Chapter 4
Cash
Fire and ice.
She’s mouthy.
Her temper is easy to trigger.
And she’s demanding like a spoiled princess as the baby of one of the wealthiest families on the East Coast.
And so fucking sexy because of that pouty pink mouth of hers, her fiery disposition, and confidence that boosts with every bat of her long lashes. It’s a shame she’s part of the family, thus making her off-limits, or I would have fucked her already to help her get me off her mind.
The woman is clearly obsessed with me. I get it. Most are.
I’ve met women like her before, though. Fury is foreplay. I’m the bad boy every good girl wants to take for a spin. I have money, looks, and don’t have their parents’ approval. I’m a wet dream for every Goody Two-shoes.
Yet it’s my ears that perk up when I overhear Marina say, “Corbin and I are—”
“Would anyone like to order dessert? The crème br?lée comes with my highest approval,” the server says, stopping behind her.
She replies, “Nothing for me. Thank you.”
He continues distracting the others from what she was saying, except for me, as he rounds the table. I’m still hanging on to one specific part of that earlier phrase. “Who’s Corbin?”
Her blue eyes leave the plate in front of her and shift to mine. I’ve caught her looking at me several times over dinner, but she looks away even quicker. This time, spinning the stem of the glass between her fingers, she replies, “My costar.”
Costar is an interesting way to put what seems to be more if I’m reading the situation clearly. “And?”
“Boyfriend.” She doesn’t smile or put much of herself into the response. It’s also fascinating she relegated him to nothing more than a coworker. That speaks volumes about their relationship.
I watch her from across the table, and the light and laughter from earlier conversations have faded from her eyes. Even the fire has disappeared into an expression of neutrality.
“How long have you been dating?”
Taking a sip of wine, she maintains her gaze on mine. When she sets the glass down, she leans in and whispers, “Is there nothing else more interesting to discuss?”
“This is pretty interesting.”
Her lips twist to the side before the slightest of smiles shapes her mouth again.
Maybe it’s the wine or the intimacy of the conversation when surrounded by so much other chatter, but we exchange a silent understanding, laying our verbal weapons down.
“It’s not something I really want to talk about right now. ”
Dessert is served to those who ordered, and our connection is mired in the surrounding conversations.
The qualifier today and the race tomorrow.
Kids.
Travel.
And the usual chitchat among friends. Though I’m careful not to say too much or get too involved. I’ve learned from the past that it doesn’t matter how close you are to your team. If they want to fire you, they will, and then eat next to you at a steak dinner like they did you a favor.
So I keep my personal life as private as I can.
The usual judgments I hear don’t do me any favors and stresses the peace I’m trying to maintain with my ex-girlfriend.
And since Terpidy controls my access to Cullen when I’m traveling, I play nice and keep things light, so nothing posted online upsets her.
Even though it’s only to satiate a curiosity I have about Marina, it’s not my business, so I offer her the same option I’ve given myself.
Noah asks, “What’s your routine the night before a race?”
He’s been great to have my back in the justification tour he had to do when Westcott Racing hired me. He’s also a good guy and easy to get along with. We’ve had an occasional beer together before the season and started to hang out a bit.
Looking down at my plate, where plain chicken and vegetables weren’t nearly enough for my appetite tonight, I grab my glass of water to finish for the third time since sitting down.
“No alcohol, though, until after the final race. Lean meats and vegetables. Nothing exciting, but I don’t want anything heavy weighing me down.
Sleep. I’ll work out in the morning, probably run. You work out, right? Want to join me?”
“Yeah, text me the time, and I’ll be there. I’m going to need it after that pasta.”
I catch Marina hiding a small yawn behind her hand and turn to her. “I’m not the most exciting guy.”
“Exciting means different things to different people. I love to binge a show or take a long bath. Not exciting.”
There’s no anger or sarcasm in her tone. A thin thread of a white flag waves in the air between us. Maybe we don’t have to fight a battle every time we’re around each other, which might be more this weekend since she’s in town with her family.
The rest of the guests are restless, some shifting to other seats so there’s no yelling across the table. Noah’s gotten up, leaving a vacancy next to his sister, to move down by Harbor.
Her mom holds her attention for a few minutes before her parents start a round of goodbyes. I stand to shake hands and take a hug from Delta because she’s a sweet woman, and she makes me feel like I’m a part of the family every time I see her.
When the end of our table is emptied and the others have shifted closer to the door, I reconnect with Marina, our eyes latching together. She holds up her glass, and then says, “I think this makes you an honorary Westcott.”
I crack a smile and hold up my empty water glass. “I’ve been called worse.”
She laughs. It’s light, but I’ll take it, wanting to hear more of the beautiful sound.
It’s hard to take my eyes off her. Five-six, maybe seven on a good day and in sky-high heels.
Brown hair that finds just enough light to shine in the dimly lit restaurant.
Eyes bright with mischief. She’s a stunning woman.
But it’s that dress . . . that fucking dress hugging her body that has a chokehold on me every time I look below the neck.
I’m a cad, so that happens more than I’d care to admit.
I’ve never been jealous of a garment before, but I wouldn’t mind trading jobs for a night.
Should I be having these thoughts about the bosses’ sister?
Probably not, but I’m only human. I don’t know what’s come over me.
I haven’t had anything more than water tonight, but suddenly, mouthy and demanding doesn’t seem like such a negative when thinking about her.
I can respect her for not taking anyone’s shit, especially what I dish out, but it’s the side of her that she’s sharing now that has fully captivated me.
She’s being vulnerable under the guise of wine, but I know she’s not drunk, not enough to share her secrets with me of all people.
She says, “My boyfriend isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”
“That’s too bad. For him.”
She smiles wider, and her cheeks heat like they did in the elevator before she tries to distract by tucking her hair behind her ear and taking another sip of wine.
I see through the act she put on for her family tonight.
I heard “It’s good” or “I’m fine” so many times but never saw the answers reach her eyes.
With me, she dropped that confession like she needed to get it off her chest. I look around the table, hear the chatter, and realize she’s learned to play the game. She doesn’t compete with others. She sits in her space, content to hide the truth from them.
But I see her.
She’s lovely, even if she comes with a big dose of kick-ass snark. I want to hear everything she’s willing to share with me. Taking advantage of the situation, I ask, “How are you really doing?”
“The relationship was dead a long time ago, but the repercussions of not being together will reverberate for the next year or more.”
“Or until another scandal breaks?”
Her unexpectedly loud laughter frees her to let go of whatever she was so staunch about holding on to. I think it’s whatever happened between her and the ex-boyfriend. “Exactly. Got one handy that we can drop to the press?”
“I’ve been there, but I’m currently fresh out of bombshell headlines.”
“Lucky you,” she says, still laughing enough to keep that smile shining on her pretty face. “Mine is about to hit.”
“That’s too bad. Anything I can do to help?”
“Stop the presses?” With her elbow anchored on the table, she rests her chin on her hand. I like how relaxed she is, ease running through her shoulders and bending them forward. Whether I’m responsible or the wine gets the credit doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.
“Are there still presses, or is everything breaking online?”
“Sounds more dramatic with press. Like someone’s going to run in and wave their arms frantically to literally stop the presses.
” She sits up again and empties the last of the red wine before setting her glass down.
“Sometimes I wish there was a lack of immediacy to give time to process or dig deeper and time to breathe and realize you’re not where you’re supposed to be.
But life moves fast, and I haven’t been willing to sacrifice to get off this merry-go-round. ”
“I live for fast. It’s when I slow down that the problems creep in.”
She sets her napkin on her plate and pushes off the table to stand. “Guess we’re opposites that way.”
“Opposites have been known to attract.”
She hits me with a sideways glare. “You wish.”
I stand. “I wish for a lot of things. Sex isn’t something I have to wish for.”
“Whoa,” she says, jerking her head back. “That escalated quickly. We jumped from attraction straight to sex without a step between?”
“Isn’t that how it usually is?”
I’m given a solid eye roll before she laughs without an ounce of humor. “You’re not bad—”
“Thanks.” I straighten the sleeves of my jacket.
“Until you open your mouth.” She turns on her heel with her chin raised high and walks toward the door to join her parents.
I burst out laughing, but it’s a good reminder that I’d be wise to steer clear of anything to do with Marina. Too many red flags are attached to her last name and association with the team. Nothing good would come of us fucking around for a night, and a lot could go wrong in my career if we did.