Chapter Thirteen
Victoria
The one thing I forget is my shitty streak of luck and that the universe loves a good joke, because no sooner do I traverse the hallway outside the lounge than do I run smack-dab into Asher.
And I mean literally. I practically faceplant into his track shirt. The impact jars me back, and I nearly fall on my ass and truly make a fool out of myself, but then hot fingers wrap around my arm, saving me from complete humiliation.
The world around me seems to pause for a breath as a spark of something travels between Asher and me. This is the first skin to skin contact we’ve ever had, and it’s… alarming, to say the least. Energy snaps the air taut. My breath catches in my throat.
Asher’s brows furrow for a fraction of a second… then he releases me as if I’m on fire. “So she’s incapable of following directions and clumsy.”
“And he’s an asshole and…” I trail off as I glance up at him. Sweat plasters his dark hair to his forehead, and his eyes burn with simmering blue fire. He looks devastatingly attractive.
Right on cue, his full lips curl into a half-smile. “And what?” The words are a taunt.
“And a jerk,” I finish lamely.
“Hmm. Feeling tired today, intern? You’re resorting to using synonyms to describe me.”
“Calling you an asshole bears repeating,” I say sharply. “Nice work in the race, by the way.”
His mood instantly sours. His brows slam down, and his customary glare returns. “You would know all about failure, wouldn’t you? You’re about an inch away from getting fired, and you couldn’t even follow the simple instructions of staying out of my way.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d move to Mars to get away from you if I could.”
“That so?” he seems amused. “Tickets would be pretty expensive. Can you afford that on an intern’s salary?”
If I wanted to, I could probably become as rich as the rest of my family… but I have morals I won’t compromise.
Hunter’s texted me several times to remind me that he thinks I’m stupid for refusing Reynard’s invitation, and I’ve ignored him. Unlike my shark of a brother, I’d rather live in so-called squalor than take anything from the man who broke my mother and disowned me before I was born.
Thomas rounds the hallway, then stops cold at the sight of me and Asher engaged in a Mexican standoff. “Jesus, this again?” he growls. “Victoria, you were supposed to keep out of his way.”
“Believe me, I tried. It’s not my fault he’s like a bad case of the plague.”
“The plague is a bad case in and of itself,” Asher comments drolly. “Better work on your insults, intern. You’re starting to get lax.” He shoulder-checks me and disappears.
Thomas shakes his head at me. “You couldn’t manage it for even one race… I’m starting to think this’ll only end with one of you killing the other. And if you kill our second driver before the season’s over, you’ll be in even deeper shit than you already are.”
I return to my cramped hotel room an hour later, buzzing with frustration. At myself for struggling so much with the algorithm, which has turned out to be a much more difficult project than I expected. At Asher for being an asshole. At the team for being so damn dysfunctional.
I almost decide to skip out on the video call I have scheduled with Delilah and Keith, but it’s the first time I’ll be able to speak to them both at the same time in months, and I miss them.
We’ve almost always had a long-distance friendship, but the space separating us has felt like a chasm recently.
I order up the cheapest bottle of white wine on the menu, pour myself a big glass, and open the link to our video chat on my laptop.
Delilah and Keith are mid-argument about something when I hop on, their voices raised and hand gestures animated. Lilah, like always, is gesturing with a stack of papers and red pen. Keith holds a fifty-dollar mascara and eyelash curler.
I love my friends.
Keith is beautiful in the traditional, aristocratic sense. His features are so perfectly proportional he’s almost painful to look at. His lips are full and coated in a gloss, his hair is a light blonde and perfectly styled in attractive waves, and his gorgeous eyes glitter like precious emeralds.
“There you are!” he cries. “Can you please explain to our dear Delilah that there is absolutely nothing wrong with fucking her boss if it gets her a promotion?”
Dear god. I pick up my wine glass and swirl the sweet muscat inside. “Um… no.”
“Thank you,” Delilah says. “I should be filing a sexual harassment suit, not hopping into bed with him! Jesus, he’s a senior partner. He should know better than to proposition me.”
“You’re being short-sighted,” Keith argues. “You think I’ve never slept with a photographer to make sure they got the best shots of me? Or an editor to make a critical column into an idealizing one? Come on, Lilah—”
“Stop.” Delilah holds up a hand. “You’re telling me things I can’t unhear, and this conversation is not covered by attorney-client privilege.”
Keith goes on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Why, I was just inside this lovely Russian podcaster this morning, and let me tell you, he gushed about my talent and sung my praises during recording.”
I screw my fingers into my ears. I absolutely adore Keith—he’s hilarious, gorgeous, caring, and truly one of a kind—but his propensity for oversharing has caused me far too much trauma over the years.
“I’m going to sue you for sexual harassment if you don’t shut up,” I hear Delilah say primly, even through my plugged ears. “I do not consent to hear about your sex life.”
“Since when? I recall a time when you were asking me to coach you on how to best go about a sloppy-toppy.”
“Fucking Christ.” I drop my hands and gulp my wine. I am far too sober for this conversation.
“I don’t think He would appreciate your commentary,” Keith says glibly. He unscrews his mascara and applies an extra coat to his eyes. “Delilah, my love, I’ll get back to talking sense into you in a moment—”
“Like fuck you will,” she mutters flatly.
“—Victoria, my darling, tell me about your life. It’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.”
I reach for the wine bottle and refill my glass.
“Ah,” Keith says. “So it’s like that. Tell Uncle Keith everything—I promise I’ll make it better.”
“You’re not that much older than me,” I mutter.
“Quite right. And with those bags under your eyes, I actually look younger than you, but that’s besides the point. You simply need to get some beauty sleep and straighten out your skincare routine. Now, spill—and I don’t mean the wine. You look like you need it.”
I inhale a deep breath… and everything comes pouring out. The team, the management, my ongoing but ridiculous feud with Asher. My talk with my brother, the balls on Reynard… all of it.
Delilah pours herself a glass of red at some point during my rant and sips on it.
Keith goes to his kitchen and makes himself a bowl of popcorn.
If I didn’t know my best friends quite well at this stage, I might be offended…
but I can’t blame them. My life feels like a TV drama that deserves at least five seasons.
“Huh,” Keith says at the end of my rant. “Well, it sounds like that Asher fella has a major hard-on for you.”
It takes a moment for his words to truly penetrate. When they do, I give my head a disbelieving shake. “What?”
“The driver,” Delilah clarifies, nodding. “For once, I agree with Keith. He sure dedicates a lot of energy into hating you.” She gives a wistful sigh. “Hate sex is the best sex.”
“You should know; it’s your area of expertise,” Keith sing-songs.
“That’s what you got out of my…” I pause to check the time. “Half-hour-long monologue?”
“I think it was actually a soliloquy, love,” Keith comments.
“Wrong. A soliloquy would be if she were talking to herself. This shit does sound like it comes straight out of a Shakespeare play, though,” Delilah agrees.
“Guys! We’re not talking about sex! I need advice!”
“On what?” Delilah asks. “You already know what you need to do for work; get your algorithm finished. As for your mother, you’ve already done all you can.
And your father is a piece of shit, so you already know my advice is to get close to him and take his money—that’s all he’s good for, anyway.
The only thing left to advise on is your situation with the driver, and my advice is to let him fuck your brains out. ”
An aggrieved sigh escapes me. “You’re both the worst.”
“You love us anyway,” Keith coos. “Besides, what’s the hold back for indulging in some spicy time? I’ve seen Asher Lawrence on TV; his permanent scowl makes him completely irresistible. Not to mention that face, that body, those eyes—”
“We hate each other!”
“Tsk. What does that have to do with anything?” Keith waves a dismissive hand. “To Delilah’s earlier point, hate sex is quite fun, and you need to get laid. It’s been, what? Months?”
I wince.
Delilah laughs. “Longer. My grandma sees more action than Victoria.”
“That’s unnecessary,” I grumble. “I’m still… not over Todd.” It’s the same excuse I’ve been giving since I broke up with him in my first year of my master’s program.
“Who’s Todd?” Keith asks, looking genuinely confused. “My sweet Victoria, have you been keeping a secret paramour from us? You ought to be arrested by the friend police.”
“Todd was her boyfriend in undergrad,” Delilah reminds him. “They broke up halfway through her masters.”
“Oh, that Todd? The skimpy boy with the acne scars? My love, he wasn’t your boyfriend, he was your beard.”
“That’s so not true!” I cry.
Delilah hides her laugh behind a cough and takes an annoyingly large gulp of her wine.
“Remind me, when was the last time you had sex?” Keith wonders.
“That’s irrelevant,” I mutter.
“Very well. When was the last time you kissed someone?”
“Oh, I know this one.” A cruel smirk curls Delilah’s lips. “The last person she kissed was you.”
Keith pins me in place with his cyborg eyes. “That was at a drag show… two years ago. Not long after you broke up with Todd, if memory serves. And the kiss was only because I wanted to embarrass you as an audience participant.” He gives a weighted pause. “Really, Victoria?”
My head lands on the desk with a thud. “Fuck my life,” I mutter into the ether.
“Or let a hot, tattooed, built, and rich driver fuck you to within an inch of your life,” Delilah suggests calmly.
“Urgh!” I groan.
“Oh, love. Please don’t make noises like that,” Keith says. “They’re terribly unbecoming. You’re too pretty for them.”
“While we’re on the subject of noises, we should practice the pitch of your moans,” Delilah suggests. “You know, just in case you slip and fall on the cock of a total hunk—”
“Delilah!” I snap. “God, have mercy—”
“I’ll bet a hundred that he’ll have none,” Delilah interrupts.
I look up in time to see Keith frowning thoughtfully. “I’ll raise you five hundred that he’ll—”
I slam my laptop closed, trudge over to my bed, and fall head-first onto the pillows with a pitiful grunt.