I glance up at the laugh in his voice to find him grinning down at me, that same slightly dazed sheen in his eyes that I know is still in mine too.
“Now, now, don’t get ahead of yourself.” I pat his chest again. Not that I need to, since his shirt is smooth. It’s just…damn, this man is built. “Go win me a trophy. Any size will do.”
“I bet you wouldn’t say that about most things.”
I snort and cover my face in an attempt to smother it, but Thomas reaches up to pull my hand away, revealing the smile I’m trying to hide.
“Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets,” he says before pressing a kiss to my knuckles like a true fairy-tale prince. “See you after the race.”
My head is full of clouds as we step away from each other. I somehow make it over to where Maeve is standing, ignoring how she’s rocking back on her heels with her hands clutched in front of her, fully smug. She’s kind enough not to bring up whatshe’s witnessed, instead instructing me to follow her a little farther down the paddock to get to the entrance of the suites that sit above the team garages.
I know I shouldn’t, but I glance over my shoulder to see if I can still spot Thomas. A jolt of giddiness passes through my chest when I find him standing with a group of fans, the grin that I inspired lingering as he scrawls his autograph on items. It’s so endearing that I’m mirroring that same gooberish look, waiting to see how long it takes to disappear from his face—which means I’m not watching where I’m going.
I might have thought Maeve had linebacker energy, but turns out I’m the actual one. The woman I run smack into stumbles back like she’s hit a brick wall, and I have to dart out a hand to keep her from landing hard on the concrete. Her curtain of dark curls flies into her face, leaving me staring down at a faceless figure in red. Fucking great. I’ve nearly wiped a D’Ambrosi employee off the face of the planet. Thomas and I are two for two when it comes to making these people hate us. It’s like we were made for each other.
I force that thought away and check the woman over for damage, but she seems to be fine, thank goodness.
“Are you okay?” I ask, still clutching her shoulder as she uses her other arm to flip her hair back into its rightful place. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Her light brown cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t seem upset that I’ve almost killed her. “No, I’m sorry,” she rushes to say, eyes about level with my chest. She’s the same height as Maeve, and with the two of them flanking me, I’m starting to feel like a giant. “I was too busy taking pictures and I wasn’t watching where I was—”
She finally looks up at me, the words dying on her lips with a small squeak. Her eyes go wide and her jaw hangsopen in a way that would be unflattering if she wasn’t so fucking cute.
“Holy shit,” she breathes out, gazing at me like she’s just found the love of her life. “You’re Stella Margaux.”
I don’t get recognized all that often, but it happens. And I’m sure it’s going to happen more now that my viral rant will haunt the internet for the rest of eternity. Maybe that’s where she recognizes me from, though I doubt she’d be vibrating with excitement over meeting someone who acted a whole fool for the world to see.
“I was the last time I checked,” I say with a smile, praying she’s not about to bring up the video.
Her face brightens even more, like a full ray of sunshine beaming through the paddock. She even has dimples in both cheeks.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she gushes, hands clutching together around the phone she was likely taking pictures with. “I’m ahugefan. I’m really trying not to freak out right now.”
I’d say she’s doing a decent job, considering she hasn’t tried to barrel me down with a hug or started crying, which I saw Dev Anderson dealing with as we walked in. I’m not on that level of fame anyway, though she’s gazing at me as if I am.
“Congrats on your wedding, by the way,” she goes on. “When I saw you’d married Thomas, I told my boyfriend I hoped we’d see you in the paddock.”
I take my hand off her shoulder and use it to jokingly frame my face. “Here I am.” It’s always a little strange when someone knows all about me when I don’t even know their name. I glance down at her uniform again, searching for a topic change. “You work for D’Ambrosi?”
That snaps her out of the fangirl haze. “I’m Reid Coleman’s social media manager,” she explains before sticking her handout to me. Her handshake is surprisingly firm. “Willow Williams.”
“So nice to meet you, Willow.”
And it is. It’s always nice to meet a fan of my businesses and products. But instead of basking in it and taking comfort that my recent scandals haven’t put everyone off me, I’m focusing on her job—or really, who she works for.
Reid Coleman. Didn’t Thomas say Reid wasn’t speaking to him? If anyone’s going to know anything about Lorenzo Castellucci and his condition, it would probably be his teammate.
Thomas might have told me there wasn’t anything I could do to help, but I think the key to doing so has just crashed into my life.
“Hey,” I say, hand back on her shoulder. “If you have time, I’d love to sit and chat…”
Chapter 14
Thomas
There’s a certain peace in sitting on the starting grid.
It’s just me, the rumble of the engine, and the press of my fingers around the steering wheel. No distractions. No thoughts other than making it off the line. The calm before the chaos.
