35. Nevaeh
The next two days, Valentina, Gabriel, Adrian, and I spend almost every single moment together. Gabriel is excited to be my next victim for the interview, and Val keeps teasing him, telling him to behave or she’ll punish him afterward. He gave her a wicked look that let me know he’d very much like getting a punishment from her, and I burst into laughter when Adrian let out a hurling noise beside me.
Today is Qualifying. I’m just pulling on a pair of jeans and a new top I bought yesterday when someone knocks on my door. I adjust the top, realizing it’s way too tight around my chest for my anxiety to be okay with it.
The person behind my door knocks again, this time harder and a little more impatiently. I abandon my hope of changing and go to speak to whoever is bothering me this early in the morning.
“Mr. Fender, what can I do for you?” I ask with surprise.
We may not be best friends, but he holds a higher position at the company than I do, and I will show him respect.
He gives me a small smile.
“Listen, I’m very sorry about everything that went down between us. I hope you know it was never my intention to overwork you to the point where you fainted,” he says.
I honestly consider telling him about my anxiety, that a combination of it and my lack of sleep and dehydration made me faint, but I don’t want to make him feel better. He was a horrible boss to me, and now I don’t work for him anymore. I work directly for Mrs. Lu and Ms. Martin, and they’ve been nothing but kind to me.
“I appreciate your apology,” I say, shaking his hand when he holds it out for me.
“Great, now, come on, we have to go. I got us a car and Fallon and Liz are already waiting downstairs. You don’t want to be late for your day with Mr. Biancheri,” he reminds me, and I hesitate for a moment.
I really need to change, but he’s staring at me in a way that tells me it’s best not to make him wait any longer. Instead, I grab my purse and follow him downstairs while he watches me with a forced smile and his eyes speak volumes. He doesn’t like me and is probably just being nice to me because our bosses told him to be.
This man is really starting to piss me off.
At the track, I get my badge for the weekend from a security guard, who seems to be incapable of taking his eyes off my tits in my tight top. It’s disgustingly obvious, but he doesn’t seem to mind that fact at all.
“Do you stare at all the women”s tits when they walk through here or am I the only one you’re trying to make uncomfortable?” I ask and lift my purse to cover my breasts. The shirt I’m wearing is revealing, yes, I’m aware, but for god’s sake, dude, have some self-control.
“In a shirt like that, you’re asking to be stared at, lady,” he replies, laughing with one of his colleagues. Still waiting for my badge, I lift my phone to my ear, pretending to have dialed someone’s number. I may hate confrontation, but I despise disgusting men more. “The hell are you doing?” he asks, holding onto my badge.
“Me? Oh, I’m trying to get a hold of my father, Robert Fuchs, the team principal at Grenzenlos. If he doesn’t answer, I think I’m going to call my friend, Valentina Romana, or maybe her fiancé, Gabriel Biancheri. I could of course also call her brother, Adrian Romana. I don’t know if you know this, but he almost had someone very influential in this sport fired because they disrespected me. What do you think he’ll do to someone like you?” I ask, still holding my phone to my ear.
The security guard’s face has drained of all color.
He hands me my badge and mumbles an apology, his eyes trained on the floor now. I wish him a wonderful day before making my way toward the Velocità Rossa garage where Gabriel told me to meet him.
I find Adrian instead, leaning against a wall and listening to one of his team members talk. My heart stops for the briefest moment, then stumbles all over itself to restart. All because Adrian looks incredible in his red Velocità Rossa shirt and plain blue jeans. His blonde hair sits in perfect curls on his head, and his blue-green-brown eyes shine in the sun. I studied their color enough times to have memorized every aspect of them, like the tiny freckle he has in the corner of his left iris. How the colors seem to change depending on what color shirt he’s wearing. How they’re more enchanting every single time I look at them.
When they drift to me, he stands up straight and a smile covers his lips. We’ve spent so much time together these past few days, but he still looks at me like he hasn’t seen me in weeks and couldn’t be happier that I’m here, making my way toward him. His attention briefly moves to the man he is talking to while he seems to apologize for walking away.
As soon as I’m close enough, he says, “Come with me.” I follow him into the building behind him, and the next thing I know, he’s turning around and hugging me to his chest. I fling my arms around his neck, giggling a little.
“Hi,” I say eventually, making him squeeze me even tighter.
“Bonjour, déesse,” he replies and steps back to plant two kisses on my cheeks.
My face burns long after his lips are gone. His hands hold onto my hips for a moment longer before he steps back and lets out a low whistle.
“That top on you should be illegal,” he tells me with a slight laugh. I wipe my hands down the front of it and frown at him.
“It should be, especially because I haven’t been able to breathe properly since I put it on,” I admit, causing all of the amusement to leave his beautiful face. “My ex-boss hurried me out of my hotel before I had a chance to change,” I explain, but Adrian’s eyes and lips reveal how upset he is to hear that.
“Let me get you a different shirt. I should have another like the one I’m wearing in my bag.” He tries to walk away, but I grab his hand to stop him.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” I assure him, but he doesn’t look convinced. “I can’t be seen walking around in your shirt, Adrian.” It’s his turn to frown.
“You look beautiful, but I need you to promise me that you’ll come to me to get a new shirt if it gets too uncomfortable. I’ll get you a plain one without any teams on it,” he says, using one of his hands to tuck my hair behind my shoulder and then ear. Seeming to realize what he’s doing, he quickly retracts his hand.
“I promise,” I reply.
“I have to go,Nevaeh, but come to me if you need anything.”
He should be focused on his race weekend, not me, but that’s not the type of man he is. No, he’s the type of guy to look over his shoulder to smile at me again, even though he’s now getting yelled at by Daniel to hurry up.
Gabriel and I have a fun time working together.
He shares his routines and rituals with me and even draws me a Formula One car during his break. I take a few photos of him and the team, just like I did last time, and eventually, I sit to write down all of my thoughts. Hector, his performance coach, takes the seat in front of me and hands me a cup of non-caffeinated tea. This is the third time today that someone from Gabriel’s team has randomly given me something to eat or drink, which must have everything to do with Adrian.
“Your father is Robert Fuchs, isn’t he?” Hector asks. I force a smile before taking a sip of the beverage he brought me.
“Yes. Have you met him?” I don’t know how he found out about my relation to the great Robert Fuchs of Formula One since I make sure to introduce myself with my first name and never mention my father in conversations. I want to make a name for myself in this sport and not because of Papa. If we already have to share it, I want to be known as a great journalist, not someone’s daughter.
Or someone’s girlfriend.
Hector tells me all about meeting my father, one of the kindest people in the world according to him, and I muster a smile while I listen. I love my father, but there is a limit to how many times I can hear Hector say how great he is. That man has enough flaws they will never know about, like forgetting about his children’s existence when he’s gone to work. I wouldn’t dream of telling Hector about that, but it lingers in my head while the performance coach speaks.
Luckily, he gets up to check on Gabriel a few minutes later. I stand up as well, moving around to stretch my legs. It also allows me to breathe better in this ridiculous top.
All of a sudden, a group of people hurry past me and into the room, filling it until we’re all squished together. They are staring at the monitors, but I’m too far in the back now to see what’s going on. I attempt to make my way out of the crowd, but I’m being shoved against people, unable to escape.
The air becomes thick, and my heart starts to race. Anxiety and this ridiculous shirt cut off my air even more until the atmosphere around me becomes unbearable. I try to breathe and slow my heart rate, trying to ignore the claustrophobic feeling that wraps around my throat, but then someone pushes past my right shoulder, causing a horrible pain to shoot through my arm that soon spreads through my whole body.
I can’t breathe.
Pain makes my eyes sting with tears.
Oh my God, I can’t breathe.
I can’t scream for help.
I can’t do anything.
My hand moves onto my chest while I choke for air.
I start to hyperventilate, my vision blurring.
I manage to push past a few people, the exit out of this maze somehow too complex for my anxiety-ridden brain to figure out.
Fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me out of the crowd. They bring me all the way into a separate room where I’m still not able to catch my breath. It feels like the top is restricting my chest. I reach for the zipper in the back when Adrian appears in front of me.
My entire body is trembling from my anxiety, tears streaming down my face. I sink to the ground, my legs shaking too hard for me to keep standing
“Nevaeh, tell me what to do,” he says and drops to his knees in front of me, so I point to my shirt.
“I can’t breathe,” I manage to croak out while my hands tug on the neckline. “Take it off,” I beg, his hands moving onto the back a second later.
He fumbles with the zipper for a moment before he groans and then rips the shirt apart. I let out a gasp and remove it from my chest, sucking in several deep breaths.
Adrian pulls me into a hug, and I sigh into his chest as his familiar cologne fills my nose. He falls backward onto his ass with me still in his arms, making me straddle his lap while my head tries to catch up with the present.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my ear, stroking a hand down my back.
I take my time, deep breaths in, holding them, and then letting them out.
Over and over.
My breathing slows and my anxiety subsides a little, giving me the chance to acknowledge that I’m almost half-naked with my chest pressed against his.
“Out,” I hear Adrian bark at someone after a while of us staying on the floor.
His hands are still caressing my back while mine rest between us and against his chest. My face is nuzzled into the crook of his neck.
“I told you to come to me before this happened,” he scolds, and I let out a short laugh.
“The crowd of people made me feel claustrophobic and I think the shirt heightened that feeling. Then, somebody hit my shoulder, and the pain just made everything worse. My anxiety didn’t like that,” I explain as I lean back to look into his eyes.
A cold breeze hits my body, suddenly making me very aware of the fact that my hard nipples are only covered by a bralette. I wrap my arms around my body to hide my breasts, but his gaze is trained on my face.
Sensing my discomfort, Adrian reaches behind him and into a bag to take out a plain, black shirt. He lifts it over my head, but I hesitate when it’s time to put my right arm through the hole.
“You got this, mon paradis,” he encourages. I suck in a breath through my teeth while I lift and then push my arm through the opening, wincing at the discomfort rippling through me.
As soon as the shirt is on, Adrian slides the short sleeve to the side and studies my scar. His hand is so gentle, I can tell he’s scared to hurt me if he presses harder. He brings his mouth closer, watching me as his lips brush over my scar.
Tingles replace the pain I was feeling until my breathing hitches. Desire spreads through me at the way he looks at me, settling between my legs until my clit gives a needy throb.
“Are you feeling better now?” Adrian asks, his hands slipping over my hips before he kisses my shoulder again.
My hips rock forward and against his groin, my clit searching for any sort of friction. Adrian hisses, his fingers digging into my hips.
“Much,” I admit, my voice cracking and revealing how breathless his small kisses have me.
He kisses my scar once more, and my hips roll again in response, my body on fire from lust.
“We shouldn’t do this, Adrian. It’s not allowed,” I say, but he’s kissing up my neck now, and I’m grinding against his growing bulge, whimpering when the tiniest wave of pleasure rolls through me.
I want more, need more.
“We should definitely stop,” he says and cups my left cheek to tilt my head to the side. He takes advantage of the new position to scrape his teeth along my neck. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Not really,” I admit, breathless and desperately rolling my hips back and forth. “I want you to kiss me, Adrian.” And I don’t want to pretend that I don’t, not anymore.
My eyes flutter open to look at the bracelet he gave me, but he grabs my attention by trailing kisses along my jaw and toward my lips.
“You’ll regret it later,” he says, and while I might regret it later because of my job, I won’t regret kissing the man I have feelings for.
“No one has to know,” I whisper, his mouth now hovering over mine. He’s breathing heavily as if he’s trying to restrain himself. “Please, kiss me. I want you to,” I say, but he leans away from me to study my face.
Right when I think he’s about to tell me this is a mistake, he says, “Fuck it,” and presses his lips to mine.