Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Harley laughs and it’s not caustic but amused. “You think this is damaging, Lex? It’s a freaking love story that played out in dramatic fashion, although I’m pissed you clocked Ronan.”
“That asshole tipped off the reporters. He’s the only one who knew.”
“Be that as it may, you’ll be fined for that and we’re going to have to figure out some way for the two of you to patch things up because like it or not, he’s your teammate.”
“No way I’m fucking forgiving—”
“I don’t care if you forgive him. I only care that you operate as a good teammate. That means I don’t want you taking your grievances out on the track because if you do, you can find yourself another team.”
I bite my tongue, not willing to agree to anything. I’m still too pissed at Ronan and want to kick his ass too badly.
“Now, I’m going to have my driver take you back to your hotel. You can pack and head to the airport. I’ll have Rosalind ferret out a flight for you.”
I stare at her, astounded at this turn of events. My muteness also amuses her and she inclines her head. “This is where you say, Thank you, Harley, for being the best team principal a driver could have. Not only did I provide you with a stellar car to win the first race of the season, but I’m going to be mainly responsible for you salvaging this relationship with Posey.”
For the first time since I found out Posey left, I smile. “Thank you, Harley, for being the best team principal a driver could have. Not only did you provide me with a stellar car to win the first race of the season, but you’re the one responsible for me salvaging this…”
She cocks an eyebrow. “The next word is relationship.”
“Love story,” I correct, giving her an impish grin. “You know… since you like romances so much.”
“Got me there,” she mutters and throws a thumb at the door. “Now go.”
I don’t waste another second. I hurry into the bedroom, closing the door so I can change.
I’ve got a woman to race after.
CHAPTER 23
Posey
I awaken to the sound of rain pattering softly against the window, the dull ambience of the streetlight filtering through my curtains and casting a muted glow throughout my bedroom. It’s the first week of March, and while the calendar says spring, the air still bites with winter’s chill. I pull the blanket up tighter around my shoulders, my thoughts drifting back to my whirlwind trip to Bahrain and the chaos that ensued.
After hours upon hours of travel, I finally returned home to Raleigh around midnight last night, completely drained. I had bouts of crying on the plane, silently weeping into a tissue kindly offered by a flight attendant, all while getting the side-eye from the man beside me. He clearly was uncomfortable around crying females, but I didn’t care. I’m a big believer in experiencing grief because you can’t heal until you do. While I remained dry-eyed while leaving Bahrain, the minute I got up in the air, the waterworks started and were on and off the entire time.
My eyes feel gritty as I peel myself from the bed, my muscles aching from the tension of the past few days. The sun’s not up yet, but the sky is a canvas of gray, threatening more rain. I shuffle to the bathroom, the cool tiles sending a jolt through me as I wash my face and brush my teeth. I look at my reflection—puffy eyes, hair in disarray—and I can’t help but let out a soft groan. It feels like I’ve stepped into a bad romance novel, and I’m the cliché heroine left heartbroken.
After a quick shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy robe and head to the kitchen. With a yawn, I flick on the coffee maker, listening to the familiar gurgling as I wait for the rich brew to fill the pot. My house is cozy, filled with my favorite comforts—pictures of me and my dad on the walls with a few special ones of my mother interspersed. Stacks of books teetering on the shelves, and the faint smell of lavender from the candles I light while I’m writing. But today, it feels empty, echoing with the weight of my heartache and I want to cry again.
“Suck it up, Posey,” I mutter.
Once I pour a steaming cup, I sit at the kitchen table and try to shake the feeling of sadness as I take small sips of the life-sustaining brew. I think about what was and what will never be. Lex’s kiss, the thrill of the formula world, the excitement of being in Bahrain—it all feels so far away.
Like a lifetime ago, really.
With a deep breath, I pull out my phone, hesitating for a moment before scrolling through the news. I have to know what the fallout is and start preparing myself for the worst.