Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Bex
T he outdoor oasis is like stepping into a magical mirage. Twinkling lights are strung between towering palm trees which surround a large pool with a fountain in the middle. The water is illuminated, making the sky overhead seem even darker, and the entire feature is surrounded by cut marble tiles. I’m flabbergasted how they built such a thing in the middle of nothing but sand, and from what I understand, this was all constructed specifically for this party.
Low tables with intricate mosaic patterns hold trays of bite-size pastries and bowls of dates. The scent of oud lingers in the arid breeze, mingling with the faint aroma of spiced tea being served from gleaming samovars. I can’t help but marvel at the sheer extravagance. Only formula racing could turn a sandpit into something out of a dream.
But the dream is shattered by my own nerves as Nash walks beside me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, careful not to linger too long, but damn if he doesn’t still have that effect on me.
He’s wearing a black tailored suit that fits him like a glove, the sharp lines giving him a refined yet slightly dangerous edge. The crisp white shirt underneath is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned skin, and I’m digging his shorter hairstyle—it gives him a roguish charm that’s impossible to ignore. The moonlight catches on his profile, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble.
Still the most breathtakingly handsome man I’ve ever known.
“Nice setup,” he says, his voice breaking the silence.
I nod, my fingers fiddling with the edge of my hijab. “Yeah. It’s… something.”
He stops near a cluster of chairs arranged around a low firepit, and I almost stumble when his gaze sweeps over me. His expression softens, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look beautiful tonight.”
The compliment catches me off guard. I glance down at my dress—a modest thing, but somehow, he makes me feel very pretty in it. I hate that my cheeks flush under his attention. “Thank you,” I murmur, still not sure what to make of this version of Nash.
We sit on adjacent chairs and the awkwardness stretches between us. My stomach twists with anxiety. I’ve been dreading this moment, wondering how much anger Nash is still harboring for me. The memory of our run-in yesterday is still fresh, as is the heated exchange that followed.
The story of us, I suppose.
And honestly, my fear is that he’ll hold a grudge, and the thought of losing my job because of lingering resentment has been gnawing at me.
But instead of launching into accusations, Nash surprises me.
“My parents said to tell you hello,” he says casually, as if we’re old friends catching up.
I blink at him, startled. “Your parents?”
He nods, settling into the chair and draping an arm over the back. “I talked to my dad yesterday. They’re in Guildford, setting up my new apartment. Mom is buying all kinds of things I don’t need, and well… you know how it is with her.”
The mention of his mom brings a rush of warmth and bittersweet nostalgia. I loved Karen and Matt Sinclair. They’d welcomed me with open arms when Nash and I were engaged, treating me like family. “How are they?” I ask, dying to know. It was hard losing them from my life.
“They’re good. Excited for me to be back in racing,” he says.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’m glad they’re doing well. Please tell them I said hi.”
“I will,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk.”
Here it comes. I brace myself, expecting him to lay into me for our argument—or worse, for our past. But when he speaks, his voice is calm, almost thoughtful.
“I want to put the past behind us, Bex,” he says, meeting my gaze. “We’re going to be working together, and I don’t want… whatever this is between us to get in the way.”
I blink, his words not what I anticipated. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” he says. “I know I was angry back then—hell, we were both angry. But that was three years ago. We were young, and we both handled things badly. It’s time to move on.”
His honesty disarms me, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know if it’s that easy,” I admit. “We didn’t just fight, Nash. We imploded. And when I tried to visit you in the hospital—” I break off, swallowing hard. “When you told me to get out… that was hatred in your voice. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
He winces, a shadow crossing his face. “I was… in a bad place. I’m sorry for that, Bex. I really am. There was never any hate. Not then, not now. I handled things badly in lots of ways.”
His apology is unexpected, and it loosens something inside me. “I wasn’t perfect either,” I say quietly. “I threw the ring at you. I couldn’t see reason. I ended things without giving us a chance to fix it.”
“We were both at fault,” he says simply. “At least that’s what my parents believe, but I think they have a point. We were young and not dealing with the pressure very well—your career, my fame. It was a lot.”
I nod, feeling the truth of his words. “Honestly, it’s kind of embarrassing when I think about how I acted sometimes.”
Nash chuckles, offering me a sheepish smile. “I was the same way and the reason I know that is how different I am now.”
Something about his tone has me guessing. “The fire?”
He nods. “Yeah. I think I changed a lot after that. It… put things into perspective.”
I glance away, the gravity of his words settling over me, and I consider how extraordinary this interaction is. When I left his hospital room, I never thought we’d be able to have a civil conversation again. “Maybe this is closure,” I say, meeting his gaze. “For both of us.”
“Maybe it is,” he agrees. “But let’s not overthink it. Let’s just focus on working together and being adults about it.”
I smile faintly, the tension between us easing for the first time in years. “I think I can handle that.”
“Good,” he says, his lips twitching into a half smile. “Because I’m not planning to argue with you again. It’s exhausting.”
I laugh, the sound lightening the moment. “You? Not argue? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Before he can respond, a posh, familiar voice cuts through the crowd. “Nash Sinclair, I demand a fucking kiss.”
We both turn to see Lex Hamilton striding toward us, looking every bit the star driver in a perfectly tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt. Beside him is a petite brunette in a flowing, emerald-green gown, her dark brown hair styled in loose waves.
Nash and I both stand. Backslaps and a kiss to my cheek, Lex looks between us with part wonder and part amusement. He’s one of the drivers on the circuit who knows our history. “Never thought I’d see this reunion.”
Nash gives me what can only be construed as a tender smile. “Neither did we, but we’re all about new beginnings.”
Lex beams and squeezes Nash’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking happy you’re back in FI.” He then turns to me. “And you… always knew you’d be a big strategy star. Congrats, Bex.”
“Thanks, Lex,” I reply warmly. “It’s a dream for sure.”
Lex tugs on the woman beside him, his arm going around her waist. His entire demeanor changes, his expression almost sappy. “Nash… Bex… this is my girlfriend, Posey.”
I’m the first to react, offering my hand. “I’ve obviously heard a bit about your story in the press. Sounds like Lex lucked out meeting you.”
Posey blushes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. He’s told me all about your rise through motorsports. I love seeing a strong woman in a man’s world.”
“Careful,” Lex says, offering me a wink. “You might end up as a heroine in one of her books.”
“That would be awesome,” I exclaim with a laugh.
Nash leans between us, putting his hand out. “I’m Nash Sinclair.”
“Nice to meet you,” Posey says as they shake.
The small talk flows easily among the four of us, Lex and Nash reminiscing about old races while Posey and I get to know each other. She’s a newbie in this world and is taking it all in with wide eyes, which I find adorable. But I also love how she loves the sport, and I think it’s super cool she writes romances about it.
We’re unfortunately interrupted when a federation official calls Lex and Nash away for a group photo with the other drivers. It’s only when he walks off that I realize we’ve just spent a good fifteen minutes in conversation with another couple, and it was easy and natural, and we acted as if… we’re actually friends.
I’m wondering if that can be a reality for us.
“So… you and Nash?” Posey asks coyly.
I blink, her question taking me by surprise. “What about us?”
“I watched the documentary,” she admits, her voice gentle. “I know you were engaged. But they never said what happened after his crash, so Lex filled me in a little. Is it… weird, working together now? And am I being far too nosy? Because if so, tell me to butt the hell out of your business.”
I like this woman and so I find myself shaking my head with a rueful smile. “Many people know about our past so, no… I don’t mind you asking. It’s… complicated. We have a lot of history, but we’re trying to move past it.”
Posey nods, her expression understanding. “That’s not easy, I’m sure.”
“It’s not,” I admit, my voice soft. “But it’s… nice, in a way. Seeing him again.”
She smiles knowingly. “You still care about him, don’t you?”
I don’t answer immediately, the truth settling heavily in my chest. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”
Posey’s smile widens, her warmth contagious. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you two could be good together again.”
I tilt my head. “Are you saying that because you see something that I don’t, or are you saying that because you’re a romance author?”
She giggles. “Probably because I’m a romance author. I want to see true love win. But I saw the way he looked at you, and well… I’m pretty sure he still has deep feelings too. Maybe this is a second chance for you both.”
I immediately wave off that suggestion. “No way. We couldn’t. It was bad at the end, and we weren’t good for each other. There was a reason we split apart and—”
“And that was a long time ago. You’re different now and so is he. Don’t discount the wisdom and maturity you’ve gained playing a part in a new chapter between you two.”
“No,” I insist, not giving her suggestion an ounce of credence. “That ship has sailed.”
I don’t ever dare hope for something like that because if Nash didn’t feel the same, the heartbreak would be unbearable. I remember all too well what it felt like the first time, and I know falling for him again is too great a risk.
That’s what I do. I analyze data, make reasoned decisions, weigh the risks.
There’s nothing about Nash Sinclair that could be good for me, so it’s imperative we keep things professional.
I’m sure he feels the same way.