Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
I F HE ’ D THOUGHT the sight of Nina braless in her slightly translucent Falco Roux polo shirt had been a distraction, nothing could have prepared him for how she looked in a pair of jeans. She’d brushed her hair out so that it flowed around her face and donned a simple white T-shirt and red leather jacket. It was laughable that some of the media articles he’d read had referred to her as plain—considering his blood pressure hadn’t quite stabilised since he’d walked in on her in nothing but a towel.
Some casual lunches and sightings of them together in public would be just enough to add more fuel to the fire before they officially confirmed their relationship to the press at a more strategic time. Astrid had been specific in her directions, and he trusted his PR manager implicitly, which was why he’d told her the truth. She was the best in the business, and if anyone could use this situation to their benefit, it was her.
He knew all too well that the key to selling a narrative was in the details, and so as he directed Nina to precede him onto the exclusive restaurant’s very publicly visible seafront terrace he made sure to touch her elbow and guide her with his hand in the small of her back. Once she was seated, he trailed his fingers along the back of her chair, leaning down to lay a gentle caress upon her cheek before taking his own seat.
As he predicted, she was a little less relaxed about their ruse, those expressive eyes throwing daggers at him across the table every couple of moments as she intently focused upon her menu and not him.
‘Have I done something to upset you, mi cielo ?’ he asked, reaching a hand out to cover hers with his own. She pulled away, hastily taking a long sip of water.
‘The photographer isn’t here yet,’ she said quietly, returning her attention to the menu.
‘This isn’t just about appearing in more photos. Everyone who sees us should be under no illusion that we are an item.’
‘These people are all looking at you, they barely even know who I am. Nor do they particularly care.’
‘You’re the daughter of one of the most famous families in Monaco.’ He frowned, noting the way her hands anxiously twirled her napkin around her index finger.
‘Infamous,’ she corrected. ‘We fell out of favour with the public long ago, as you well know.’
He knew a lot, of course. As part of acquiring a company in debt, it was his job to dig deep and know everything about what had got them there before he committed and planned his strategy. He knew about her great-grandfather’s brilliance as an auto engineer and how he’d founded and ruled his empire with an iron fist, raising an army of his own children to carry on his legacy with their innovative designs and racing wins. Her own father had been a truly terrible businessman plagued with a catalogue of personal vices, and her aunt, Lola Roux, had been a racing legend in her own right before she’d died in a tragically ironic car accident.
Most recently, her reckless brother, Alain, had been happily draining the last of their funds for his lavish lifestyle, ending with him losing everything to Tristan in a high-stakes poker match. Said poker match was how Tristan had inadvertently ended up in his current position as the new team owner. What had happened, and the deal he’d made afterwards with Alain to try and save the Roux company, was not public knowledge and iron-clad non-disclosure agreements had been signed, but still he wondered just how much Nina knew, and if she potentially shared any of the vices of her more scandalous family members, other than the obvious thrill for speed.
‘You believe your family’s financial downfall has made you less interesting to the press?’ he asked. ‘That’s not how it works.’
‘My mother was the most in demand with the press, but, of course, they took an interest in me for a while once I was old enough and began attending parties.’ Nina took another sip of water, pursing her lips into a thin line. ‘They would take strategic shots of me at bad angles to make it look like I was some kind of party girl. Like mother, like daughter. But I didn’t want to be a society princess. I preferred working, being on the track. Once I stopped attending any events or socialising outside work at all, they switched to the unlikable, plain Jane, ice-princess angle. Quite predictable really, yet I much prefer it.’
He surveyed the measured lack of interest on her face, and the way she pressed her fingertips down flat into the tablecloth. She spoke of the press’s interest in her calmly, but he had always been an expert in reading people. Everything about this bothered her. The press, public opinion... He knew the look of someone who had suffered. But he would not have expected that of the spoiled society princess everyone had described to him.
He had spent his entire journey this morning from Paris to Monte Carlo trawling through her social media and various news articles. To learn about her, not for personal reasons, but in an effort to gauge how he might fix the PR nightmare he’d realised was about to unfold.
There had of course been coverage of her academy successes and the handful of Elite One Premio races she had taken part in as a reserve driver.
But most of the articles he’d seen had focused on a few years in her late teens, most specifically upon a photo shoot she had taken part in a few years back. A rather risqué photo shoot, by most people’s standards, and it had shocked him to see that the brand involved was Roux Motors’ now defunct luxury car brand.
The New Generation Never Looked So Good! the advert had proudly proclaimed, while showing a fresh-faced, bikini-clad Nina draped over the bonnet of a sleek silver coupe.
The press had taken an interest ‘once I was old enough’ , she’d said. Old enough for whom? The girl he’d seen in those photos had looked as though she’d barely finished school. She had come to Paris, to the museum event, incognito, choosing to sneak her way in to confront him rather than using her family name as a bargaining tool. She had asked him to release her from her contract, to allow her to start over elsewhere. None of those actions matched up with the image of her that he’d assumed was accurate.
‘Nina...’ he said quietly, reaching a hand across the table to grasp hers. ‘Could you please try not to look like you’re being tortured or blackmailed into having lunch with me?’
She made a non-committal noise, stabbing her fork into her salad. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’m having a wonderful time. Thank you so much for giving me the option of having lunch with you in public, Mr Falco.’
‘I really think you should call your fiancé by his first name, don’t you?’ he reminded her, fighting the urge to laugh aloud at the saccharine sweetness in her voice.
‘Tristan.’ She met his eyes with challenge.
‘Can I take that as confirmation that you accept the terms of the deal?’ He waited, his hand still extended towards hers across the small table. Slowly, her fingers uncurled from her fork and moved towards his. Her skin was silky soft as she placed her much smaller hand into the palm of his and he wasted no time in closing his grip around hers with triumph.
‘I accept,’ she said calmly. ‘Pending an official contract outlining the details of the arrangement in full.’
He nodded his own agreement, making a mental note to have the terms drawn up immediately. Further conversation was first interrupted by the arrival of their steaks and then subsequently by a business acquaintance who stayed a few moments to arrange a meeting. He was a hard man to pin down, as everyone seemed to say.
When the other man raised a brow in Nina’s direction, Tristan made a show of linking his fingers through hers to leave no question as to the nature of their relationship. The media loved a possessive caveman, didn’t they? He was simply playing to the cameraman he had seen arrive midway through their food.
That was also why he insisted upon taking her hand as they exited the restaurant terrace and guiding her along the promenade that lined the seafront.
Nina hesitated, glancing anxiously at the slim watch on her wrist. ‘I told you I don’t have much spare time. I’m racing for the next two weekends until Apollo is ready. I have to get back to headquarters to test out some new strategy in the racing simulation equipment.’
‘Surely you want to linger here a few minutes for a prolonged goodbye?’ he said smoothly, running a hand along her shoulders as he turned to pull her against him and whisper near her ear. ‘Two photographers, just over the wall. Don’t look behind you.’
She nodded, seeming to brace herself before relaxing slightly. ‘I forgot, sorry. Tell me what you need me to do.’
Tristan closed his eyes against the onslaught of inappropriate thoughts that immediately followed her innocent words.
Think of the deal, Falco. Focus.
‘Wrap your arms around my neck and look up at me. Like you can’t resist me,’ he murmured, sliding a hand tightly around her trim waist. Again, her body tensed before she did some more deep breathing and followed his command. Another woman might have slowly slid her fingertips along his shoulders, teasing him into a sensual haze. Not Nina; she might as well have been performing a Swedish massage, for all the grace she put into her grip. Once she’d settled her hands into place, she met his gaze with an irritated huff. He smiled, a small sound escaping his lips.
Nina instantly tensed up. ‘What? Am I doing it wrong?’
His mind tripped over the question, at how odd it seemed for her to be uncertain of something so simple. Surely she had been in a lover’s embrace before?
‘You’re supposed to melt into my powerful embrace, not attempt to wring my neck.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. Humans don’t melt,’ she argued.
‘Dios.’ Tristan leaned his head forward, pressing his cheek against hers to avoid bursting into laughter at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. ‘It just means to bend, to relax into me.’
Nina frowned, turning her face away from him. ‘I can’t see how anyone will believe we’re in the midst of a whirlwind romance when we can’t even stand close to one another without arguing.’
‘They say intense, combative relationships are often the most passionate.’
‘Or the most toxic,’ she countered.
‘Perhaps.’ He pulled her into his arms once more, not missing the slight hitch in her breath as her chest met his. ‘Good thing our intensity is all just for show, then, hmm?’
He thought he heard a faint growl under her breath before she gave in, allowing him to rest her head against his chest while he wrapped his arms around her. With one hand, he moved her hair aside while the other ran a slow path up beneath her leather jacket to stroke along her spine. The thin cotton of her T-shirt was soft beneath his hands, his fingertips tingling as he slowly slid them up and down with measured slowness. She might not have melted, but she certainly relaxed into his touch, her breathing becoming more shallow. She practically vibrated at the caress, her body moulding to his own.
She was like a little cat, he smiled to himself, all claws and teeth until she was stroked into submission. But he barely had a minute to savour his win before she disentangled herself from his grip and they turned to find a mother and her young daughter standing nearby. As Tristan watched in fascination, Nina Roux transformed from the awkward, prickly woman determined to hold him at arm’s length to something else entirely. Her voice softened and her eyes sparkled as she spoke to the young girl and signed a number of items with her scrawling autograph.
After a quick chat with the girl’s mother about signing up for an upcoming academy open day, they were alone again once more but the haze of their embrace had long gone and been replaced by that same tension he’d felt during their lunch.
Tristan insisted upon driving her back to headquarters, refusing her thinly veiled lie that she needed to walk back on Sophie’s orders to make up for missing her afternoon session in the driving simulator.
‘Your busy schedule didn’t seem to mind a little detour for fan adoration,’ he said silkily as the sun-soaked Monte Carlo coast whipped past them.
‘I like making time for the kids.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re easier than the adults most of the time.’
‘The open day they asked about, it was for a youth academy?’
‘The Lola Roux Racing Academy, yes. I founded it a few years back to get more girls into the sport. We have a few training facilities set up around Europe and they do global mobile recruitment drives and scholarships too.’ She’d almost forgotten about the upcoming virtual open-day event and quickly opened up her phone to tap a few notes into her schedule.
‘A colour-coded schedule. Interesting...’
She looked up to find Tristan’s eyes still firmly on the road, but a small smirk on his lips. Feeling self-conscious, she tapped her screen closed. ‘Colour-coding makes it easier for me to follow. I like to be organised.’
Truthfully, she had to be organised or she didn’t function, but she didn’t need to tell him all of that. He didn’t need to know how she had only two speeds as a professional athlete, workaholic or burnt-out mess. She put a lot of effort into remaining firmly on the working side, so that no one had to see how hard she fell when things came to a stop.
‘Do you fund the academy yourself?’ he asked a few moments later, spurring her out of her thoughts.
‘We originally had support from Roux Racing, but that was cut a couple of years back. It’s a big reason why I need to win more races but, for now, yes, I fund it myself.’
He nodded, hands gripping the wheel even tighter. ‘You do most things by yourself, from what I can tell.’
‘Perhaps I just know that I’m reliable,’ she countered.
‘And everyone else isn’t?’
She remained silent, refusing to rise to the bait of another argument with him. Not when she was still recovering from that embrace on the pier. The way he’d enveloped her in his arms first, then begun stroking her back, and she’d just melted like putty in his hands.
‘What about you?’ she asked as he brought the car to a stop in front of the gleaming glass fa?ade of the Falco Roux headquarters. ‘You seem quite content to run things from afar while you maintain your role of wild playboy. Do you honestly think the media will believe that I’ve somehow tamed you?’
He turned in his seat until he faced her, midnight-blue eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. ‘Everything about me is curated; they see what I want them to see. I am in control of the narrative at all times and that is how I prefer it.’
‘Does anyone know the real Tristan Falco?’
‘Why...do you wish to disassemble me like one of your engines? Find out what makes me tick?’
‘I don’t care what makes you tick,’ she said, inhaling a sharp breath when he leaned forward, placing a kiss upon one cheek then moving slowly to the other side of her face to do the same. A traditional goodbye gesture she’d made herself a thousand times in her life—so why did it feel so intimate with him? The scent of his cologne filled her lungs before she had a chance to defend herself, making her stomach swirl again in that unsettling way it had on the terrace in the Paris museum the night before. He was deliberately disarming her, that was the only explanation for it. He was clearly trying to make this temporary fake fiancée ruse as uncomfortable as possible for her.
‘You’re getting better at that,’ he murmured, pulling away.
‘Better at what?’
He smiled, revving the engine loudly to life. ‘Lying.’
She schooled her expression so as not to give away how utterly unsettled she felt about everything that had taken place between them in less than twenty-four hours. How on earth was she going to survive another three months like this?
‘I’ll be in touch about our next date.’
‘My schedule is full. As I’ve said more than once, there is no time.’
‘And as I’ve also said before, you will make time for me.’
His parting words had her grunting and growling the entire climb up the steps to headquarters as she wondered what on earth she had just agreed to.