Page 11 of Cross the Line
‘Wow, you really pissed this woman off,’ she says, her eyes full of a mix of pity and humour.
I take my phone back, letting our fingers brush again. ‘I’ll admit it. I did antagonize her.’
Willow scans my face, the hint of amusement in her expression instantly eclipsed by dread. ‘Dev, what did you do?’
I have a laundry list of minor misdeeds, but I’ll go with the worst of them all. ‘I . . . cancelled her flight from Australia after the Grand Prix and left her stranded.’
‘No.’
I put my hands up, palms out. ‘In my defence, she’d been hounding me all day about making some video using that sexy baby filter – you know the one going around everywhere – and then she snuck up on me after a bad practice session, and . . . yeah. Cancelled it then and there. And didn’t tell her.’
The back of Willow’s hand connects with my chest. ‘You’re such a dick!’
‘Never said I wasn’t.’
She lets out an exasperated breath, but then she studies me silently, like she’s searching for something. Finally, she tentatively asks, ‘You haven’t posted anything else since this happened?’
I shake my head. ‘I have no interest in handling social media myself. I’ve got a million other things to do.’ Like drive a fast car without crashing.
‘You’re wasting an incredibly valuable opportunity to recover your image,’ she says with a frown. She’s clearly looking at this from a marketing perspective, which makes sense considering her degree. ‘This post obviously did a lot of damage. Why not get Argonaut’s media team to handle things, at least for now? Or hire a full-service PR firm?’
I wince. ‘Because you can always tell the guys who hire firms. All their posts come off so bland. Zero personality, you know?’ I don’t need to get into my deeper reasons for it. ‘And I don’t trust Argonaut not to make me look bad.’
‘Come on, that can’t be true,’ she argues. ‘Their whole purpose is to help you.’
I snort. ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. They’re so far up my teammate’s ass that I’m not even on their radar. All I got for this incident was a five-minute lecture from the team principal. That was it. Ever since my teammate and his father swooped in with a bunch of money, they just . . . ignore me.’
Her lips part in surprise, and my gaze drops to them. They’re plump and pillowy, the bottom one just a little fuller than the top, like she’s perpetually pouting. It’s sexy as hell. Andthat’ssomething I amnotallowed to think.
‘Seriously?’ she asks.
‘Seriously,’ I confirm, forcing my eyes back up to meet hers. ‘They’re not looking out for me. They’re biding their time until my contract is up since they’re too cheap to buy me out.’
‘That’s awful.’
It really is, especially because I should be their number-one driver. I came up through their driver academy. I’m the one consistently scoring points while my teammate is red-flagging every other race. I’m thirteenth in the Drivers’ Championship and the only reason we’re not dead last in the Constructors’. But if my stats aren’t enough to earn their support, then I don’t know what is. Considering there’s so much time left on my contract, I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs for now. Eventually, I’ll have the opportunity to move to another team.
Maybe. God, I fucking hope so.
But who’s going to want me if I can’t prove my worth?
Instead of telling her any of that, I shrug and play it off like I always do when something bothers me. ‘It is what it is.’
But Willow’s not about to shrug anything off. The cogs in her head are already turning. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ she says, passion behind the statement. She’s holding back, though, because when she’s reallyinvested, her voice shakes a little. She hates it, claiming it makes her come across as too emotional, but I disagree. It shows how much she cares.
And that once again proves that I know this girl too well.
‘You can get their attention, Dev,’ she pushes on, both hands back to clutching her champagne glass. This time, the movement is one of excitement, not nerves. ‘You need to put yourself out there in other spheres. Pull in new sponsors and fans who will drop cash on your team’s merch. We both know money talks. If you show up to the table with a fat cheque, they can’t ignore you.’
I cross my arms, impressed – and a little intimidated – by Willow’s ability to throw a game plan together in five seconds flat. How she doesn’t have a job yet beats me. Clearly, she’s bullheaded and solutions-oriented, the perfect kind of employee.
Honestly, if I could, I’d hire her to fix this for me.
She’s still talking, eyes alight as she outlines a plan. But I’m no longer listening, because an idea has struck me, one I should have thought of sooner.
I could hire Willow to fix my dumpster fire of a reputation.
It’s brilliant. I mean, Oakley might not love the idea, but this would be a strictly professional arrangement. He has no reason to think anything less than appropriate would happen between Willow and me anyway. And we both know better than to let it. With her help, I could be on the road to becoming Argonaut’s number-one driver. Maybe even on the road to a better team.
