Chapter 54
EVANGELINE
Iswear my feet weigh twenty pounds each as I trudge toward the bank of elevators. Like a zombie on autopilot, I scan my card and press the button for my floor.
The weight on my shoulders is nearly unbearable, too. I can barely stand up straight. So once I’ve boarded the stainless-steel car, I slump against the far wall, dreading the few simple tasks I still have to complete tonight.
Body shower. Catch up on texts from the Eleven. Eat, maybe.
As the doors close, a woman calls out. “Hold it, please.”
Rumor is this hotel is booked to capacity, lodging Granata, Kelly, and Pavo employees. I’m sure she’s as tired as I am.
It takes Herculean effort, but I peel myself off the wall and lunge forward to push the button that will reopen the doors.
A petite woman in a Granata polo and sharp wide-leg trousers steps into the elevator, smiling. “Thanks.” As she takes me in, her expression contorts into a frown.
Do I really look that terrible? Probably. I’m too damn tired to even try to mask.
Though I do sense the tension growing between us, the awkwardness increasing with every floor we pass.
Obviously, this woman works for Granata. But I can’t place her.
“So this is awkward.” She chuckles.
I stare back at her, silent, because I don’t know why it’s awkward and I’m too tired to try to unravel her perception of me.
She blows out a long breath, offering me an apologetic smile.
Finally, the doors open on my floor.
She steps off behind me.
“Have a good night,” I murmur, desperate to be alone in my room.
“Evangeline.”
Heart lurching, I spin on my heel.
While I still can’t place this woman, she apparently knows me.
She offers me a pitying smile that makes my hackles rise. I may be shit at reading emotions most of the time, but I’m all too familiar with the classic sympathetic smile.
You’re just not cut out for this.
You ask too many questions.
Can’t you just suck it up and deal with it like a normal person?
Why do you have to make a big deal of everything?
“For what it’s worth,” she says, cutting off the intrusive thoughts pummeling me. “I’m sorry.”
Cool. Not only am I exhausted and caught unawares, but now I get to play a guessing game.
“For what?” I sniffle, holding back the tears of exhaustion threatening to spill down my cheeks. I sound rude, but I can’t help it. The past few days have been horrendous. I’m using every sliver of my remaining bandwidth to keep myself from collapsing into a heap.
“For Alaric,” she whispers.
My battered and broken heart pangs. Alaric?
Why the hell is she apologizing on his behalf?
“Look, I’m sure this feels awful, but it’s for the best. Truly. I’ve known Ric a long time. I’ve never seen him so distracted or so tempted to throw away everything he’s worked for.”
I nearly stumble back in shock. She knows about Alaric and me?
“He… how…?”
I can’t string together a coherent sentence.
It’s humiliating, adding insult to injury.
I don’t want to be standing in this hallway, under the hellacious fluorescent lights I can practically hear.
I don’t want anyone to know I’m heartsick and devastated, let alone a random stranger doling out pity smiles.
“Nothing about this is easy for him. He put up a hell of a fight. But ultimately, I made him see reason: he has to put the team first. That’s who he is. This is his life.”
He put up a fight?
My stomach twists. Surely I’m not understanding her.
“Wait. I’m sorry. Can you… I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation. Can you explain yourself, please?”
She arches a brow. “Alaric broke up with you, yes?”
It hurts to hear the words spoken out loud, but I nod.
“Since I’m the one who made him see reason, I feel partially responsible. I thought I’d extend an apology. I don’t want it to be awkward for us around the paddock.”
This woman told Alaric to break up with me?
“And who are you again?”
She breaks into an unamused scowl. “Leslie Oswald, director of operations for Granata. Ric’s second-in-command?”
Several awkward seconds tick by. I’m not sure what this woman expects me to say.
Even if I was running on all cylinders and could process all she’s telling me, I’m not particularly inclined to give her the satisfaction of a response.
She just admitted to convincing the man I love to break up with me.
It seems ridiculous, really, but I can’t focus on that now.
Because my brain is clinging to one part of this scenario only.
Alaric didn’t want to break up with me.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond right now,” I admit. “But so I fully understand, you’re saying you told Alaric to break up with me?”
She nods. “I did. He has to look out for the company. He fought me on it, of course, but once I pointed out that he was simultaneously destroying your career, it clicked.”
My career.
He mentioned my career on the balcony that afternoon, and he dismissed me when I told him I couldn’t care less about working in Formula 1 long term.
“I’m not overinflating the media’s influence. They’d destroy you. You dated the father and the son?” She shakes her head, grimacing. “You would never work in Formula 1 again.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. I’m sure I look crazed, but I don’t have the energy to fight it. My cheeks burn, like the muscles that make the expression possible have atrophied over the last few days.
If what this woman is saying is even partially true, then there’s hope. Maybe more. There’s a legitimate chance that Alaric and I can be together.
It was never my dream to work in Formula 1. I’m already living my dream, working for myself. But A-Tizket A-Tasket isn’t my only dream anymore.
I want to be with Alaric.
And now that I have more context, now that I know that our separation wasn’t his idea—
“Thanks for all that,” I tell Leslie, spinning on my heel with a renewed spring in my step, a plan blooming in my mind.