“We’re the leftover siblings,” she said, flipping her honey-brown hair over her shoulder. “The ones our father doesn’t give a single shit about because we’re not interested in hotels.”
For being only twenty-three, she has a shockingly level head on her shoulders. To be running her own fashion line at such a young age is admirable, and I see a little of myself in her. She’s the same age I was when Stella Margaux’s really took off, which serves to remind me how far I’ve come. One hundredstores opened, millions of macarons sold, and next week I’m set to start working on plans for our long-awaited London location.
I have to thank Thomas for that last one. Without him asking me to move here, I don’t think I would have thought much about branching into the European market, aside from our two stores in Paris. North America has kept me busy enough, but it’s time to dream bigger.
Speaking of the man, I catch sight of him striding past the wide archway of the sitting room. His jaw is tight and his hands are balled into fists at his sides; there’s a tension to him that I haven’t seen before.
Something’s wrong.
“Thomas?” I call out, hoping he’ll hear me and stop, but he doesn’t even slow. I flash an apologetic smile at Calais before pushing up from the settee. “Sorry, excuse me a second.”
Hustling into the hallway, I make it in time to see him disappear around the corner. He’s lucky I’m a champion at running in heels, because I catch up to him a few seconds later, grabbing his elbow to get him to stop.
His head whips around to me, furious until he sees who’s stopped him. When our eyes lock, the set to his jaw softens but the anxious crease between his brows remains.
“What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m—” He cuts off before he can sayfinelike I expect, lips pressing into a firm line as he considers what he wants to actually tell me. “I just…I got some news.”
I frown. “I’m guessing it wasn’t good news.”
The exhalation that leaves his lips is probably meant to be a laugh but it’s more of a pained grunt. “You could say that.”
I don’t want to push him to tell me what’s going on. Hedidn’t make me last night, and I want to return the favor now. But whatever Thomas sees on my face as he searches it must make him want to share.
“Dad announced the company’s going to Andrew when he retires next year.”
I won’t pretend I know much about their family dynamics, but based on what I’ve observed in the past twelve hours, this seems like an unexpected move. “I really thought it would be Edith,” I admit.
“Me too. And I guess I was either banking on it being her or my father staying on for a few more years.”
“Why?”
Thomas takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say. “Because with Andrew at the helm, A.P. Maxwell International will no longer be a sponsor of the McMorris Formula 1 Team.”
Again, I’m no expert, but just from a business standpoint, this doesn’t sound good. “I’m sure that’ll be a blow to the team.”
“Stella.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and dips his head so we’re eye to eye. There’s a plea in them for me to understand. “My place at McMorris hinges on that sponsorship money. Without it, there’s a chance I’m no longer on the team.”
I freeze. “Wait,what?”
At my outburst, he holds me tighter. “Formula 1—honestly, racing in general—is all about money when it comes down to it. Teams want drivers who not only perform well but pull in as much revenue as possible. You have to be fucking spectacular to come into the sport without heavy financial backing, and it’s especially important if you want tostaythere.”
“You have other sponsors, don’t you?” I press.
He nods. “I do. But none as big as my family. And with mybehavior lately, if they jump ship, more are sure to do the same. That’s the biggest problem here—if they leave me too, then I definitely won’t have a seat.”
Shit. Thomas and I may still be in the process of learning about each other, but I know enough—haveseenenough—to know he wants to stay in this sport. That he’s worthy of staying. To think he might lose his place at McMorris because his family will no longer back him is a massive blow, one that gut punches me when the magnitude of this announcement finally settles.
In the time it takes for me to think of something to say, Thomas is already letting go of me and dragging a hand through his hair, his motions agitated. “Ourreserve driversomehow knew before me,” he says as he paces a few steps away, then turns and does it again. “I think he knew I wasn’t going to get my contract renewed because of this. It’s been in the works for a while and yetno one fucking told me.”
Anything I could have said dies in my throat. There’s nothing I can do to make this better and it kills me. He doesn’t deserve this—to have his dream snatched away because of a decision out of his control. Maybe he could talk to his brother and get him to change his mind. But unfortunately, I get the sense they don’t have that kind of relationship.
“I have one more season and then it’s over,” he goes on, so pained that I can feel it in my chest. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.”
“It doesn’t have to be the end,” I blurt. I take two quick steps forward to block his pacing, putting my hands on his chest. “Maybe you can convince Andrew to keep sponsoring the team. Or, hell, maybe you can convince them to keep you just based on your talent alone. Look at how much better you’re doing compared to Arlo.”
Another huff escapes him, but this one has a darkly sardonic edge to it. “I wish it were all that easy.”
