Chapter 9 Melbourne
MELBOURNE
ONE WEEK LATER
SAGE
I’m certainly suffering a lot of anxiety this week.
My first two races with Emerald were garbage. In Bahrain, I qualified like shit but had made it up to twelfth place when Jo?o Valle tried going three-wide into a corner and caused a collision bad enough for a red flag, and me retiring my damaged car.
During the last race—Saudi Arabia—my poor performance was all on me.
No one to blame. I let personal shit get into my head and got a terrible start, then earned a penalty for speeding in the pit lane.
It was all downhill from there, fuckup after fuckup, tumbling like dominoes.
I finished in thirteenth, five places below where I qualified.
I got into Melbourne on Sunday. And I really was gonna be a good girl this week and eat right and sleep well and all that, but then Priya was acting weird after a phone call Sunday night (obviously with Julian) and told me she was taking off to “explore hiking spots” and wouldn’t be back until sometime today.
I got mad and sulky because she was so clearly lying to me after being all like, “Ooh, we have to be so real and communicative with each other,” and…
yeah, my unfortunate self-destructive impulses had a moment.
I dressed up in about three square inches of fabric and went dancing at Cherry Bar last night, knocked back four extra-dirty martinis, and brought a stunner named Ruby to my suite.
This morning I sent an early text to Dagna with the made-up excuse that I’d be a couple hours late to my workout because I’ve been “stricken by questionable tacos.”
Ruby and I woke up horny, and I’ll probably never see her again, so… make hay (and roll in it) while the sun shines, right?
I’m walking around the living room naked an hour later, perusing the room service menu on my phone, when there’s a knock at the door that must be Priya.
Before she left, I snatched her key card from her hand and told her not to bother coming back (obviously bullshit, but I get dramatic when I’m mad), so she’s locked out.
Staring at my phone, I call out to Ruby, “Should we order Bloody Marys?” as I fling the door wide.
“Oh my. That’s a turn up for the books,” a smooth male voice says. “Good morning.”
I drop my phone just before my eyes meet Alexander’s, and I would’ve slammed the door if not for the jolt of pain as the phone’s corner smashes my pinky toe.
I hit the floor like a stone—bare ass freezing on the tile—and cradle my foot, yelling, “Fuuuuuuuuck!”
Ruby rushes out of the bedroom and across to me, shirtless.
Could this get any worse?
I must have said it out loud, because Alexander replies, “From where I’m standing, the question would be, ‘Could it get any better?’ Here, pet—let me past and I’ll get you some ice.”
He starts to step over me and I punch at his shin. He retreats and I manage to get the door shut from my awkward position half blocking its swing arc. It’s not lost on me that with the leg-contortion necessary to this operation, he’s seen enough of my lady garden to draw a map of it.
“Who was that?” Ruby asks, helping me up. Her long braids sway tantalizingly across a mesmerizing pair of cinnamon-brown tits. “Did you order him from room service?”
“Hardly. Can you grab me one of those robes from the bathroom, then let him in?” I hobble to the sofa and flop down, inspecting the damage to my foot.
Ruby places my phone on the coffee table and breezes off, then comes back and drapes a robe around me. I wriggle into it as she goes to open the door, tucking her shirt in.
“Are you all right?” Alexander asks, coming down the two steps into the sunken living room and sitting on the opposite sofa.
“Never better,” I grumble, prodding the toe. “What the hell are you doing here already?”
“You requested my presence last night, did you not?”
“It’s twenty hours from London. Did you teleport?” I turn sideways and yank the thick white terry cloth over my knees.
“I was in Wellington, pet. Art auction at Dunbar Sloane. Four-hour flight. I did mention it when you called, but you sounded fuckin’ trollied, so it’s no surprise you don’t remember.”
I angle a hostile glare at him, wishing I had a good comeback, but…
he’s not wrong. I vaguely recall shouting into my phone over the pulsing music in the club, dizzy on rebellion and top-shelf gin.
It comes to me with a solar flare of mortification that I may have said, Get that sweet ass of yours to Melbourne, asap, and followed it with a wolf howl.
It’s a great-looking ass, but the last thing his ego needs is for someone to tell him.
“Whatever. How’d you get to my door, though? They’re not supposed to let just anyone wander the halls.”
He stretches both arms across the top of the sofa, displaying himself.
“I’m not ‘just anyone.’ Also”—he tips a sideways nod at the foyer—“my room’s at the other end of the hall.
The magazine had a reservation for Natalia months ago, before her maternity leave.
” He points at my foot. “Shall I get that ice? You’re quite tetchy.
This isn’t the reception for which I’d hoped, especially considering what greeted me at your door. ”
Behind me, I hear Ruby chuckle as she walks to the sofa and leans over the back to plant a kiss on my cheek. She’s gotten dressed, even wearing the cute hat I commented on when we met—a yellow pencil-brim ranger. “I’m heading out, Francesca,” she tells me. “Had a blast.”
“No breakfast?” Catching her dimpled chin between my thumb and forefinger, I turn her for a lingering kiss on the mouth.
She half straightens, smiling, then closes in for another. “No thanks, darl. But hit me up next time you’re around.”
I give one of her braids a friendly tug. “Will do.”
We both know I won’t, but that’s what you say, isn’t it?
As always, when I hear the door shut, I’m flooded with a sense of relief that she’s gone. It’s not that I don’t like people, and I’m certainly not ashamed of one-night stands. But knowing no more will be asked of me, beyond what I already gave, is always comforting.
Alexander sighs with the indulgent tone you’d use on a misbehaving child. “Francesca?”
“Like you’ve never given a fake name to a hookup.”
“Believe it or not, I haven’t—I’m far too vain. I want full credit for my performance.”
I can’t help laughing. Tucking my legs under the robe, I twist to face him. “That tracks.”
He gets up and saunters to the bar, opening the mini-fridge’s freezer. “Now, about that ice. I’ll need a flannel from the en suite to wrap it…” He points at the bedroom.
“Ha! Nice try. You just wanna see the bed I wrecked with Ruby.”
“Clever girl. Guilty as charged.”
“I don’t need ice anyway. It’s fine.”
He returns to the sofa, sitting beside me and gesturing for me to put my foot on his lap. “Allow me to inspect.”
After a few seconds’ hesitation, I comply. He scrutinizes the toe, gingerly bending it, then squeezing and giving it a little twist.
“Pain?” he asks.
“Yeah, duh.” The way one of his hands is cupping my heel makes me think of how someone cradles the back of your head before closing in for a kiss. He’s surprisingly gentle. “Your hands are warmer than I expected.”
He looks up from my foot with a sly smile. “I don’t require batteries, love. I am, believe it or not, human.”
I know he’s calling back to our conversation in the lounge in Sakhir, when he referenced sex toys versus human partners. A blush flares at the memory, and I hope it’s not visible.
Okay, calm the fuck down. Stop picturing yourself planting a stiletto-heeled foot against Alexander’s bare chest, giving him a shove, ordering him to undo the buckle on the ankle strap with those white teeth of his…
Oh my God, I haven’t showered yet—do I smell like sex?
On the pretense of locating a strand of hair clinging to my face, I touch my nose and check out my theory.
Uh, yeah. My hands smell like a mermaid petting zoo.
He presses his fist into the arch of my foot and massages, and an involuntary groan escapes me. I burrow deeper into the cushions and close my eyes. I know I should pull away, but my feet are really sensitive and I decide to let myself enjoy it for a minute.
“Pleasant?” he asks.
I shrug, eyes still closed. “Sure, I guess.”
“As your intern, I live to serve,” he says with amusement. I open my eyes to look at him, and he asks, “Did your squabble with Priya blow over?”
I adjust the robe to cover me where it’s fallen away from my legs. “We made up, but then I got pissed off again a few nights back. Long story.”
“I have time.” His thumbs spread along the ball of my foot deliciously.
“It’s… yeah, no. Just personal shit. I don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s just say on the road to better communication, there are some potholes.” I wait a beat, deciding whether to reveal the next part. “I did kinda tell her I fucked you, though.”
His probing thumbs freeze. “A lie counts as ‘better communication’?”
“Oh, shut up. I never said I was perfect. But I’m trying.”
He resumes massaging. “And the sex—how was I? Any good?”
The side-eye he’s giving me makes my heart race, so I close my eyes again and offer an A-okay sign with my fingers. “Five stars.”
“I’ll add your rating to my CV.”
“Though it would’ve been way more funny to tell her you were hung like a hamster.”
His laugh is a smooth rumble. “Are we certain that’s an insult? Proportionally speaking, domestic rodents might be massive.”
I click my tongue and point at him. “True. Add ‘Google proportionality of rodent genitals’ to your to-do list, intern.”
“Never a dull moment in your employ.”