“Ay, no need to get pissy. It’s only a matter of time before your relationship with her explodes in your face. But you can see where this takes you. I mean, you’re already shit out of luck with McCoy, so what else could go wrong?”
I smack him across the head, hoping my hit knocks the stupidity out of him. The way he checks out Elena after tells me it may take more than one hit to cure him.
After another half an hour of Elena’s assistance, we wrap up the meeting because Jax and I have a limited attention span.
I call my agent when I step out of the conference room.
Rick picks up on the second ring. “Hey, man. Just who I wanted to talk to.” His chipper attitude boosts my mood.
“I take it you have good news?”
“The very best. You’ve impressed McCoy with your podium placements for twelve out of the fourteen races so far. They want to extend another contract deal to you.”
“That’s amazing.” A wave of happiness takes over me. “What are we looking at?”
“Well, the contract has a slight pay increase because of your performance this year, with a yearly salary of 20 million for another two years. You’re looking at 40 million total. Congratulations!”
“Fuck yes.” I let out a relieved laugh. It’s the exact deal I’ve been waiting half the season for.
“But they did have a few comments before you can agree.”
Dread sits heavy against my chest, replacing my elated mood. “What comments?”
“You have to stay away from Sophie and anyone from Bandini who isn’t Noah. McCoy doesn’t want to be associated with their rival, no matter how friendly you are with the girl. Obviously, you don’t need to be rude to the Mitchells, but the gossip about a relationship needs to end.”
“I need to think about this. Can we counter-offer about this? I don’t like the idea of cutting off friends for brand purposes.”
“Of course. Whatever you want. Think it out and get back to me next week. McCoy said they can wait you out.” Rick hangs up once I say my goodbyes.
I should be kissing the ground he and Peter walk on, thankful for another chance with my team. Instead, new rules and regulations choke me, ruining my good mood. Like Sophie, my brain needs time to process and assess the pros and cons of signing with their set of demands. Decisions like this take time, especially when I could risk blowing up a relationship I’ve grown to care about.
No one warned me about the consequences related to being friends with the daughter of an opposing team. I didn’t think having Sophie in my life would put me at risk in more ways than one. Because in the end, can I sacrifice my dream team for a relationship with so many boundaries I can’t see past them?
Years ago, I told Sophie about how she should do the saving in her story. But I didn’t realize she was saving herself from me because I’m the real villain in this messed-up fairy tale.
Because unfortunately for us, everything in my life is temporary.
22
Sophie
My phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out after searching around for a good minute, my bag an endless pit of loose gum strips, old receipts, and plane ticket stubs.
Liam: I have a plan for tomorrow. Meet me at the McCoy motorhome at 3 p.m.
Me: What if I have plans?
Liam: Do you?
Me: No. But thanks for asking. Meet you there.
He responds with a middle finger emoji. I laugh, loving how he doesn’t try to overly impress me, choosing to be true to himself.
When Liam told me he made plans, I didn’t think he meant something like this. He tugs me along behind him toward the grassy area near the Eiffel Tower with a picnic basket in hand, which would probably look ridiculous on someone else. When I question his masculinity, he does a quick twirl, absurdly comfortable with himself.
Liam finds a perfect spot, the green grass lush beneath our feet and the sun hitting us with golden-hour rays. He pulls out a blanket and situates it on the grass. I follow along when he gestures for me to sit. If he were someone else, he would be perfect. But I don’t want to read into this too much, putting labels and ideas where they don’t belong. I stomp all over my rapidly beating heart.
He makes it hard to resist him, especially when he pulls out a bottle of wine and a cheese plate.
“I thought this would be fun before the next Prix.”
“Do you do this for all your French girls?”
His cheeks blush. A bashful Liam tends to be one of my favorites. “Nope. Only sassy little Americans.”
“I’m not little.” My bottom lip juts out. He swipes his thumb across it, the brush of his finger sparking something within me.