Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
TESSA
I stand behind some of our most trusted engineers, their concentration steadily on the computer monitors while mine remains on the large screen taking up the majority of the wall. Rome is silent, continuously pushing himself in the simulator.
I bite my tongue, wanting nothing more than to jump in on the action, but today is all about letting Rome get comfortable with our technology.
A curse flies from his mouth. “It’s too stiff over the bumps.”
I glance at the monitors, then back to the screen.
He’s braking early.
Another few times around the toughest chicane and I’m grabbing a headset and slipping it on my head. “Stop braking early.”
His growl, deep and gritty, flows through the headset. “What are you doing here, Princess? Get out.”
I roll my eyes. “Try brake bias two clicks forward on the next.”
He forces the next turn, and I raise a brow. This is definitely going to take some time.
“You’re not listening to me,” I say.
“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A choked laugh leaves me, and next thing I know, the sim is cut off, and Rome is disengaged.
I look at the other engineers. “Give us a minute.”
They happily oblige, and I can’t blame them. The tension from Rome alone is enough to send the hairs on my arms erect, and now that he’s glaring at me from across the room, he’s nothing but a tall, broad, dark shadow with tense shoulders.
“The fun is over,” he bites out. “I need to concentrate.”
I lean forward, pressing my hands on the table lined with monitors of various stats. “Are you saying I’m a distraction?”
His lip curls with irritation. “Not a good one.”
He means it as an insult, but it doesn’t faze me. “I grew up with four brothers, Rookie. Try again.”
Rome jerks backward. “Rookie?”
I shrug. “You’re driving like one.”
Those blue eyes, icy and cold, narrow. I stay rooted in place, whereas he inches forward. The only thing in between us is a large computer screen, the pull from our bodies tight.
I stare at him, flexed jaw and high cheekbones. The first two buttons of his crisp, white shirt are undone, his hair a wavy mess from spending hours in the simulator.
“I’m not driving like a rookie,” he says, slow and steady. “Your engineers just suck. My car is too tight, the tires drop early, and it’s lazy on turn-in.”
Some of that may be true, and adjustments will be made, but my heart is beating too quickly to agree, so I do the opposite, like I’m seven years old again and arguing with my brothers over something ridiculous.
“The car isn’t too tight–you are. The tires are fine. The data proves it.” I lean in even closer, my long hair whisking over the screen of the monitor, illuminating our faces. “And the car isn’t lazy on turn-in…your driving is.”
Something dangerously enticing flashes across Rome’s face. His head tilts in a predatory way, and the air crackles with electricity. I’ve struck a chord, and it was way too much fun.
“You expect me to trust a single word Vanstone’s Princess says about my driving and my car?” A chuckle rolls off his tongue. “You’re good for one thing and one thing only, Tess.”
My nostrils flare, a tinge of metal on the tip of my tongue from biting down on it.
Rome’s face is inches away from mine. His hot, seedy breath does something to my stomach, sending it on a ride against its own free will.
He smirks. “You’re nothing but pit porn, baby.”
The insult is a slap across the face, but I don’t so much as blink.
“So get out of the sim room, let the engineers back in here, and go home,” he adds.
I pull my lips into a smile—something my opponent doesn’t see coming. A line appears in between his eyebrows, his breaths short and sharp.
“The only engineer you need is already here.”
I pull away from our shared space and take a seat in the head chair. I smooth my hair and place the headset on my head, adjusting the mouthpiece so it’s lined up perfectly with my lips.
Rome peers down at me, the light from the screen deepening every angry curve on his face. “Are you trying to destroy Vanstone all on your own or...”
“I’m trying to keep you from destroying it,” I counter. “Now sit down, and let’s get to work.”
He stands tall, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m not driving with you in my ear. Go get my real team.”
I click a few buttons on the monitor, the large screen behind Rome changing to mimic the adjustments I’ve made. He glances backward before spinning toward me with an angry brow.
“Better be careful insulting your head engineer, Rome.”
Confusion blankets his face. “You’re not–”
I show him my phone screen, another article from Formula One’s most reliable source posted moments after the latest of him switching teams.
Vanstone’s Princess takes on a new lead at Vanstone Racing.
Rome’s lips split with shock, the color on his cheeks turning to an ashen gray.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” he mumbles.
“Get back in the sim. We have some adjustments to make.”
“Well?”
I glance from my plate, the grilled chicken drier than the middle of the desert.
My dad’s knife screeches as he cuts into his piece, Beck snorting quietly from beside me.
“How is he doing?” Dad asks.
He as in Bastard–I mean, Rome.
“It’s good.” The lie flows effortlessly. “We’ve been working out the kinks in the sim and getting to know each other. He’s starting to catch on to my terminology.”
He hates me and disagrees with everything I say.
And if by getting to know each other means bickering the majority of the time, questioning adjustments made on his car, and driving me mad to the point that I had three Diet Cokes yesterday instead of one…then yeah, I’m telling the truth.
Van pipes in. “Good, because if you two show anything but a unified front tomorrow at the gala, the media will use it to their advantage, and Pierce Racing will have a ball with it.”
I kick Van under the table.
He jerks, his eyes flying to mine.
No stress for Dad, remember?
“Daddy!” Vivian stresses. “You owe a dollar.”
Noah chuckles. “Pay up, big bro.”
Van pulls a dollar out of his wallet. It lands on the middle of the table, and Vivian smiles happily.
Beck leans toward her and whispers something in her ear. Her face lights up, the bright green color of her eyes filled with eager excitement.
Next thing I know, Beck is elbowing Graham, and Vivan’s laugh fills the dining room.
“What the hell was that for?” Graham wheezes.
Beck high-fives our niece.
“Uncle Gam,” she stresses, using the same name she’s called him for years. “You owe a dollar too.”
“There’s our little go-getter.” Dad chuckles and leans forward to ruffle her hair.
The doorbell rings, and surprisingly, he stands up first to get it.
“Expecting someone?” Van questions.
My mom begins getting a plate ready, the last piece of grilled chicken that none of us are sad to see gone placed in front of the chair next to Noah. He looks to it and then to the rest of us.
Dad’s voice carries down the hall and into the dining room. “Come on in. Rose saved you a plate.”
“Who is it?” Noah asks Beck, who is leaned so far back on his chair that the wood creaks beneath his weight.
“What the actual fuck,” Beck whispers angrily.
“Uncle Beck!” Vivian shakes her head, the braids I gave her swinging back and forth. “Now you owe a dollar too!”
His chair snaps back to the floor, his fist clenched on top of the table.
My dad rounds the corner first, only to be followed closely by the very last person I want to see.
Especially at my parents’ house.
For Sunday dinner.
“What the hell,” I mumble.
Vivian giggles at me, but she doesn’t tell me to put a dollar in the swear jar because girls rule and boys drool. Obviously.
“How is that fair?” Graham asks, ignoring the elephant in the room like the rest of us. “Tessa cursed, but you didn’t tell her to pay up.”
Vivian, with a scrunch in her nose, gazes at him. “Life isn’t fair, Uncle Gam.”
His jaw slacks. “Your father is really rubbing off on you.”
She smiles happily but quickly turns her attention to Rome, who looks more tense than usual.
“Who are you?”
“Viv,” Van stresses her name.
“Rome,” he says flatly. “And who are you?”
“The language police,” Graham mutters.
She nods. “I’m Vivian, and if you use a curse word, you have to put a dollar in the middle of the table.”
Rome blows a breath out of his mouth. “That’s good to know. Thank you.”
Dad chuckles.
“We’re already up to three dollars,” she adds.
Rome keeps his attention on Vivian. “Who gets the winnings?”
Vivian smiles, proudly showing her recently lost tooth. “I split it with Aunt Tessa.”
Rome slowly cranes his neck over to me. Our eyes snag, and unfortunately, the novelty of his blue eyes hasn’t worn off. My pulse quickens, regardless if he’s been nearly impossible to work with all week.
“Well, in that case…” he drags his words out, flicking a brow in my direction.
I fake a smile for the better of my father’s health, but my body language tells a different story.
One that I’m certain Rome can read.