Loving Phaedra Morgan is hard work, but a job I’m skilled at. I have to admit, though… as jobs go, I’ve had to take a sabbatical at times. That was easy when I lived in New York and wrote for a literary journal. Phae travels most of the year, so we saw eachother in person only in the F1 offseason. But working at this new job—only three races in withARJ—Phae and I are at a boiling point with each other.
I thought following the grands prix would be “an endless globe-trotting slumber party” for my best friend and me. But this week in Shanghai, our bridge of connection has collapsed.
When I got theARJjob, Phae and I set ground rules about what we can discuss. Her first loyalty is to her team, so certain topics are off-limits. But Phae being her bossy self, she isn’t always affordingmethe same privacy and is currently up in my business about whether I’m “allowed” to be friends with Klaus. Low-key bickering turned into the kind of gloves-off battle where everyone says things they can’t take back.
I feel so isolated. “Lonely in a crowd,” despite being in constant motion, spinning through a world of high-stakes action and high-octane personalities.
The thought intrudes from time to time:Is this really worth it? Do I love this job, or just the idea of it? What if the price I pay is more than I can afford to lose?
The fear of abandonment that’s dogged me since childhood tends to make every loss, even minor ones, feel destabilizing and permanent. In my own way, I’m as guarded as Phaedra.
Like most children with absent parents, I’ve spent my life trying to make myself lovable. Worthy ofnotbeing abandoned. The rift with Phae is hitting me in my worst vulnerabilities. Half of me wants to back down just to keep the peace, and the other half says,Maybe you’ve outgrown this friendship. Why should you always be the one to fold?
It echoes in my head as I make my way, with a stubborn,unapologetic confidence, to Klaus’s suite this morning. Since our impromptu chat in the lounge in Bahrain two weeks ago, and the Jump Start event, I’ve thawed toward him a little. I’ve seen a new side to the man—a vulnerability I didn’t previously realize existed.
It’s advantageous to be friendly with such a powerful TP, so when he invited me for coffee in Shanghai, it felt like a smart move to jump at the chance.
Surely I’ll be able to wrangle it into a little interview. Just good business, right?
Good business, yes. But… I have to confess, the sexual tension is fun too. There’s no denying the attraction, even if we can’t act on it. The ground rules have to be the same with him as they’ve been with Phaedra. So many details need to remain unshared that the path to a true friendship is littered with obstacles.
Klaus opens the door and, dammit, the guy is the embodiment of uncontrived hotness. His suit is a dark slate blue, subtly plaid.
Does he work at that perfect hair as hard as I do with mine? Gorgeous. Argh…
“Come in,” he says, sweeping an arm to invite me inside.
There’s a room service table near the windows with a three-tier dragon-pattern plate covered in tiny pastries. A thermal carafe—not the diner kind, but cloisonné that matches the dessert tower—stands near it, with china teacups so delicate they must weigh no more than feathers.
He holds out a chair for me. “You look lovely, kleine Hexe.”
“Thank you.”
I sit, then pour coffee for each of us, suddenly nervous and needing to busy my hands. Klaus settles across from me as I selecta pink petit four and move it to my plate with a pair of silver tongs. “And how is the sphinxlike Klaus Franke this morning?”
He stirs cream into his coffee, surveying me with a playful twinkle. “Sphinxlike? I have nothing to hide, Miss Evans. I’m an open book.”
“Wow, no. There’s a lot you won’t talk about, I’ve noticed. You can be surprisingly cagey during Thursday press meetings.”
He chuckles. “Surely not. It’s just a new duty, and I’ve not yet settled into it.”
I consider using his statement as a jumping-off point to ask why Edward Morgan has been absent from press conferences lately—I tried gently inquiring with Phae, and she just about took my head off—but I don’t want to spook him by barreling straight into reporter mode.
“Are you sure that’s all? Let’s test it with a question or two.”
He pauses to sip his coffee. “Hmm, sticking to the professional? If you insist. Be my guest.”
His smile, I think, is meant to look amiable-condescending—as if he’s being indulgent. I can’t deny I have a weakness for a guy who’s a little superior, at least when it’s backed up by actual power. But I spot a hint of anxiety too. He’s bracing himself, and I feel clumsy for having herded us into interview territory with little preamble.
I fold my hands. “Word on the street says Emerald’s budget cratered when you lost Basilisk’s sponsorship. Everyone wonders why it happened. And the murmurs say the sudden retirement of your technical director has something to do with it.”
Klaus’s poker face is textbook. “‘Cratered’ is dramatic. I could cover the budget deficit with my own checkbook.”
“Ooh, nice flex,” I tease in a stage whisper.
“Basilisk wasn’t a major player. Sponsorship relationships come and go.” After moving a kiwi-mango tart onto a plate, Klaus sucks a bit of glaze off his thumb. I’m pretty sure it’s a deliberate distraction. “But enough about that.”
“Too rich for your blood?” I taunt. “Fine, I’ll go with a different question: Why’s Edward Morgan suddenly MIA?”
