Chapter 2
LONDON, ENGLAND
R owan’s face contorted into a grimace the moment he felt a knot at the base of his shoulder blade, slight sparks of pain trailing down his ribs. Rubbing the aching spot, he stretched his neck out by rolling it, feeling a few strands of hair topple over his brows.
“You should take it easy.”
A groan rose from the back of his throat at the sound of Tate’s remark. Opening his eyes, he gaped at his physiotherapist busy closing his duffel bag, then let a scoff erupt.
From his seated position, Rowan leaned his elbows atop his thighs as the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “How is taking it easy going to make me win the championship?”
“The season hasn’t even started,” Tate noted dully as he stood up. “You injured yourself during the winter break and you know you need to stop being so hard on yourself.”
Pushing his curls away from his forehead, Rowan lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. He didn’t care about his doctor’s opinion, nor Tate’s, nor anyone else’s. “It was a minor injury, I’ll be fine. My goal is to beat Valencia.”
The past two seasons were terrible for Primavera Racing. Both drivers had struggled with their cars and had been beaten by Imperium Racing consecutively. Even though Rowan had finished the season third in the drivers’ rankings, he still craved to beat his teammate who, contrary to Rowan, had already been crowned World Champion once in 2020.
As Tate draped his duffel bag over his shoulder, he grabbed Rowan’s and gave it to the athlete who had stood up and pulled a jumper over his training gear. “I’m sure you can beat Thiago. I mean, he’s not Huxley—he’s not the unbeatable Lion. But I’m not sure overworking your body and tiring yourself this early in the season is the way to do it. I know you want to stay in shape, but you know your mental health matters, too.”
Rowan snickered and patted his trainer on the back before marching towards the exit. The gym at Primavera’s headquarters was one of Rowan’s favourite places. Set on the whole surface of the top floor of the building, it offered an incomparable view of the English countryside surrounding the factory, hence why he would spend most of his free time here.
Rowan hit the button to call the lifts, digging into his bag to retrieve a cap. Laying the hat backwards atop his hair, he looked at Tate. “Stop being so concerned about me, Ritchie. I can’t take that much kindness.”
Tate scowled. “I’m just doing my job, dickhead. Still can’t believe how I put up with your annoying ass after all these years.”
Rowan and Tate grew up as next-door neighbours in Brisbane. They had known each other since they were born, and when Rowan had decided to move to Europe to pursue his dream in motorsports, Tate had decided to follow.
They were like brothers.
Wherever Rowan Emerson was, Tate Richards was, too.
The doors to the lifts opened and they stepped inside in sync.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
Tate glanced at his friend, slight puzzlement etched on his features. “Nothing.”
“No cardio? I love a good run on a Saturday morning.”
Tate plucked his phone out of his pocket, snorting softly. “I’m not sure you’ll be in the mood with the hangover that’s waiting for you. Did you forget the car launch is tonight?”
Ah, fuck.
Rowan had forgotten.
And he’d forgotten he needed to retrieve his suit at the tailor’s.
Every year, after putting on a pretty smile for the cameras, giving his opinion on the new livery and his predictions for the season, he’d grab a flute of champagne, one after the other, until he’d settle for an entire bottle to empty on the roof with Tate and his car mechanics.
“I forgot about that,” he admitted, rubbing his flushed face and groaning in frustration.
“I’m going to start thinking I’m not only your physio, but also your assistant and your mother.”
Rowan hummed, lifting his eyebrows. “My life would be such a mess without you.”
Tate glowered at the sound of Rowan’s sardonic tone. “Next time, show a bit more enthusiasm when you express your gratitude towards me.”
Rowan was about to retort when the lifts stopped on the fifth floor, the doors slowly opening to reveal the bane of his entire existence. Cradling a box to her chest, she was smiling brightly to someone before she slipped her gaze towards the lifts when the bell chimed. The instant her dark, brown eyes collided with his, her grin faltered, allowing blatant annoyance to paint her face.
He clenched his jaw, sensing the muscle tick, and drifted his gaze away before glancing back her way, as though he’d been forced to watch her equally annoyed expression.
She pressed her lips into a thin line, exhaled, and took a step forward. “Gentlemen.”
“Evening,” Tate mumbled as he stepped to the side to allow her to stand in between him and Rowan. “How was your winter break?”
No amount of bitterness could ever overpower her genuine and natural grace. That sense of goodness was, for some odd reason, the cause of frustration rattling throughout his body until his bones hurt. Sweetly, she peered up at Tate, securing the box against a hip as she adjusted her ridiculously large scarf.
“It was nice,” she responded softly, with that annoying feathery voice of hers. “Went skiing for a week, but I mostly got some rest.”
“That’s good.”
“What about you?”
Tate shrugged lazily. “Same usual shit, you know. Went back home, caught some waves, stuffed my face with Tim Tam’s.”
Unconsciously, Rowan’s jaw tightened when subtle notes of flowers and vanilla danced in the air, corrupting his senses for a flickering heartbeat. He leaned against the wall, buried his hands in the pockets of his shorts, and allowed a scoff to rise from the back of his throat as he witnessed their interaction like a phantom.
“Avery,” he acknowledged, his coarse voice echoing through the small space. “My winter break was eventful, if you were wondering.”
Though she had her back turned to him, he saw her shoulders tense at the sound of his words. She kept her chin high, continuing to stare ahead of herself. “It’s Ava. And thank you, but no, I was not wondering.”
He smirked because he knew she’d give him that exact response.
Popping a gum into his mouth, he observed her black hair fall down her back. Had she cut it? “I’m pretty sure your name’s Avery.”
“I prefer going by Ava.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she bit out, her tone clipped.
“That’s not even a response,” he countered. “I’m going to keep calling you Avery.”
“Don’t.”
It was impressive how rapidly his mood would shift in Avery Sharma-Maddox’s presence. Instant irritation started to seep through his veins, causing his blood to boil and his pulse to drum against his temple. Whilst he’d been driving for Primavera Racing for seven years now, Avery arrived two years ago after graduating from university. She had instantly gained everyone’s trust and affection with her pearly-white smile and contagious kindness. She was hired as Thiago’s PR officer the moment she stepped foot inside the marketing and communications department.
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he observed the box she was holding. “Are you quitting?”
He was sure she was rolling her eyes behind the big frames of her glasses. “Sorry to disappoint, but no.”
“What’s with the box then?”
Finally, brown eyes blazing with frustration found his gaze, causing his lips to tip into a roguish smirk. Over the years, he had found a particular pleasure in spiking her temper. “Aren’t you a curious little thing?”
“Very curious,” he confirmed with a nod, deciding to ignore the fact she’d called him little and thing.
She studied his demeanour with a slow once-over that made shivers roll down his spine, then spun on her heel to face the doors as they opened. “I’m going to disappoint you—again—but none of this is your business.”
Rowan narrowed his gaze. All he wanted at that exact moment was for her to hold his defiant stare.
“Pleasure seeing you again,” he called out.
She didn’t so much as peer behind her shoulder. “Can’t say the same for me.”
He watched her walk out into the entrance hall, waving at the receptionist before pushing the large glass door to exit the building.
Tate was following Rowan closely, amusement edging his tone as he asked, “Remind me why you don’t like her again? I think she’s nice.”
Rowan twisted his hat, pulled the hood of his jumper over his head, and dug into his pocket to grab his car key. “I don’t know. But I can’t fucking stand her.”
He grinned broadly at the cameras sending blinding flashlights into his face, adjusting the collar of his shirt and winking before moving towards the entrance of Primavera’s headquarters.
All workers—whether they were mechanics, engineers, marketers, or others—were filling the space in the entrance hall, flutes of champagne in hand whilst chattering joyfully. Primavera Racing would be launching their 2023 car in about twenty minutes. Whilst Rowan and Thiago would be interviewed by an F1 presenter, a live stream would be broadcast around the world for the fans to see the new livery. Primavera was also the last team out of the ten to present their new car.
Rowan was looking for blonde curls and signature red lips, but Ellie was nowhere in sight. Not that he’d be needing her help tonight, but receiving her reassurance would be comforting in a way.
He spotted Thiago grab two glasses of champagne and strolled towards his teammate.
“Have you seen Ellie?”He plucked one of the flutes.
Thiago paused, parted his lips, and frowned. “She isn’t here. And give that back. It’s for Kam, not you.”
Now it was Rowan’s turn to furrow his brows, absently handing the glass back. “What do you mean? She never misses anything.”
Amusement glinted in Thiago’s eyes. “Where have you been the past week?”
“What is that supposed to mean? Stop being so vague and weird, mate.”
Pure bewilderment had drawn upon Thiago’s face, and just as he was about to elaborate, his attention was brought towards the silhouette that came to brush Rowan’s arm. Rowan thought how ridiculous his teammate looked as his features were suddenly illuminated as if a sun ray had started to shine upon him.
Rowan smirked at his teammate’s girlfriend when she came to stand next to her partner.
He winked. “Evening, Kameron. Fancy seeing you here.”
She scowled and accepted the flute Thiago handed her. Beautiful, devastating woman, but so cold and guarded. Ridiculous how tall she was, too. “It’s Kamari.”
“I know. I like taunting you.”
“I don’t return the sentiment.” She grabbed Thiago’s free hand, drawing Rowan’s attention to their linked fingers. “I’m stealing Mister Sunshine for a sec.”
Rowan dipped his hands in the pockets of his trousers, lifting his eyebrows. “I know what you mean when you say you need to steal him. You are not slick, Kam. Shagging right now isn’t the best idea. We’re launching in fifteen.”
Kamari sent him a lethal glare which only made him laugh. “Goodbye.”
He continued searching the crowd for Ellie, but was unsuccessful. Maybe she was hiding in the kitchen. Strolling towards the cafeteria that was less crowded—empty, even—he let confusion cloud his mind for a heartbeat as he still couldn’t find his PR officer.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he checked for a text message or even an email from Ellie, only to find himself thoroughly disappointed by the lack of updates. It was strange, unusual of her. He wasn’t particularly used to being in touch with her every single day, but he was expecting her to be everywhere he was—especially during events like tonight’s.
It was only when he turned around that the silhouette of a devastating angel hiding in the shadows caught his eye. She was a nightmare dressed like a daydream. An incandescent, divine being in simple disguise.
He rolled his tongue on the interior of his cheek, debating whether to turn on his heel or dive head-first into her spellbinding trap.
Intrigued by her solitude, he approached with wary steps, hands still in the pockets of his dress pants.
“Party’s out front. Why are you hiding?”
Avery lifted her head at the sound of his voice, like he had managed to bring her back to reality. She was sitting at a table, chin in the palm of her hand as she stared at the moonlight’s reflection on the lake.
“What do you want?” she snapped, straightening herself.
The light was dim, but he couldn’t help himself from dropping his regard to her physique. She was unnervingly beautiful, effortlessly so, and it caused his temper to flare for some unknown reason.
“Rowan,” she pressed, evidently impatient and annoyed by his unsolicited presence.
Doe eyes were staring up at him, waiting for a reaction. He had seen her without glasses before, but he had never noticed how thick and long her lashes were, making her dark gaze even more mystifying.
He lifted his eyebrows. “I asked the question first.”
Avery rolled her eyes, her expression pinched. “To answer your obnoxious question, I’m having a terrible night. So yes, I am hiding.”
“The event has barely started,” he stated impassively. “There’s no way you’re already having a bad night.”
“Well, I am,” she bit out, huffing an irritated exhale.
Feisty, she was.
His brows rose in bafflement at her clipped tone. “Are you going to tell me why?”
She blinked, like she was analysing his question. “If I tell you, will you stop invading my personal space and leave?”
“It’s hardly your personal space,” he retorted coyly. “We all eat here during our lunch breaks.”
She didn’t react to his remark. Didn’t laugh, didn’t scoff.
That was strange. She would usually always respond, quickly so. Most of the time, her wit would make him smirk in wry amusement.
After a few beats of them staring at each other, he threw his hands in the air in defeat and shrugged. “Yes, fine. I’ll leave afterwards. I’ve got important shit to do, anyway. It’s not like we’re launching the new car soon or anything.”
“No one’s forcing you to talk to me.”
“Thank God for that. So?”
Rowan observed the way her gaze trailed down towards his neck when he started fixing the collar of his shirt before smoothing out his vest. Raw, pure detestation was gleaming along the edges of her irises and he knew he was reflecting the same sentiment. It was a real mystery how they had managed to keep their hatred for one another a secret until now.
She then pointed to her left eye. “I lost my contact lens.”
He snorted. “How does one do that?”
“When she’s in a fucking rush and has no time to travel back to the city to change, so she has to do it at the office and then she’s panicked as hell, so she just loses the contact down the drain.”
“Woah,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Please breathe. You’re making me anxious.”
Though she had exhaled, he could still see how taut her shoulders were beneath the thin straps of her black dress. Wasn’t she cold? It was only February, after all.
“But you left at the same time as Tate and I earlier,” he noted, taking a seat opposite her, which caused her to sigh.
“I only went to deposit that box in Nikki’s car. I had more work to do, so I didn’t have time to catch the train, then the tube, go to my flat, change into that dress, catch the tube again—”
He scratched his stubbled jaw and threw his head back. “Yeah, you could’ve summarised it and said you didn’t have time. Why were you even working after hours?”
“One word: Nikki.” Avery rolled her eyes. He wasn’t that much surprised by the bitterness she shared towards that woman; not many people working for Primavera Racing were fond of Nikki Bellinger. “Anyway, the heel on my stiletto broke, too. So I will have to walk barefoot out there, or just wobble on my broken shoes and make a fool of myself.”
Rowan winced—he knew Avery was the kind of person who couldn’t stop talking whilst being a total nervous wreck.
“Just wear your Converse,” he suggested. “The ones you wore today.”
For a moment, she didn’t let her expression break, then he saw a flash of surprise in her eyes.
It seemed like she was contemplating his recommendation at first. “I don’t have time to go up there. All my clothes are in my office. It’s whatever. Not that anyone will pay attention to me, anyway.”
Rowan scoffed loudly. If one person could outshine the sun itself, it was Avery Sharma-Maddox. Despite being quiet and reserved, she had a vibrant energy that could put a smile on anyone’s face. Had a soul so pure, so kind—sometimes too good. If anyone knew how to be the centre of attention, albeit unwillingly, it was her. She was full of life, full of grace, full of goodwill to her core.
He knew then that Avery was his opposite—a full, stark contrast. Because Rowan was guarding the true colour and value of his heart, hiding all the brokenness and dark corners of his soul so that no one could ever see the real him. He always knew that putting another version of himself out to the worldwas better, easier.
He folded his arms across his chest. “What kind of drug are you on? Something that causes you to spit bullshit and total nonsense?”
Avery only narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, Rowan?”
Understanding she wouldn’t answer his previous question, he said, “I’m looking for Ellie.”
He counted three heartbeats before she made her response audible. Her voice was quiet, nearly muted with the sound of the loud music coming from the other room, yet he managed to hear, “She’s not here.”
Rowan’s eyebrows pinched together in a confused frown. “She’s my press officer. Of course, she is.”
She drifted her gaze away. “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean ‘ not anymore ’?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “It means what it means.”
Ellie wasn’t his press officer anymore? What the actual fuck?
He flickered his gaze down to her neck where she was toying with her pendant. He tried not to glance down to the rest of her physique, but he found himself struggling when the swell of her breasts lured his gaze downwards. He shook his head at the realisation, jaw tightening.
“Why am I being informed now?”
Her answer was a half-shrug.
“Who’s replacing her?”
A beat passed. “You’re looking at her.”
Time stood still for a fraction of a second.
Next thing he knew, Rowan burst out in laughter, bringing his fist up to his mouth. If she was trying to be amusing, then she had succeeded.
“Funny,” he chuckled dryly. “That’s a good one.”
But when he noticed she didn’t so much as crack a smile or roll her eyes in pleasantry, he understood she wasn’t lying.
His smile instantly vanished and he cleared his throat, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek. It took him a few seconds to register the new piece of information. To process the news.
“Yeah, fuck no. That’s not happening.”
“Don’t look so excited,” she deadpanned before standing up, her small hands brushing her skirt. “You might set the whole place on fire by the look of utter delight on your face.”
He rose to his full height, causing her stare to trail from his torso to his narrowed eyes. “I might set the place on fire for a whole different reason, Avery.”
“Dramatic, much?” she muttered with a roll of her eyes.
Rounding the table, he came to stand before her. Flowers. Vanilla. Stupid, sweet scent—just as sweet as her. He truly detested her and the way she feigned innocence by blinking up at him.
“I don’t want to work with you.” She needed to understand this couldn’t work.He just knew this wouldn’t work, not even remotely close.
He wasn’t certain why he didn’t want to work with her. Perhaps they’d throw daggers at each other, continuously so. Perhaps he didn’t want to spend time with her. Because his PR officer was supposed to be his partner in crime, his shoulder to cry on, his assistant, basically—and he did not want Avery to be that person.
She tipped her chin up so she could hold his fiery gaze. “And I share the same sentiment. I despise you and you despise me all the same. But I’m biting my tongue and doing my job because contrary to popular belief, I do not live off of my parents’ money. I need this job to pay rent, and bills, and life. Quitting just to please your ungrateful ass is not an option, either. So yeah, Emerson, we’re stuck together.”
He ground his molars together, trying not to let his molten rage consume his thoughts. “I’m going to make your life such a fucking night—”
“Congrats because you’ve already done so.”
“I can’t stand you—”
“So glad the feeling is reciprocated.”
“Hey, Rowan,” someone said from the doorway, interrupting their argument. “We’re launching in five.”
Irritated, Rowan exhaled loudly and took a step back. He glanced towards the entrance of the cafeteria, only to see Nikki glare at Avery. When he looked at the latter, she was staring at the floor.
He nodded. “Be right there.”
It was only when they were left alone with their respective wrath that he let out a loud scoff, obliging Avery to look back up at him. He could feel the tension envelop them in a blazing bubble—unwavering, powerful.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he bit out as he spun on his heel.
“It might as well be,” she replied. “It’s done. So act like the big boy you are and stop fighting me.”
He’d always fight Avery. Always. And neither of them were ready for this battle.