Page 5 of Cross the Line
‘Cut the shit.’
I can’t help but cringe a little at the force behind his words. Oh, I’m definitely in trouble.
‘No oneis happy with you right now,’ Howard ploughs on. ‘Not your team, not the sponsors. Certainly not me. And everyone else? They’relaughingat you.’
‘I mean, I’m used to being laughed at,’ I point out, shrugging. ‘I’m a funny guy.’
Apparently, this isn’t the time for jokes, because the next thing I know, I’m nose to nose with him, his age spots and close-to-bursting veins the only things I can see.
‘You keep this up, and you’re done,’ he snarls. ‘There won’t even be a seat for you in NASCAR.’
I don’t appreciate him insulting the chaotic art of turning left that is NASCAR, and I certainly don’t like the way he’s in my face. ‘I suggest taking a step back, Howard,’ I murmur. ‘This isn’t the place to make a scene.’ And Ireallydon’t want to have to fight a sixty-year-old man who thinks he’s hiding his growing bald spot with that comb-over.
As if suddenly remembering where he is, Howard blinks away his anger and takes a stumbling step back, huffing as he straightens his tuxedo jacket. He glances around to see if his outburst drew any attention, but it seems the only person watching us is a grimacing Chava.
‘Get it through your head,’ he says after he’s recovered, careful to keep his voice low. ‘Your career is on the rocks, and I can’t save you unless you let me try.’
I blow out a breath. I’m not interested in the angle he’s come up with, one he’s presented to me many times before. ‘Look, if Axel can come back from getting caught on camera screaming the N-word multiple times while rapping along to a song, I think I’ll be fine with my fake STD.’
Howard shakes his head like he can’t believe I’d be so stupid. ‘You should know better than anyone that people will forgive racism far faster than a sex scandal.’
That gets me to snap my mouth shut. Because as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. That is, unfortunately, how the world we live in works.
Taking advantage of my silence, he squeezes my shoulder, holding my gaze. ‘Let me fix this, Dev.’
The worst part is that I know he can do it. He can hire people that will sweep this all under the rug and make me look like the perfect little prince of the paddock. It would be so simple.
But I’ve done that before – I’ve given up control of my image and let them make the world believe I have the personality of a cardboard cutout. I wasn’t allowed to talk about anything even remotely political or ‘controversial’, even if the issue I wanted to address affected me or people I cared about directly. I wasn’t allowed to share my opinions or honest thoughts; I had to be the poster boy everyone else could project on. And I hated it, but I played along because everyone said that was best for me.
Yeah, right.
Jani was supposed to be the compromise. Instead of a full team, she was hired to handle my sponsored social media posts and anything mandated by Argonaut, maybe delve shallowly into facets of my personality for my fans. But she took it a step too far by trying to butt into my personal life and post it online. And after she attempted to get me to overshare one too many times, I was done.
So, yeah. I’m uninterested in handing my image over to people I don’t remotely trust.
‘I can fix it myself,’ I say, though my voice hardly sounds like my own. ‘Just give me some time.’
‘You don’t have much time left before people are going to give up on you.’ He takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. ‘I’m going to get a glass of champagne. But when I come back, we’ll make the rounds together and remind everyone why you’re such a delight to have in the paddock and on their billboards. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’ I barely resist the urge to salute him.
As if he can tell, Howard glares at me and then stalks off, leaving me to lock eyes with Chava.
‘Well,’ my assistant huffs as he approaches. His skin is close to the same shade as my own light brown, but it doesn’t hide the flush that’s crept up his neck. He hates Howard as much as I do. ‘This is a fucking mess.’
‘You’re telling me,’ I grumble, wishing I had a whole case of champagne to chug right now. ‘I’ve got to fix this.’
‘Any ideas how? Short of hiring a PR firm?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know yet.’ Blowing out a breath, I rest my elbow on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted. ‘I’ve got too many problems to solve right now.’
‘Including how every woman here is looking at you like you’re tainted,’ Chava says drily as a trio of ladies in expensive gowns side-eye me while they saunter by, giving us a wide berth. ‘And me too, by association. Damn it, Dev.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I groan, dropping my head back. ‘But I’ve got to get laid. At the least, I need to fixthatproblem tonight.’
There’s a very slim chance that I’ll find someone here who doesn’t believe I’m currently being treated for an STD and will come back to my apartment, but I have to try. All I have to do is find a woman willing to give me the time of day and explain the situation to her. Just laugh it off like a joke, because that’s exactly what it is. A cruel, cruel joke.
It’s simple. I face harder strategies each and every race day. This is nothing.
