Her eyes go wide for a moment, surely remembering our walk that night in Melbourne when she said the same words, nine months ago. “Wow, nice little potshot,” she breathes with sarcasm. “I’m glad I came to my senses about you.”
Our eye contact is electric with challenge.
Natalia’s gaze skates away and focuses beside me. A warm, bare arm interlocks with mine. Team Harrier’s Sage Sikora—the sole woman on the grid, a reserve driver who stood in for the last eight races of the year when their lead driver was out with an injury—peers up at me from her diminutive height, wearing a kittenish smirk and a fantastical dress. The fabric is metallic silver, fashioned to look like medieval armor from the waist up, with a neon-pink tulle skirt erupting below.
“Ritzy bash, Franke,” she says in her lazy, US West Coast accent. “The music would put my granny to sleep, but the food and booze are better here than at Harrier’s shindig.”
“Pleased you chose to defect to our gathering.” I openly survey the aqua-haired spitfire on my arm, not above the vengeful pleasure of knowing Natalia is watching me do it. “Your outfit is unprecedented, as ever.”
Sage raises her liberally tattooed arms. “Allof me is unprecedented, babes.” A glance of acknowledgment to Natalia. “Natalie Everett, right? FromAuto Racing?”
“Evans. Natalia,” she corrects with a stiff smile.
“Right, right—sorry ’bout that, honeybee.” Sage’s attention shifts back to me. “Got your grafting boots on, Franky-boy? I believe”—her voice stretches into something with a twang of the American South—“y’all said somethin’ about sweet-talkin’ me.”
I’m dismayed that Sage is alluding to possible negotiations in front of a reporter. At this stage, such deliberations should be scrupulously discreet. Even within the Emerald team, no one is aware I’ve made overtures to Miss Sikora about taking our second seat when Jakob Hahn’s contract is up. Jakob himself doesn’t know, and it would be a disastrous blow to his morale if he found out. His confidence has already incurred damage from finishing so far behind Cosmin in the points.
I know my response to Sage may present as petulant return fire to Natalia; my jealousy regarding her evening plans couldn’t be more embarrassingly clear. Still, the flirtatious misdirection serves the interest of camouflaging business negotiations.
“Shall we seek out a quieter spot?” I lay a hand over Sage’s on my arm.
“Hell yeah. I only crashed the party to see you.”
My smile mirrors hers. I look up, offering a curt nod to Natalia in parting. “Reece will be in contact about the article. Enjoy your evening.”
“Oh, always,” she replies airily.
Sage tugs my arm, turning with a small hop and pulling me toward the doors, energetic as a child. As we exit the banquet room,she gives my forearm a hearty pat before releasing me. “They say ‘If all you have is a hammer, everything’s a nail,’ but I know you’re better than that, Franke,” she scolds with amusement. “Jealousy’s an unsubtle tool. Using me to get under that woman’s skin? Not cool.”
“Was it so obvious?” I ask as we make our way into the hotel’s lobby.
“Painfully so. And you guys’d make a cute couple. But don’t be a dipshit.”
I sigh. “Phaedra essentially gave me the same advice, in different words. You both appear to know what I want more than I do myself and aren’t afraid to tell me so.”
“Yeah, duh. First of all, can I just say Natalia is supernaturally gorgeous?I’dbe trying to pull her if I didn’t think it’d break your stony little heart. Megan Fox would look like ‘the homely cousin’ next to that woman. And second? Phaedra Morgan’s not only hilarious as fuck, but whip-smart. You should listen to her.”
“Sheissmart. All the more reason you should join the Emerald family.”
“At ease, soldier. You’re notactuallygonna win me with sweet talk in a pretty accent. I want hard numbers. You think I don’t know my worth?”
I push the front door open for her, and we walk out into the balmy night air. “Surely you recognize Emerald’s worth as well.”
Sage directs our course toward the water, the silver of her gown reflecting the cool purple external lights of the hotel. She walks backward, grinning at me and shaking a finger.
“We’re evenly matched and you know it. Emerald’s had a baller year with Cosmin Ardelean, but you’re still number three.” She twirls forward again, bouncing on her feet as she goes to thenearby railing and leans on it. “Jake Hahn’s a nice guy—toonice, if you ask me—but he’s a paper tiger. An empty racing suit.”
I lean beside her with a shocked laugh. “Your little dagger is so sharp I didn’t feel it until the twist.”
“C’mon, let’s be real. I’ve heard the gossip: Jake’s wifey is expecting, and she’s deep in his head, wringing her hands about his ‘dangerous job’ ever since his Peraltada-corner crash at the Mexican Grand Prix. As a result,poof!” She makes a magician’s sleight-of-hand gesture. “His mojo’s disappeared. Auf wiedersehen, baby.”
I only lift my eyebrows, gazing at the water, allowing no clue of my concern over such murmurs making the rounds.
“You need another hotshot,” Sage goes on. “Twin star attractions to make itrainsponsor dollars on Emerald. Can you imagine it? All eyes on Cosmin with his savage skill and pretty face, and—” She blows a kiss toward the light-spangled marina as if it’s an adoring crowd. “Yours truly, the girl everyone’s mother warned them about. Soon to be the first female grand prix winner.”
There have been some people—the more sexist fans of the sport—who criticize Sage’s arrogance, but I love the fact that she’s likealldrivers in that respect. She sees no reason to demure due to gender. She’s boastful, fiery, larger than life.
My side-eye glance is coy. “It would be interesting to see what you might do with the E-19. It’s certainly a different animal to Harrier’s HR77.”
