Page 48 of Off the Grid

I clear my throat. I move about the room. I need to shake the sudden swell of emotion from my head.

This was supposed to be funny. Supposed to be a kill her with kindness undertaking and now all of a sudden, I’m uncomfortable and want this over with.

“How about this?” she asks, contributing for the first time. “For the record, I think my dad picked the wrong replacement for Maxim.”

My feet falter and thoughts skip around. But more than anything I recognize a lifeline when I need one—and she just gave me one. Something to feed off rather than get stuck thinking about my dad.

“Well, shit. Okay.” I nod several times and purse my lips. “I’m the wrong guy, huh?”

I glance her way. She has her arms crossed over her chest again and challenge back in those eyes of hers. “Yep.”

“Fortunately for me, your opinion isn’t the one that matters.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

“Why are you trying to turn this lovely little chat into something different? Are we back on the grovel aspect? Should I get on my knees right here?” I point to the floor and pretend I’m lowering myself.

“Don’t you dare,” she shrieks.

“Then why? It’s because you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to control yourself around me, isn’t it? The looks. The body. The sense of humor. I’m fucking irresistible. I’m thinking nice guys finish last in your book, right? So that means you don’t want to like me because of that.”

I put the words out there, but I’m not thrilled with her dig. Then again, I deserve that and a fuckton more.

“No. It means we need wins. It’s imperative.”

“And?” I bait her.

“And I don’t think you have the experience to get them for us.”

“You’re an expert on this, I take it? Much like you’re an expert on how incredible I kiss, right?”

“This isn’t a joke. I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I lean my arse against the table and once again mimic her posture. “What’s it going to take to prove to you I’m worthy of the ride?” My quirk of an eyebrow at the innuendo a mere habit. Possibly not.

“Points. A podium. A win.”

“All in that order? I mean, that’s a pretty fucking hard bargain you drive.”

She shrugs. “It’s my job to make this place known again. Those three things will get it known.”

“I’ll get it known.”

Her smile is wide and borderline mocking. “I get you have to be confident to drive two hundred miles per hour—”

“Two hundred thirty at times if we’re going to be accurate.” She hates the correction. Perfect. “And I can deliver on that.”

She snorts. “That’s a pretty lofty goal for someone who’s never raced F1 before.”

“Your dad has no qualms about my ability.”

“Why are you here? Are you capable?”

“What?” I ask as I move closer to her. Close enough to see the pulse fluttering in her throat and to hear her quick inhale. My eyes flicker down to her lips and her kiss I don’t want but still remember, and then back up to her eyes that are a little wide and startled. My voice is low and even when I speak. “I’m here because I’ve proven myself. Am I capable? You bet your arse, I am. Am I sorry for hurting your feelings earlier in the break room? Regretful for not telling you that you’re gorgeous with or without changing your style? Yes and yes. What else do you have for me, Moretti?”

Our eyes hold as she opens her mouth and then shuts it—then steps back abruptly, a chuckle of disbelief falling from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” I ask. “You were just thinking about kissing me again, weren’t you? Is it the ChapStick? It makes my lips super soft and kissable. I’d like to think it’s more my skill though—”