.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what cards you’re dealt, huh?”

He chortles out a laugh and shakes his head. “Guess so.”

Our eyes hold for a beat too long before I jerk my gaze away and look at my father. He has the strangest expression on his face—lips barely turned up, eyes narrowed—almost as if he’s reading into a situation that isn’t there.

“So, Riggs.” His smile turns charming. “Camilla here is my marketing guru. And my daughter, but you shouldn’t hold that against her.”

“No, sir.” He plays along and chuckles.

“Today is her first, official day with this division of the company, and I have her hitting the ground running. She’s responsible for getting your face out to the public. Having people identify you as a Moretti driver. Create the image that you’re going to have to back up with your talent.”

“Perfect,” he says with another glance my way before looking back at my dad. “I’ll do my best to give her what she needs.”

I all but roll my eyes. The charm and innuendos are as thick as his bullshit.

Men. Not worth the hassle, the complication, or the effort.

He glances over to me and deepens his knowing grin. Why can’t he be ugly?

Then maybe my body wouldn’t betray me. Maybe my eyes wouldn’t be drawn to him, and my lips wouldn’t remember how his felt against mine.

Get a grip, Cami. A huge, astronomical grip. The man is clearly immature and spiteful judging by the selfish games he plays on women. Remembering his kisses should be weighed against those shortcomings. Those . . . red flags.

The irony. I’ve spent forever hating that my body doesn’t react at all—even to men I thought at the time I genuinely cared about—and now that it does, I don’t want it to.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Camilla . . . but they can still be picky as hell.

It’s asinine that this sudden awakening has happened around him. With him.

I study him. His strong hands and corded forearms. His sun-kissed skin and broad shoulders. His gray eyes and dusting of stubble.

And while all of that is attractive in and of itself, the man carries himself in a way that only seems to add to his appeal. Confident. A little arrogant. A lot charismatic.

All the things I like in a man—but that I don’t want to like in this one.

He meets my eyes and smiles as if he knows I’m thinking about him. My first inclination is to look away. The man just tried to pay me off downstairs. But I don’t. I meet him stare for stare.

It’s my job to build Moretti’s presence in the F1 and global market. To promote this man. Right now, I can’t help thinking the latter would be so much easier on my mental state if I hadn’t had prior interactions with Spencer Riggs. If I didn’t know he could kiss better than any man I’ve ever known . . . and wasn’t an immature asshole.

“If you don’t need me,” I say, starting to move toward the door, but my dad motions for me to stay. Great. Just what I want.