Fast-Track Fiancé (The Fast Track Billionaires’ Club #2)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

N INA R OUX KEPT a polite smile in place until she’d gained a safe distance from the hot overhead lights of the press tent. The rain-soaked paddock of the Elite One Monte Carlo circuit was relatively deserted in the aftermath of yesterday’s disastrous race during which ten drivers had crashed. Thankfully there were no significant casualties, with the exception of one career-ending injury for the lead driver of Falco Roux. The team in which she was currently the first reserve driver.

She wasn’t so callous as to say she’d been waiting for this moment, but, as a reserve driver, the only chance she’d ever had to get actual race time was at the expense of one of the lead drivers on the team. She had sat patiently during the morning briefing from management, proudly wearing her standard polo shirt and crisply ironed chinos in the team colours of white and maroon. It had seemed straightforward, to promote her into a permanent seat for the remaining seven races of the season. To give her the chance she had earned and one she deserved after graduating top of the academy at eighteen, followed by five years of hard work in testing and development. Much longer than most other drivers had to wait when they performed at her level. Team members had shaken her hand, and she’d felt a sense of bubbling excitement grow within as they’d readied for a ‘surprise announcement’ that would be delivered during a live-streamed press briefing.

She had imagined how they might announce it. Would they lead with her being the first Roux to earn a seat on their family’s team since her brother’s ill-fated attempt as a race driver ten years before? Or go with the more shocking fact that she would be the first woman to take a permanent seat in Elite One since her aunt, Lola Roux, had dominated the sport twenty-five years ago?

In the end, they had discussed none of those things...because it had turned out that Nina wasn’t the subject of this surprise announcement after all, but rather the signing of a completely new driver. Not only that, but a driver who was the grandson of the owner of their biggest rival team, Accardi Autosport. Apollo Accardi, a championship-winning driver who had stunned the racing world by disappearing from the sport six years ago.

The announcement had come from their new team owner, Tristan Falco, via video link, his handsome tanned face and perfectly coiffed dark blond hair filling the screen as he performed his most basic of duties from somewhere far away. Likely upon one of his famous superyachts, surrounded by glamorous guests and merriment. The potential return to Elite One of the legendary driver had been whispered about all season, and she’d foolishly believed the rumours too good to be true. But Apollo Accardi had indeed made his return, and with it had taken her chance to secure a seat for the rest of the season. She’d get a drive for the next few races, but, once Apollo had arrived and familiarised himself with the car, he’d complete the rest.

As the details of the shocking announcement had been talked through and not one of her teammates had spoken up at the injustice of it all, her chest had tightened with despair and anger. She’d found herself standing suddenly, ignoring the quick warning look from their head of PR as she’d mumbled her excuses and made her exit. Her knees had threatened to buckle with every step she took, cameras flashing wildly to take in her reaction. Watching for the woman they’d nicknamed the ice princess to scowl or tantrum or make a scene that they could gleefully publish on their various websites.

So she’d smiled.

She’d smiled as she’d walked calmly past the line of journalists and through the belly of their impressive track headquarters, only breaking into a run once she’d reached the empty front foyer filled with their legacy of Elite One driver and constructor championship trophies as well as posters and flags in white and maroon. Colours that had been made famous by her family name alone for more than half a century until one impulsive playboy billionaire had seemingly swooped in and made her reckless big brother an offer he couldn’t refuse. Even when she’d emerged into the rain outside, she hadn’t slowed down. Her feet stomped along the tarmac, keeping time with the furious beat of her heart.

She waited until she was a safe distance towards her own secluded motorhome at the edge of the Falco Roux buildings before she released a growl that had been building in her chest. Video link. The biggest disaster that had hit their team in years and their billionaire owner hadn’t even bothered to be here in person. Tristan Falco had been almost completely absent from every race and meeting from the moment he had taken the reins from her older brother, Alain.

Famous for his skill in acquisition, rebranding and subsequent big-figure sales of struggling corporations, Tristan Falco likely believed that his usual routine would work just the same here in the pinnacle of motorsport racing. But as evidenced by their recent slide of steadily declining popularity and investments, it was not. She seemed to be the only one willing to tell him why, which she would do if the man weren’t utterly impossible to get a meeting with.

If her frustrations with management hadn’t already been at boiling point, perhaps she could have held it together today. For any other team, Nina would have been impressed and excited. Nabbing a huge name like Apollo...it likely had cost Falco more than a quarter of their year’s budget to achieve. But she was the reserve driver, a position she’d held for far longer than any other driver she knew with adequate licence points to drive in Elite One. It was unacceptable. And it was exactly the kind of move that she’d needed in order to make the next difficult decision about her own career.

What was that saying? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. She knew now that there was no other option for her here, not if Falco was prepared to pay an external driver probably triple her salary to come in and learn their car from scratch. The car she had been instrumental in developing alongside the team she’d known from birth. The car she had set their track record in at the end of last year during their winter break. She had taken first place in this year’s Legends race, for goodness’ sake, after being chosen as a second driver by former Elite One world champion Grayson Koh.

If all of that wasn’t enough...nothing ever would be.

It was a gift really—perhaps she had held on too long to familial loyalty. Her charity girls’ driving academy was already on the verge of bankruptcy since her shares and inheritance had been lost in the months of financial woes that led to her brother accepting the buyout. She understood why Alain had done it, or at least she had tried to over and over after she’d realised that he had got her inadvertently to sign away every cent in what she’d believed was an effort to save them. Instead, reckless and selfish as he was, Alain had sold their legacy to Falco and left her with nothing. The last she’d heard, he was currently living it up in Ibiza on one of the yachts owned by none other than Tristan Falco himself. Probably another little perk that he’d secured in the secret negotiations that had led to Monaco’s oldest and most historic team, Roux Racing, being renamed Falco Roux.

She slammed the door of her private motorhome, turning around just as the door swung inwards. Astrid Lewis, Falco Roux’s head of PR, entered, her green eyes sparking with fury behind her designer horn-rimmed glasses. The woman was a silhouette of perfectly coiffed rage and Nina was the sole recipient.

‘Before you say anything, I did the right thing by walking out of there.’ Nina turned away, still intent on getting changed and leaving as quickly as possible. The press wouldn’t follow her to her late aunt’s home in the south of France, and she knew better than to assume she would be left alone if she remained in Monte Carlo any longer.

‘Your contract requires you to remain in the press tent for the entirety of each sitting. We just announced a major development in the team line-up following the worst driver injury of the season, Nina.’

Nina bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to hold her tongue. She knew better than anyone what happened when she allowed herself to speak freely. Keep calm, she told herself. Calm people didn’t lose their jobs. It wasn’t that she was unable to control her temper, it was simply that injustice was her biggest trigger. She believed in working hard and reaping a fair reward for her efforts. She deserved to be the one in that seat for the remainder of the season instead of just the next few races. She had been the one pushing the team to make upgrades. She had spent hundreds of hours with the engineers during development and they had ended up with the best car they’d had in a decade and were maybe even on track to win a constructor’s championship.

She’d put every ounce of herself into being a hard-working team member, believing the results of her talent and drive would be enough. So no, she wasn’t going to sit and listen to her team wax lyrical about how excited they were to welcome their new driver to the Falco Roux family. She wouldn’t smile and wave and play the good girl a second longer. She had done it for the entirety of her career so far. She had followed every rule and toed every line and look where it had got her.

Superstition and loyalty had led her to sign a ridiculous contract that kept her locked into Falco Roux until she turned twenty-five. But she knew now, she couldn’t stay that long. She wouldn’t waste two more years in a place that seemed determined to use her and benefit from her talent while giving her none of the recognition or opportunity. Maybe another team would treat her with more respect, give her more actual access to opportunity instead of constantly holding her back with excuse after excuse.

And there was only one man who could set her free.

‘I don’t like that look in your eye, Nina,’ Astrid said warily. ‘I know that this might seem unfair, but I promise you there is a plan. Tristan Falco knows what he is doing—’

‘Do not mention that man’s name in front of me. Not when he hasn’t even had the decency to speak to me in person once since he took my family’s company from under me.’

To her credit, Astrid pursed her lips and remained silent. Good, too, because Nina didn’t want to take out her frustrations on the other woman. They might not technically be friends, but Astrid had never steered her wrong in the years since they had both started as newbies on the male-dominated team. Nina as a brand-new test driver, Astrid as a PR assistant.

‘Please just tell me what you plan to do.’ Astrid sighed wearily. ‘And if I need to take measures on my end to counteract any potential damage.’

Just as she’d opened her mouth to offer benign reassurance, Nina’s phone beeped, grabbing her attention. A slow breath escaped her lips as she read the text message. A smile slowly spread across her face as she realised it was exactly the news she’d hoped for. She’d nabbed a last-minute invitation to an exclusive event taking place in Paris later that evening. If she left now, she could just make it. She could take matters into her own hands and show Tristan Falco exactly who she was.

‘There will be no damage,’ she said carefully, putting the last of her things into her gym bag before turning back. ‘Not if Tristan Falco is as good a businessman as he claims to be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.’

By the time Nina’s limousine pulled up in front of Paris’s stunning Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the sky over the city had faded to a pleasant brushwork of purples, pinks and oranges. The one benefit she enjoyed from the four years she’d spent at an elite all-girls boarding school in the Swiss Alps was the network of powerful women she now had dotted all across the globe. One of whom was Hermione Hall, a fashion stylist who had served to get her access to this particular event. Considering the ticket she’d nabbed was for a model who’d fallen sick at the last minute, she’d also been required to sport an haute couture gown for the evening.

Nina took one last look in her compact mirror at the finished result of the past hour of lightning-fast make-up and dress alterations. Fashion-world people truly were magicians—there was no other explanation for how they had managed to transform her from a tired, unpolished mess to whatever illusion of glamour this was. Her gown was a kind of powder-blue lace and tulle creation that clung to her body like a second skin from neck to mid-thigh, before flowing out into a long train behind her. A white glittering mask covered her from above her eyebrows to below her nose with glittering diamond appliqué making her sparkle as she moved in the light.

To most people, one couldn’t get much luckier than getting the opportunity to dress up and play the part of a supermodel for one night. But she was a naturally introverted person with a rather complicated history with the press, and stepping out onto the red carpet outside the museum was quite frankly Nina’s idea of hell on earth.

A wall of photographers and journalists seemed to command the throng of glamorous A-list carpet walkers in a shocking wave of sound that temporarily held her frozen still with its urgency. Anonymity wasn’t necessary for her plan tonight to work, but she couldn’t deny it was a lot easier to hold her head high without the weight of her family’s world-famous downfall hanging over her.

The hum of voices tumbled over one another as she took a few shaky steps forward, feeling the comforting glare of the event’s security guards ensuring nobody got too close. The theme of the Falco Diamonds showcase was a summer masquerade and, once she’d made it halfway down the carpet without slipping, she focused on locating the only person she actually cared about seeing tonight. She was so distracted by the long line of famous faces that she almost missed him entirely.

‘Tristan, over here!’ a photographer called out, soon joined by an echo of others, all scrambling for the perfect shot of the man of the hour.

Nina’s breath caught as a man passed close by her, his sleeve just slightly brushing the skirt of her dress as he stepped out into the glare of the camera flashes. In a sea of black, his tuxedo was a brilliant white that seemed to make his dark blond hair and tanned skin glow. He wore no mask on his face. He stood a full foot taller than everyone around him, his blue eyes smouldering at the cameras as if he were some kind of fallen angel, sent to earth make every other human feel inferior. He owned every inch of the red carpet as a quartet of beautiful women posed and clung to his impressively muscular arms.

Who on earth needed to bring four dates to an event? She felt a flash of irritation as the women smiled and simpered up at him, while he all but ignored their presence. She knew that Falco carefully curated his wild playboy image and possibly was not actually involved with all four of the women. But the way their hands roamed over his torso as they moved as one spoke of a certain intimacy.

Was that even possible?

She was staring openly now, wondering at the... practicality of one man entertaining four women at once. Then again, if the rumours about Tristan Falco’s insatiable appetite for bedroom gymnastics were true, perhaps this was the minimum number of participants required to maintain his attention. It had been all over social media when his girlfriend had left him a few months ago for his cousin—maybe one woman wasn’t enough for Tristan Falco. Her inexperienced mind and overactive imagination attempted to conjure up an image and she couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud with surprise at the absurdity of it.

There was no way her laugh could have been heard over the din of the crowds around them and yet she felt a prickle of awareness skate along her skin before she looked back up to see that she had become the sole focus of one man’s attention.

She felt frozen in place as Falco’s gaze blatantly dipped to languorously take in her figure before rising back up to meet her eyes with exaggerated slowness. The slow smile that transformed his lips was pure sin, his midnight-blue eyes sparking with the kind of devilish glint that she would have to be completely na?ve not to understand.

‘Miss Roux?’

She felt as if she were breaking out of a trance as she blinked, turning to find one of Hermione Hall’s assistants standing by her side looking impatient.

‘You need to get inside or all of the best pieces of jewellery to accompany this gown will be gone.’ The woman urged her ahead and Nina dutifully followed, ignoring the strange prickle on the back of her neck as she moved inside the entryway.

For a man renowned for his wild playboy lifestyle and love of excess, Tristan Falco was never anything but fully in control at all times.

But tonight, he was distracted.

He usually adored playing host, a role that he had been raised in as the only son of a world-famous Argentinian diamond heiress and global fashion icon. His mother had taught him how to work a crowd and how to use his charm and good looks to build a fortune of his own. He had long been a success in his own right, with his carefully curated image paving the way for his skills in the business world to slide under the radar just as he liked it. But that success had come with a certain level of disconnect.

He had long grown used to suffering through the company at A-list events, with people clamouring for his attention while he worked through his mental list of business connections and takeover bids. And of course, lately, with dodging the more and more overt attempts his mother was making at finding him a wife. Recent scandals in the press regarding his love life had done him no favours, but ever since her retirement as CEO of her beloved company, Dulce Falco had decided the time had come for her only son to settle down and give her grandchildren. Not even planning her own upcoming wedding in Buenos Aires had distracted her.

He loved his mother and didn’t want to worry her...and having a wife and family of his own was an idea he had actually gradually been warming up to in recent times, not that he’d admit it. Until his ex had run off with his cousin and the ensuing scandal had served as a reminder that men like him were not built for domesticity.

Grabbing a second glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he tried to focus on his task list for the evening. He felt...on edge and it had nothing to do with the pressure he was under to marry and everything to do with finding out the identity of the mysterious beauty he’d seen outside.

Time and time again he had found his eyes searching for the woman in blue in the crowd, catching glimpses of her progress in between interruptions from his own less than captivating companions. She had been allocated a tiara from the exhibit to match the gown she wore; he knew the one from the antique jewellery collection being exhibited tonight by Falco Diamonds. He wore the matching crown on top of his own head, chosen weeks ago by his personal styling team.

As he downed the remnants of his glass of champagne and gestured for a refill, his eyes roamed the cavernous museum hall once more, taking only a few moments before finding the object of his thoughts.

She stood under one of the domes at the centre of the nave, her white mask glittering under the light show that had begun on the ceiling and upper walls. Utterly still, she gazed up at the cascade of blooms and stars that pulsated and blossomed above them. Around her, countless A-list attendees schmoozed and networked, but her gaze remained focused upon the lights above as though she were in a trance.

Or perhaps, just like him, she wished to be anywhere else but here.

It was easy to imagine slipping over there and introducing himself with his usual charm. He would tell her the story behind the inspiration between their headpieces, his own based on a coronet worn by the King of old Sardegna and hers the beautiful princess who became his queen. He would compliment her dress as he gazed into her eyes; they had seemed dark and soulful from what he could make out under the mask she wore. From there, the game of seduction would begin and it would be only a matter of time before he was peeling her out of that blue lace and she was crying out his name.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, shocked at how quickly his thoughts had descended into depravity. His libido had barely stirred all evening as his four beautiful dates had made a show of flirting and touching him at every opportunity. He hadn’t bedded a woman in months, hadn’t felt genuine interest in even longer. As if to prove his point, his last remaining neglected date finally reached her limit and sighed loudly before stalking away in search of more attentive entertainment. The distraction caused him to lose track of the blue-lace beauty once more and he cursed under his breath.

‘Tristan, why am I not surprised that you chose a crown?’

His entire body stiffening at the familiar feminine voice, he turned to find scarlet-tipped nails clawed upon his white tuxedo sleeve. His ex-lover Gabriela, owner of said claws, leaned in for the customary Argentinian greeting of one single kiss upon his right cheek. Before he had a moment to prepare, he was engulfed in her cloying scent. A scent that had once seemed seductive and warm, but now served only as a reminder that the prettiest flowers were quite often the ones that held the most venom.

‘You managed to snag an invite.’ He smiled, steeling his jaw against any hint of the anger that seeing her here at his event provoked in him. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Surprise? Don’t tell me Vic hasn’t spoken to you yet?’ She sighed, turning just as they were joined by another person he would rather claw his own eyes out than speak to tonight. His cousin.

‘He’s impossible to track down.’ Victor Falco laughed, the humour not quite meeting his eyes as he looked anxiously between Gabriela and the man they’d both publicly humiliated just a few short months before. ‘I was wondering who had selected the King’s crown piece. I should have known it was you.’

‘I thought the sapphires would bring out my big, beautiful eyes,’ Tristan gritted.

‘Bring out your massive ego more like,’ Victor teased, but the once easy joking between them was no more, and so the barb only rubbed.

Tristan resisted the urge to growl, taking a sip of champagne. ‘How could anyone have an ego with you two always nearby, primed to kick them back to earth?’

Victor opened his mouth as if to retaliate, only for the tension to be broken by the return of one of Tristan’s dates, who insisted upon hand-feeding him a chocolate-covered strawberry. A second date appeared toting a fresh flute of champagne, both women leaning in to drape themselves across his arms.

‘Good to see you’re not too heartbroken, anyway.’ Gabriela let out a delicate sniff of disbelief.

‘Amazing what inheriting control over a multibillion-dollar corporation will do for one’s sex appeal.’

‘Charming as always, Tristan.’ Victor frowned repressively. ‘I had thought recent events might have made you more serious.’

‘Which events are you referring to, primo ?’ Tristan said darkly, his body tensing at the disapproving tone of his cousin’s voice. ‘The fact that my mother chose me as her replacement on the board...or the fact that I had to take that seat under a cloud of scandal caused by you?’

The air between them seemed to crackle with a sudden intensity. Victor was only a couple of months older than him, hardly the voice of wisdom. They had been more than family. Tristan had once counted him his closest friend. But at some point in the past year, Victor had grown increasingly distant towards him. And a large part of the reason for that distance currently stood between them with a shiny diamond ring on her finger and her hand delicately cradling her stomach. Her very obviously rounded stomach.

‘I see congratulations are in order,’ he said, pasting on a serene smile even as his gut roiled.

‘I thought Victor had already told you.’ Gabriela breathed the incredulous words, which seemed surprisingly genuine, while Victor simply gritted his jaw and brooded.

‘How could I have told him when he avoids me at all costs?’

‘Well, now I know.’ Tristan shrugged, downing the remainder of his champagne. ‘I see a large diamond ring as well, so it seems my cousin was an easier man to pressure than me. Bravo.’

Gabriela inhaled a sharp breath, painted lips parting in a mixture of shock and anger. Tristan felt another uncomfortable twist in his gut as he watched Victor lean down to his fiancée, touching a hand possessively to his unborn child as he whispered something into her ear. With a final sharp look in his direction, she turned and walked away. Disappointingly, Victor did not follow.

‘This is neither the time nor the place for our personal issues.’ Victor muttered angrily. ‘This exhibit honours our family’s legacy and you show up in typical playboy style with an orgy of partners.’

‘I will not apologise for the fact that I am in high demand,’ Tristan felt his mouth tighten with a cruel smile. ‘Since you so selfishly took yourself off the market, my workload has doubled.’

His cousin shook his head, eyes narrowing. ‘Your mother told me what you promised her, along with taking the helm.’

‘That’s my business.’

‘So it’s true?’ Victor’s brows rose. ‘You’re finally going to settle down with a wife and family?’

‘I’m going to give my mother the grand wedding she craves, with the perfect bride.’ Tristan tugged at his collar, feeling it tighten around his neck like a noose. He inhaled and pasted on his most rake-like smirk. ‘I never promised anything about settling down.’

‘You’ve already found the lucky lady in question?’

‘You seem very interested in my love life, cousin; have you already tired of the last fiancée you stole from me?’

There was no trace of mirth in Victor’s eyes as he stepped forward, closing the small space between them. ‘You weren’t engaged. I’ve tried to explain countless times. Gabi and I never set out to hurt you.’

For a brief moment, he imagined the satisfaction he would get from punching his cousin squarely in the jaw. But ultimately he decided that the sight of Victor clutching at his own broken nose, while highly deserved and overdue, would not be worth the ruination of his pristine white tux.

‘As I’ve said, I’m over it,’ Tristan snapped, pulling his arm away. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fiancée to track down.’

He walked away, leaving his cousin stuttering with outrage while he moved along the lavish gallery under the pretence of greeting the other guests, but, really, he was hunting. His skin vibrated with awareness as he scanned the crowd gathered around the cases of priceless jewels, his steps slow and measured. A shimmering cloud of blue caught his attention like a moonbeam in the darkness and he looked up, catching sight of her in the reflection of the glass case in front of him. He looked over his shoulder, just in time to see her slide sideways behind a mannequin.

Interesting.

Testing his theory, he moved along the crowd to another case, and sure enough a shimmer of blue followed a few moments later, partially obscured by a large wall of diamond-encrusted flowers. Curiosity burning now, he continued to amble slowly along the crowded floor, calmly waving off the calls of attention from various business contacts. A few moments were all he would need to ascertain who she was and assuage this fixation. Then he could return to the event clear-minded and hopefully with a plan in place for his mystery lady later tonight.

His pulse quickening, he made sure she still tailed him as he made a series of turns until he reached an empty hallway. There, he slipped through a balcony door...and waited.