Chapter 15
Chloe
I’m really not used to private jets,” I admit, rolling my trolley from the black Mercedes taxi toward Barry’s plane the next morning. I’m tired as hell, and not sure how Matt is functioning.
“Yet,” says Matt, laughing, as he nods toward the little stairs where we will board. “When you get used to them, you’re ruined.”
“Ruined?”
“Yes. It’s very hard to go back.”
I laugh. “I find them a little bit embarrassing.”
“You’ll find them amazing in a few hours,” Matt says, laughing at me, his smile broad and relaxed. “But honestly? I always fly commercial.”
“Aww, Matt, you fly economy. With all your millions? How sweet.”
“I said commercial,” he replies, laughing. He is a completely different person today. Good-humored, amiable. But he’s also keeping his distance. And there is almost no eye contact. Like a colleague.
I’ve had so very little time to unpack everything that’s been going on, but for now, having Matt keep himself at a bit of a distance is exactly what I need.
Barry is already on board when we get there, and I use his complete availability to corner him and go through the long, long list of issues I want to tackle ahead of Mexico. Matt heads for the back of the plane and straight into one of the small cabin beds.
“Shout if you need me,” he says.
“What’s so urgent you two needed to come on my flight today, then?” Barry asks wearily.
“Ah . . . we’re just going to talk to a potential crew member.”
“Matt said.” Barry eyes me suspiciously.
“It’s a long shot. I’ll tell you if we pull it off,” I say quickly.
“All right. Better show me where my money has gone,” he says, nodding to the graph on my screen with a downward trend so sharp it could bore a hole through the plane’s floor and all the way to Antarctica.
When we land, Matt has a car waiting, and although he’s managed to sleep, he still looks drawn and tired.
“What if he doesn’t want to join us?” I ask for the hundredth time.
“Then we’ve lost nothing,” Matt reminds me again.
We clamber into a waiting car, a purposefully low-key local taxi, and drive the four hours down the coast toward Jasper’s house with Matt chatting away in terrible Spanish to the driver.
It’s my turn to sleep as my eyes grow heavy staring up at the big blue Mexican sky, my head against my balled-up cardigan and the window.
I wake hours later to the sound of the trunk slamming, and then Matt shouting something.
I climb out of the car, and by the time I slide on my sunglasses, it’s already pulling away, leaving Matt and me standing on the dusty earth in front of a gorgeous, but very small, villa perched right on a white-sand beach.
Oh god, a swim in the ocean is just what the doctor ordered.
“The Pacific,” says Matt. “There is nothing like it.”
I rub my eyes and follow him to the faded cerulean wood-slat front door, hoping and praying that Jasper Cox is the breakthrough we need.
But the minute we meet we realize he’s going to require some convincing.
“I don’t work anymore,” he says, pushing back his wiry gray hair, stubbing a cigarette out in an ashtray.
He holds his other hand toward the open terrace doors, which open onto the beach, palm trees framing the picturesque sandy shore and the turquoise shallow waters ahead.
A hammock is blowing gently in the sea breeze.
No wonder he doesn’t work anymore.
“I get it,” I say, nodding.
“Jasper, you know me,” Matt says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
He looks handsome today, in a loose-fitting cream linen T-shirt and tailored matching shorts, his feet bare inside a pair of dusty gray Birkenstocks.
I watch him talk, calm, persuasive, and I get moments of giddiness in the pit of my stomach as I’m gripped by visceral memories of soft lips and hungry, searching fingers.
“I know you’re driving like shit,” Jasper says matter-of-factly.
“So, you’ve been watching the racing?” Matt folds his arms as if he’s caught Jasper out.
“Not really,” he replies, his eyes flickering to the TV, which is, in fact, currently showing a replay of Austin. Matt grins.
“Come on,” Matt says. “Won’t you at least talk to us?”
“You’re a lame horse,” Jasper says. “It’s clear you’re sitting around waiting to die. You’ll never get Arden to the level you need.”
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I mean, that’s my job.”
Jasper tips his head. “You always let him talk for you?”
“No,” I say, my eyes darting toward Matt. “Of course not.”
Matt looks as embarrassed as I feel. “Jasper,” I say, leaning forward, clasping my hands together. “You didn’t want to leave F1, did you?”
“I was a drunk,” he says. “I deserved to lose my job.”
“It was the worst time. Your wife had died. Don’t you want another shot?”
Jasper’s eyes narrow on me as he sits back in his chair; there is nothing but the whirr of the ceiling fans and a loud bird crowing by the back door.
“Maybe,” he says, finally.
I hesitate. “We have problems with—”
“The downforce,” he says, finishing my sentence. “But you got bigger problems than that.”
“So you can help us?”
“Why would I want to leave all this to go back to that?” he says, lighting another cigarette.
His knee jiggles up and down. “Besides, these cars are complex, and all the parts of the car are interconnected. Without access to the actual data I don’t really have a good idea of what’s truly happening. ”
“I can give you full access.”
“Oh really,” he says, not hiding his skepticism. “Why do you want to hire a drunk?”
“But you’re ah . . . sober now, right?” I ask, grimacing, as I glance at Matt for help.
“Oh . . . I get it.” Jasper laughs, slapping his knee as he does. The laughter turns slowly into a cough and then he cocks his head to the side.
“Barry’s got no money left.”
Matt cackles unhelpfully, and tips his head toward me, grinning as though the jig is up and we’ve been caught out.
“I mean, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I just got off his private jet,” I say, forcing out a little light banter as I rack my brain for a way to put this delicately.
“You can’t afford anyone else.”
“Look. Jasper. You love racing. You didn’t want to go, and everyone knew that. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened,” Matt says, clearing his throat as he glances around the beach house. “And couldn’t you use the money?”
“You really can’t afford anyone else,” he repeats, laughing, as though everything has fallen into place now.
“But you are one of the best,” I push, trying to appeal to his sense of pride, since I cannot deny the money issue. I glance at Matt, who is suddenly deep in thought, chewing the inside of his cheek as he examines his hands.
“Once upon a time,” Jasper says, stubbing his cigarette out again, a trail of smoke filling the breezy room.
“Please, Jasper. I can beg,” I say, holding my hands together in prayer.
“Don’t you want to win?” Matt says quietly. “Don’t you want to come back and win? And show them all?”
Jasper and Matt lock eyes, and I hold my breath, hoping like hell Matt has found a way in.
“I know what it’s like to not get support when you’re struggling. I know how shit it feels. I know how all the promises of family and loyalty fall away when you’re not performing at your peak. When what you need is a bit of fucking sympathy.”
Jasper seems to take this in, his eyes narrowing on Matt. “I tell you what, I don’t have a lot on today.”
I nod, looking out at the view, wondering if he ever has a lot on.
“Why don’t you load up the tablet there with all the aero data, and I’ll take a look.”
“You got it, but I’ll definitely need you to sign an NDA,” I say.
“Fine. But I said I’ll take a look. Nothing more,” he says slowly. He picks up his tobacco and rolls another cigarette.
“How long will you need?” Matt asks, glancing down to the stretch of white-sand beach beyond Jasper’s rickety fence.
Jasper stretches his neck side to side, and then cracks his knuckles. “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”
The heat of the afternoon sun on my skin is divine.
Matt is in the water, and I’m on the sand, borrowed beach towel stretched out and a chocolate brown bikini hugging my body. My phone died about an hour ago, and I have made a decision not to plug the bastard in. I deserve these few hours to relax.
“You don’t want to swim?” Matt shouts over at me from the ocean.
I roll lazily over and prop myself up on my elbows and look at Matt, whose entire perfect torso is above the water, the waves lapping against his back.
“It’s so warm!” he says, flapping those arms around in the gentle swell.
So casually handsome, such a sparkling smile of childish joy as he dives under and comes back up a little closer. “Come on, Chloe!”
“I’m good,” I say, grinning as he gives up and wades toward me. I settle back, sunglasses on, and close my eyes. When I hear his soft footsteps on the sand, I open them again to secretly watch him dry off behind my mirrored aviators, before he drops heavily down next to me.
“I could use a nap myself,” he says.
“Tequila and travel don’t mix,” I say, sitting up and reaching for the sunblock. “You think this is going to work? With Jasper?”
Matt hesitates. “Dunno.”
“We truly can’t afford anyone else.”
“Well then, it has to work,” he says, shrugging.
I squeeze out the cream and rub my legs down as Matt just stares ahead and out toward the sea. “Pretty happy waiting around here, though. God, the peace and the distance from everyone and everything. It’s great.”
“It’s definitely beautiful,” I say, feeling awkward suddenly, as I finish applying cream to my chest, trying desperately to reach round the top of my back. I’m glad Matt has his eyes fixed firmly forward as I apply my sunscreen, but equally, I’d love for him to offer to do my back.
I imagine his broad hands touching my oily skin and I shudder involuntarily.
He’d just be helping a friend out. Nothing more.
“It really is beautiful,” he says quietly, as he turns to me.