Chapter Eight
THE POLO MATCH WAS, essentially, a picnic on steroids—where lemonade was swapped for Moet et Chandon Champagne, PB he annihilated everything in his path.
Millie felt like she was facing that raging fire holding a watering can.
Taz’s low curse had Millie instantly on high alert.
She turned to see who’d captured his attention and saw a polo player, dressed in white jodhpurs and a branded shirt, slapping his knee-high riding boot with his leather crop.
Hanging onto his hand, like she was the survivor of a shipwreck and he the life ring, was a pale lanky exceptionally pretty redhead.
And Millie knew, with the feminine wisdom she didn’t know she possessed up until now, that this woman and Taz had seen each other naked.
Jealously, hot and acid, burned her stomach lining, and she was annoyed at her gut response. She was his employee and fake girlfriend, and while they’d allowed things to get a little out of control last night, she had no right to feel jealous.
Taz murmured a low Here comes trouble, and on seeing the polo player’s face—hard, defiant and thoroughly annoyed—Millie knew he was right.
‘You slept with her, right?’ she muttered out of the side of his mouth.
‘Yes,’ he admitted, unembarrassed. ‘She told me they were done. It turned out things weren’t as cut and dry as she said they were.’
‘Is he going to make trouble?’ she whispered.
‘Highly possible.’
Damn it, the day had been going well so far.
Lots of the attendees had pledged to make donations to the nominated charity—a fund for the victims of natural disasters such as flooding and hurricanes.
A fight between the guest of honour and what looked to be the captain of one of the polo teams would be disastrous, especially since Taz was finally, finally, generating some decent press.
‘De Rossi.’
‘Bertolo.’
The two men gripped hands, their fingers turning white with pressure. She caught the redhead’s eye and saw her quick wince. Right, she wasn’t imagining their death-by-handshake duel.
Millie shoulder-bumped Taz in what she hoped was a playful way and held out her hand for the polo player to shake.
He had no choice but to release Taz’s hand: a good thing, because she knew how stubborn Taz could be.
Without her intervention, they’d stand there for hours. ‘I’m Millie, Taz’s girlfriend.’
‘Brody Bertolo.’ He gave her hand a quick shake and placed his hands on his hips. He nodded at Taz’s arm. ‘It’s a pity you’re injured, or else I would’ve suggested you play a chukka with us. If you lasted the seven minutes, I would’ve made a substantial donation to your charity.’
What a jerk! Millie sent him the sweetest smile she could muster. ‘Why don’t you make the donation and we skip Taz getting on a horse?’ she asked, trying to hide her dislike.
‘I could still play, even with a broken hand,’ Taz smoothly replied. ‘How much are we talking?’
God save her from idiotic men. He had limited use of his fingers, with only his thumb working on his broken hand.
How would he control a horse and hold a mallet?
It was a stupid comment, and stupidity wasn’t something she associated with Taz.
Their interaction had drawn a curious crowd, suggesting that Taz and the redhead’s affair had been a topic of hot conversation amongst the polo-playing set.
And Red was looking a little smug at all the attention.
‘A cool half a mil?’ Brody asked.
‘You’ll give the charity five hundred thousand if I last a chukka?’ Taz clarified.
‘But you have to take part. You can’t stay on the sidelines,’ Brody countered.
It was a huge donation, and as Taz tipped his head to the side, Millie knew he was considering his suggestion.
He gestured to his clothes. ‘I’d need proper clothes.’
Millie’s mouth dropped open. Had he lost his mind? Getting on a horse with a broken hand, to take part in one of the most competitive sports in the world, was an absurd idea.
‘And if you don’t last the chukka, you donate a half million to the charity,’ Brody suggested, a half sneer, half smile on his face.
‘Deal.’
Millie couldn’t keep quiet a minute longer. ‘You do know he’s an F1 racer, not a polo player, right?’
Everyone laughed, and Millie knew she was the butt of the joke. She swallowed the urge to remind them she was head of Taz’s PR and that she knew his sporting history. But she was here as his adoring girlfriend, not his PR representative.
The redhead sent her a pitying smile. ‘You’re obviously new on the scene, and not part of the polo set.’ Millie’s nails dug into her skin at her condescending tone. She sounded like her mum and aunt.
‘Everyone knows that Taz was one of the most promising polo players in the world when he was in his teens,’ Red said, her nose in the air.
Yes, she knew that. Millie forced herself to place her open hand above her heart and widen her eyes. ‘Oh, I thought he was a scratch golf player and was considering going pro.’ She looked at Taz. ‘Did I get that wrong, darling?’
He shrugged. ‘I had options.’
Many options, it seemed. But he chose racing. It was, after all, the family business.
‘Are you doing this or not, De Rossi?’