Chapter 1 #2
“Cash,” Noah says, “I see you’ve met my sister Marina.”
“I sure did.” I glare ahead, refusing to give her the pleasure of my eyes on her again. One fucking shot and I’m about to blow it because the owners’ little sister decided to go on a rampage. “Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath.
Curiosity killed the cat, so like a fool, I glance over to see her struggling to restrain the left side of her mouth from pulling into a full smile. I say, “But we hadn’t quite gotten around to the introductions.”
Holding out her hand, she says, “I’m Marina Westcott.” I barely recognize the woman before me now. From the brightness of her eyes to the soft smile, even her tone is coated in pure sugary sweetness. “It’s nice to meet you, Misterrr . . .?”
She’s quite the actress. Uh-huh. Like she didn’t just see me climb out of a fifteen-million-dollar Team Westcott race car. Rolling my eyes, I scoff. She’s got to be kidding, right?
Oh, that’s right. She was too busy staring at her phone to notice. “I’m the fucking driver—” I bite my tongue before I get fired for what I really want to say. Play nice . . . “Cash Ryatt.” Sunny disposition.
I smirk.
She says, “Oh, you’re one of the drivers? Cash Ryan, you say?”
“Ryatt. Cash. Ryatt.”
“It must be so fun to drive around on the track, like go-karts at the Park ’n’ Pizza place. Putt-putt was always my favorite. Ohh, the bumper boats. Loved those.”
What the fuck is she going on about? Did she just compare—“No, it’s nothing like go-karts at the fucking Park ’n’ Pizza place.”
“I had my tenth birthday party there.”
Snickering draws my gaze to Noah. He shakes his head. “Here we go . . .” As the marketing director, he could handle this better by having her removed or doing the job himself. As her older brother . . . he could do the same. Some friend and teammate he is.
My gaze pivots away from him—since he clearly has no intention of showing his sister the door—to her again as she bats her eyelashes. Her feigned innocence is lost on me.
“I had my tenth birthday on a track, winning regionals instead of spending it at the local go-kart place.”
“But did you have fun?”
The question hits left, making me ready to take off my suit to relieve some of the body heat it’s trapping.
“I always have fun winning.” If I didn’t want to get on with my day and have a good sulk in solitude over my performance today, maybe I could appreciate her smug smile and force myself to lighten up.
Through gritted teeth, I add, “I’m sure we all have things we need to do. I know I—”
The crew’s celebration fills the paddock as they file in ahead of the other driver. A member takes my helmet, and I’m handed a bottle of water with the signature safety straw standing tall beyond the lid. I don’t get a sip down before she says, “Nice sippy cup.”
Her brothers are distracted, leaving her to fuck with me again. “It has a purpose.”
“It’s cute how you—”
“Report to the office.” I’m not upset the announcements cut her off. But I don’t appreciate the brothers bailing on me either.
At least Noah has the decency to wish me luck before he walks out.
“What the hell do I need luck for?”
Looking back, he laughs and nods toward the viper he’s left behind to attack me.
Luck is the last thing I need when it comes to her. It’s not like I’m afraid of her.
“Guess it’s just you and me,” she says when they’re out of earshot.
“There’s no you and me, babe.”
She passes, landing a condescending pat on my chest. “Yet you remain here like you have nothing better to do. And don’t call me babe again.”
“I have plenty to do.”
“Oh really?” A weaker man couldn’t handle the striking blue of her eyes, and most would miss the glint of pure sin hiding inside them.
She may act innocent in front of her brothers, but she holds her own just fine behind their backs. So why am I letting her get to me?
“Get to the scale, Cash,” Hansen commands from behind me, snapping me back to reality.
Running my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair, I don’t know why I haven’t already walked away. “It’s been . . . interesting, but I, yeah . . .” I thumb over my shoulder.
“Yes, you should run along.” With her eyes set on mine, a winning grin graces her face. Just as I turn, she adds, “It was good to finally meet the great Cash Ryan.”
Is she for real?
“Fucking Ryan,” I grumble, tired of this game, and walk away.
“Cash?”
I make the mistake of giving her my attention once more. She eats it up, serving me some of my own medicine in the form of a wink. “And you still owe me a phone. Babe.”
“Cute. Real cute.” Can’t say I didn’t try to stay sunny, but when push comes to her literal shove .
. . “Considering those red-soled shoes and the designer bag wrapped around your body, I’d be willing to wager that a phone is the last thing you’re worried about when your last name is Westcott.
So I’ll take this interaction for what it really is—foreplay. ”
She bursts out laughing. “You think highly of yourself, but foreplay, or anything else of that nature, is the last thing I’d ever want to do with you.”
“All I can hope is that you’re as good in bed as you are with banter.”
“Better,” she says, leveling me with a glare. “But you’ll never know.”
She walks away and I let her, but I swear to God those hips shimmy for me. Little Miss Westcott has Oscar-worthy acting skills where her brothers are concerned. But I see right through her.
“Ryatt. Scale. Now,” Hansen shouts again.
“Yeah. Yeah. Coming.” I head toward the other side of the paddock, where he and Darren wait for me to record my post-qualifying numbers but stop to glance back. Though I know she’s already gone, I’m still left grinning in the aftermath of our collision.