Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
??SAKHIR, BAHRAIN
“ H ey, Ave. Heard you were assigned to work with Emerson now.”
Ava lifted her gaze from her phone before pulling her sunglasses up to rest them atop her head. An instant smile spread across her lips when her gaze collided with Miles Huxley’s green eyes. He stood before her, arms folded across his chest hugged by a black fireproof shirt, his racing suit hanging at his hips.
The paddock was flooded with privileged fans, sports reporters and presenters, photographers, and cameramen. Ava had been enjoying the setting sun in front of Primavera Racing’s motorhome, using that time to breathe and relax before spending the rest of the evening running after Rowan.
She lifted a hand over her eyes to shield her vision from the golden sunlight. “Oh, you mean Satan? Yep, that’s my boss now.”
Miles chuckled and tilted his head to the side. It was rare to see this side of the World Champion, but Ava assumed he had no struggle letting his walls down around her given they had known each other their entire lives. “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”
Ava’s shoulders were lifted in a small shrug. “He’s decent when he’s not complaining about his coffee order or the brand of water he’s drinking, or when he isn’t checking himself in a mirror, or when he isn’t making me run left and right for nothing.”
He grinned down at her, mockingly. “Poor him, being described as decent. I just know his ego is taking a toll with you as his publicist.”
She pocketed her phone, looking around the crowded paddock. “He’s having a hard time processing the fact I’m not affected by his douchebag attitude. He can make me run kilometres to grab him a protein bar, and I’ll still come back with a smile on my face.”
Miles’ smile didn’t falter as he ruffled his chestnut hair. “There she is.”
Ava and Miles had been friends long before his racing days. Prior to becoming an F1 driver and moving to Monaco, he lived in the same building as she did, all the while thriving in motorsports; karting, then F4, F3, up to F2 where he became champion, too. He was the one to convince her to pursue a career in motorsports when he’d realised she was as passionate as him.
She owed everything to Miles Huxley.
“Don’t let him get to you,” he continued. “I know how you are; pretending you don’t care whilst you’re the most sensible and sensitive person I know.”
Ava’s hands found the pockets of her skirt. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will,” he quipped with a wink.
With a rapid hug, she told him cheerfully, “Good luck for the race.”
“Careful,” he teased as he rubbed her back gently. “You’re fraternising with the enemy.”
If only the world could see the authentic nature of the World Champion. Perhaps the people wouldn’t call him cold, distant, and rude. Miles Huxley was everything but.
“Honestly? At this point, I’d rather work with Imperium than be glued to Rowan’s side for another second. He’s making my life a living nightmare. Not sure who’s the enemy here.”
Ava was sitting at the small table in Rowan’s room in the motorhome, her attention zeroed in on the tablet in front of her, one earbud plugged in as she was busy transcribing the recordings from yesterday’s interviews from the media pen.
Rowan’s tone was delighted as he talked about the feeling of being on pole position for the first race of the 2023 season. She almost let a smile touch her lips when his laugh reverberated, and she remembered that blush coating his cheekbones, that dimpled smile that made the journalist grin timidly, those stars shimmering around his pupils. Happiness looked good on Rowan Emerson.
But when Ava realised where her train of thoughts had wandered off to, she shook her head and focused on the document open before her.
Laughter echoed again and she noticed it wasn’t coming from the interview she had recorded. It was Rowan and Tate, laughing heartily as they watched a video on the physiotherapist’s phone.
She glanced at the athlete, then back to her screen, and again to the man who had taken his cap off.
Ava had never truly paid attention to Rowan before. She was immune to his contagious dimpled smile, vibrant energy, and thorough love of attention for the sole reason that she always felt invisible whenever she was in the same room as him.
Because come on, why would a man like him pay attention to someone as simple as her?
But she couldn’t fathom why she was being drawn towards him at that exact moment as he shrugged his t-shirt off to replace it with a fireproof shirt. The tattoos adorning his bronze skin suited him just as much as his red racing suit. She found herself wanting to trace every single one of those patterns with the tip of her forefinger whilst basking in the scrutiny of his honey eyes.
It was when he felt her stare on him that he turned around, catching her gaze settled on an intricate drawing on his ribcage. He grinned smugly and winked, and all she could do was look away and pretend she wasn’t blushing.
Yep, she definitely hated him.
“Avery,” he drawled, back turned to her.
His whole allure was enticing—his sun-kissed flesh, his toned, chiselled, muscular body, his confidence he wore akin to a second skin. He was devastatingly beautiful. And Ava despised that.
“What?” she snapped, focusing too hard on the wall opposite her where multiple Polaroid pictures were hung.
His gaze was already on her when she finally found the courage to look at him. “You’ve got a bit of drool there, love,” he said, pointing at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s probably vomit.”
Rowan snickered. “Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
“You know, I’d be offended if I were you.”
“Right. My heart is broken into millions of pieces,” he deadpanned.
She hummed. “I wasn’t aware you had a heart to begin with.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He ruffled his dark hair, rapidly drawing her attention to his arm. “I need my pre-race snack.”
The audacity this man had—
She glared at him, hoping he’d see the invisible, yet lethal daggers thrown in his direction. He had the nerve to smirk sheepishly. “Get it yourself. You’re a big boy, Rowan. Or ask Tate.”
The physiotherapist raised his hands in surrender, his gaze still fixed on his phone. “Don’t get me involved.”
Rowan pulled his white fireproof shirt down as he turned to fully face her, and she fought the urge to glance at his contracted abdominals.
A grin touched his lips, taunting her. “Yeah, but it’s no fun if I don’t make you get it for me.”
“While we’re at it, do you want me to feed it to you, too?”
A small shrug of his shoulders was perceptible before he pulled the rest of his racing suit on. “I mean, since you’re offering with so much enthusiasm and kindness, how could I ever refuse?”
Ava stood up, causing the chair to screech on the floor with the force of her movement. “You’re terribly annoying, did you know that?”
“Yet you still haven’t resigned. Admit that you like me deep down.”
“I fear I won’t be able to make your wish come true.”
He could make her feel flushed and timid one moment, and the next, he would cause flaming annoyance to rush through her veins.
Cradling her tablet, two phones, and a pair of sunglasses to her chest, she narrowed her gaze on him. He had taken a step towards the desk, and she had put a distance between them by moving towards the door.
She was burning under the intensity of it all—his words, his gaze holding hers with equal defiance. “You want to make my life a misery? Go ahead. This is just as much of a nightmare for me as it is for you.”
He only tilted his lips in a roguish smirk. Like he enjoyed seeing her so frustrated. Like he knew that, deep down, she loved the challenge as much as he did.
Turning on her heel, Ava exited the small room, but she heard his footfalls follow her closely. “Oh, come on, Avery. I’m messing with you. You know I love annoying you.”
“Why don’t you find someone else to taunt?”
“You’re my press officer. There’s no one else I’d rather annoy.”
“Wow,” she droned impassively, spinning around. Her breath caught when she noticed he was standing mere centimetres away. “I feel so special.”
Before Rowan could respond, the door to their right opened and Kamari appeared. Surprise drew itself upon her features when she saw the pair standing in the empty hallway.
Her brows rose as she flickered her gaze between Ava and Rowan. “Hi, guys.”
Ava peered behind Kamari’s shoulder to see Thiago busy zipping his racing suit.
“Oh, come on,” Rowan grunted. “It smells like fucking sex in your room. You two are animals.”
Kamari’s cheeks flushed and Thiago only grinned before winking.
“I bet that sexy time will earn you a podium,” Rowan commented.
Thiago’s shoulders were lifted in a coy shrug. “That’s the idea.”
“Damn,” Rowan mumbled. “Anyone volunteer as tribute to shag before every race? Avery? You could be my lucky charm.”
Did he just admit he was somehow attracted to her?
No, of course not. She was just overthinking.
She smacked his chest nonetheless, eliciting a chuckle that rumbled deep inside his throat. She refused to look at him because she wasn’t certain how she would manage to process that strange information.
“Tito,” Ava pleaded. “Please take me back. I hate him.”
She could feel the warmth emanating from Rowan’s body as he leaned his palm against the wall, right above her head. His breath tickled the back of her neck when he chuckled, causing the hairs on her nape to rise, albeit against her will.
“Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely. The depth, the gruffness of his baritone was something else. “Please take her back. She keeps giving me water I don’t like.”
Thiago snorted softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You two are truly a duo.”
Kamari exchanged a glance with her boyfriend, then pointed her thumb at him when she found Ava’s gaze again. “If you and Rowan ever get married, Thiago needs to be his best man.”
In sync, Ava and Rowan pretended to vomit just as she slipped away, purposefully bumping into his shoulder. “In his dreams.”
“She wishes,” Rowan said at the same time.
Her heart was racing as she kept her stare on the television, holding the headphones against her ears just to feel, somewhat, grounded.
She was chewing nervously the inside of her bottom lip, a small crease between her brows as she stared at the screen. The palms of her hands were damp with perspiration, and she was certain her hair was a mess because of the heat.
It was no surprise that Miles Huxley had managed to lead the race after twenty laps. Thiago had overtaken Rowan after the latter had a front right puncture following a contact with another driver. Rowan was currently P3, and it was obvious that he was desperate to claim his front position back.
The thing with Rowan was that he was a reckless driver and he was taking too many risks. Obviously, he loved the thrill.
Fighting with his teammate was unsafe and dangerous. With five laps to go, Rowan was chasing Thiago, the front wing of his car nearly grazing his teammate’s left rear tyre when he attempted an overtake on the inside of a corner.
“He’s insane,” she mumbled. At first, she thought no one would hear her comment, but the general hum of agreement floating around was proof her remark had been louder than intended.
Rowan braked late, drifting on the right to try and overtake Thiago, but when the latter’s trajectory widened in the same direction, Rowan had to anticipate and let his teammate pass.
“God damn it, Emerson,” Ava grumbled, holding her breath.
Eliott, who was sitting next to her, shifted the camera in her direction. She looked at the lens, sighed heavily, and shook her head. He chuckled and went back to filming everyone’s reactions in the garage.
Ava kept glancing at the upper left side of the screen where the number of laps was counted. She truly felt like she couldn’t breathe as she realised there were still four laps to go.
Rowan and Thiago were fighting each other, but at what cost?
She clasped her hands together, bringing the tips of her fingers to her lips as she maintained her gaze on the screen. Her heart was battering. Anxiety was emanating from everyone standing around her.
Only mechanics, Rowan’s pit-crew, and a few guests were in the garage, yet the space felt cramped.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Ava tended to speak to herself whilst she watched races, and it would always surprise her when others agreed with her comments.
Finally, after excruciating minutes of watching Rowan attempt to overtake Thiago, the chequered flag was brandished.
Rowan finished P3 in today’s Grand Prix.
From the other side of the room, Ava caught Tate’s gaze. He pressed his lips in a thin line, shaking his head slightly. Sending him a sympathetic smile, she went over to him, her heartbeat now steady as chaos didn’t unravel. Only cheers of encouragement erupted because Rowan’s finishing position didn’t matter. Podium or not, his team would always celebrate him.
Ava didn’t know much about Rowan, but she knew that he tended to unleash his wrath on his best friend, Tate. And right now, as he claimed the third position after tonight’s race, she knew he was not happy about it.
Her shirt smelled like champagne. Whilst bubbles seared overhead when Huxley, Valencia and Emerson celebrated their podium, the latter had made sure to spray the team that was cheering below.
Despite Ava trying to hide behind Tate’s large frame, it had been of no use to avoid the celebratory shower.
Busy tying her untamed curls in a bun, she leaned against a wall and tried not to stare at Rowan drying his hair with a towel.
He’d been silent since the podium.
He had asked for Ava to enter his room after he had showered, and Tate wasn’t there.
“You’re disappointed,” she observed quietly. She wasn’t even sure why she was trying to make conversation about something so evident.
Rowan scoffed. He threw his towel on the sofa and finally met her gaze. He had changed into loose jeans and his red Primavera polo. When he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he sighed deeply. Even that sound was filled with unrestrained distress.
She followed the route of a droplet of water falling down his temple because she didn’t want to look into his eyes. But when she finally did, she found a crestfallen gleam in them that even his bright smile couldn’t conceal.
“Rowan,” she murmured.
“What?” He flopped down on the sofa, throwing the towel on the chair of his desk. “Are you going to scold me like Romano did?”
She hadn’t heard the conversation between Rowan and his team principal, but she had seen the anger in their boss' gaze.
“Of course not,” she responded softly. Ava hated that she didn’t know how to hide her good heart. No amount of misplaced acidity could ever overpower her kindness. She could resent that man as much as she wanted, but at the end of the day, he was her boss and she was a caretaker. “Why did you fight with Thiago? Even after being ordered not to take risks.”
His head hung low between his shoulders. The floor seemed less intimidating than her stare. “Because I should have won, Avery.”
She sighed, disliking that tone of his—laced with poison, low with sadness. “It’s part of the game, you know that.”
“I know.”
“You could have caused so much unnecessary chaos. Could’ve injured yourself.”
“I know.”
“And you would have lost so much more than two places.”
“I know.” He leaned back into his seat and knocked his head back, staring at the blank ceiling. “You sound like you care.”
“It’s my job,” she just said.
“Right.”
The sound of her thundering heart was deafening. She inhaled. Braced herself, and demanded, “Can you look at me?”
And just like that, honey found chocolate. For a fraction of a second, his features softened, but she still could see that veil of vexation brimming his eyes.
She pushed herself off the wall. “Listen, I hate saying this, but you know you’ll have to lie in the interviews we’re going to go to now. They’ll ask if a new rivalry was born between you and Thiago. The answer’s no. They’ll ask why you decided to battle him and you’ll say that you wanted the end of the race to be exciting. That you had fun. Don’t show them your disappointment.”
His tone resonated bitterly. “Don’t worry, Avery, I’m a pro at that.”
She wanted to roll her eyes; tell him he didn’t need to put that act on whenever he was in her company. But all she did was kindly say, “You’ll come back stronger. Just stop being a dick. Think of the consequences of your actions.”