Page 39 of Falling Fast
‘I don’t understand …’ My mind is whirling as I try to process. I’ve been so busy I completely forgot to ask Gio if he was the one who recommended me for the job. But if itwas Leif, he must have done it right after our first meeting in Monaco, which makes zero sense. We barely spoke that night. He acted like he thought I shouldn’t be there. I thought he was an asshole!
‘OK, I need a quick chat with Bastian before our meeting.’ Vienna slides back off my desk. ‘I’ll see you in the conference room in half an hour?’
‘Right. See you there.’ I put the rest of my cupcake down and reach for my phone. I still have my first-day video on it, as well as my first attempt to film my ‘accidental’ meeting with Leif, the one where he smiled and I forgot my line. Somehow I never got round to deleting it … I search for it now and watch again. And again, and then one more time because maybe if I look at Leif for long enough I’ll figure out what’s going on. First, it turns out he doesn’t hate me. And now I find out he actually got me this job that I love. Why? And should I be grateful or just really, really confused?
Because right now I’m both.
BY THE TIME I leave work it’s almost 7 p.m., but as afternoons go this one has been hugely productive. Not only does Rask have a new Swedish sponsor, but their investment is bigger than we anticipated. Even better, they want to capitalize on our recent success by launching an advertising campaign as soon as possible.
I head across the car park, swinging my bag with a feeling of satisfaction. Even though it’s evening, the air is still warm – though thankfully not as hot as Hungary – the birds are singing and all is well with the world. All except … I drop my bag and stare at my car in horror. My rear left tyre is flatter than a pancake.
I close my eyes, tip my head back and take a moment to appreciate the irony. Just when my spirits are inflated, my tyre decides to do the opposite. And here I am, standing outside a building packed full of tyres and tools, none of which are of any use to me because everyone has gone home, meaning my options are to either call a recovery company – an expense I really don’t need – or change the tyre myself. I know how to do it – my parents taught me when I first learned to drive. Only ideally I’d be wearing old jeans and a ripped T-shirt instead of a black fitted Khaite dress that I bought on Vinted.
Fuck.
I kick my heels off and change into the ballet flats I use for driving, do a quick google to refresh my memory and then crouch down to loosen and remove the wheel nuts. Next, I heave the spare tyre out of the boot. It’s heavier than I expected, especially since I have to hold it away from my body, straining my biceps in a desperate and probably futile attempt to avoid getting dirt on my dress. As soon as I’m able, I drop the tyre on to the ground, then slide the jack under the car, wind it up and sit back on my haunches to admire my handiwork. So far, so good. Now if I can just slide the flat tyre off without losing my balance …
‘Ava?’
I jerk my head up to find Leif staring down at me, one forearm resting on the open window of his red-and-white sports car. I was concentrating so hard I didn’t even hear him pull up.
‘Need a hand?’ He nods towards my flat tyre.
I open my mouth and then close it again.Yes, I want to say.Yes, I could do with several hands. But I’m an independent woman and I can change my own tyre. It doesn’t help that,after Vienna’s slip-up this afternoon, seeing him again so unexpectedly is like a physical shock. I don’t know how to react. I haven’t had enough time to process.
‘No, I’m almost done.’ I shake my head, feeling a flush of heat spreading up my neck. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘OK.’ He stares at me for a few more seconds before shrugging his shoulders and driving on.
What?I stare after him. As much as I appreciate him respecting me as an independent woman, he could have tried a little harder to persuade me!
I turn my attention back to my car, muttering under my breath as I grab the edge of the tyre. Suddenly I don’t feel any kind of gratitude towards Leif Olsen. So what if he got me a job? Passing a name on is easy. Low effort. Not like helping somebody to change their tyre. That takes a certain kind of person. A special person, a truly ‘adorable’ person, which, despite their reputation, is clearly not …
‘Hey.’
‘What the –’ I fall backwards, landing on my bum with a yelp, as a pair of feet appears at the edge of my vision.
‘Sorry.’ Leif holds a hand out. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘I thought you –’
‘Drove off and left you?’ He hoists me back to my feet. ‘Ava, even if you don’t want me to help, I’m not just going to abandon you. I needed to park, that’s all. I can wait in my car if it makes you feel more comfortable, but I’m honestly happy to help otherwise.’
‘Oh.’ I decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how confusing that horse is, especially when his fingers are still wrapped around mine, making my pulse flutter. ‘I actually could use some help. I don’t want to ruin my dress.’
‘It’s a nice dress.’ His gaze dips to my waist before he releases my hand and crouches down beside the car. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘Thanks.’ I watch as he removes the old tyre and slots on the emergency one. He’s wearing light wash jeans and a grey T-shirt and looks a whole lot fresher than he did the last time I saw him after the Hungarian Grand Prix. I should probably do something more constructive, but I’m too distracted by the way his muscles are bunching under his sleeves.
‘You’re working late,’ he says conversationally as he tightens the wheel nuts.
‘Mmm? Oh, I had paperwork to do. We have a new sponsor.’
‘I heard. Good job.’
‘It was mostly Vienna.’ I chew the inside of my cheek. ‘What about you? Why haven’t you gone home yet?’
‘I had a few things to discuss with Bastian. There you go.’ He stands up and brushes his hands together. ‘That’ll do for tonight, but you shouldn’t drive far on a temporary tyre and no faster than fifty.’
