Chapter 26
Matt
When I saw Chloe across the room in that disgracefully short silver dress, everyone fawning over her, I knew I had to get out of her eyeline.
She was literally shining. Sparkling. She’s worked so hard, finally reached the pinnacle of her career.
She deserves to have this attention all to herself.
And so, I snuck over to the far side of the room, took a whiskey, and sat there alone, gazing out across the city, waiting as patiently as I could for a moment to go to her.
But now she’s gone.
“Where did Chloe go?” I ask Barry, who is speaking enthusiastically to some advertising dude with a man bun.
He looks back over his shoulder to try to see her, but then shrugs. “I excused her a little bit ago. Dunno where she went, though.”
“Can I go yet?” I ask, and he just cackles.
“Bringing in one extra investor, who is also your friend, doesn’t give you a free pass.”
“Guess I’ll have to finish this scotch,” I reply, tipping my glass. “Did Chloe make any impact?”
Barry nods emphatically. “Oh, yes. She did good tonight. She’s outpacing us all. Making us all look like dumb, third-rate dudes.”
“If she can pull a bigger sponsor than Ronny’s fucking Ring Burner she’ll be my hero.”
I know Barry must be teetering on the edge here. He probably wants to release Chloe after all the chaos that has engulfed the team, and I don’t want that for her.
I’m going to leave the team, I’m sure of that now. I have felt retirement calling all year, and this latest disaster is the final straw.
Barry is glaring at me. What have I done now?
“Why can’t any of my team keep their damn mouths shut?” he bellows, tossing his hands in the air.
Suddenly I get a tap on the shoulder and turn around to see the guy with the man bun holding his hand out to me. I shake it, unsure who I’m actually greeting.
“I’m Ronny, from Big Ronny’s Ring Burner,” says the man. “And don’t worry, I understand.” He laughs enthusiastically.
“Oh.” Shit. “Sorry. I love the helmet,” I add meekly.
“Oh, that’s just one thing I do. More of a hobby, really. But I also have a pretty big tech company. And we’re looking to get in on sports marketing in a big way.”
Barry shoots me a look. I could die of embarrassment. Of course the guy with the silly sauce company is also a stupidly rich tech billionaire.
“A crypto platform,” says Barry.
“A crypto platform?” I say, grimacing. “Of course. Sorry again.”
Ronny laughs, a sort of snort-laugh, and nudges Barry. “Lucky he’s only here to drive.”
“I’m an idiot,” I say, shaking my head, grimacing. “Have I blown it?”
“Not if you place this weekend,” Ronny Ring Burner says, chuckling even more. “I reckon there’s a few sponsors here who are waiting to see results.” He jerks both his hands up, beer sloshing out of the top of his drink as he grins. “No pressure.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply, and the man seems satisfied, patting me on the back.
“Good luck, Matt.”
As I emerge from the lift and head toward the media scrum by the front door, I realize I can’t wait anymore. I need to find Chloe. I need to hear her out. I need to see her.
Fuck the article. Half of that bashing I deserved, and the other half I’m sure Jack just conjured out of thin air. I know Chloe better than anyone. And I know I want to be with her whatever it takes.
On the car ride back to the hotel, I press my cheek against the glass and start to imagine what my life would look like if I quit racing.
I’ve done no prep for it. No lengthy media training in hopes of a job as a commentator or contributor on the paddock.
I have little interest in other ventures like opening a restaurant chain or going into the car business like other drivers have.
I have enough money. Much more than feels fair.
I could move back home to Brackley, or the nearby Cotswolds. Buy an estate there. Get a couple of dogs. Maybe collect some sports cars.
I shudder.
I’m not ready for that.
But also, trying to claw back this career? And be with Chloe? That feels impossible.
The car pulls up to the hotel and as I get out and enter the lobby I know exactly where I need to go.
I ask the receptionist for Chloe’s room number, but when I get there and knock she doesn’t answer. I look at my watch: 11:09 p.m. She should be here. The bar? She does like a quiet, solitary drink.
I head back to the lift and then up several floors into the hotel cocktail bar: a deep blue furnished room with huge potted palms and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
I motion to the bartender.
“A light beer, please?” I ask, and he nods, pouring my beer as I scan the room.
I check the seats in the perimeter by the windows, then look down the bar, and just when I’m about to give up, a man in the far corner sits back in his chair and I can see her.
Chloe. With . . . Jack Sheppard.
No.
The feeling shoots up me in a firestorm of anger. That absolute bastard, sitting there, chatting to her after all he’s done. And why is she putting up with it? I push myself back against a pillar so I’m out of their eyelines.
I should go. I should leave. Did she leave the function to meet Jack?
Is this the truth of the situation in front of me? Has Chloe been playing me this whole time? The ferocity of that fear clutches me hard. And yet, even as I think it, I don’t believe it. Not Chloe. She’s too loyal at her core. Too good. Isn’t she?
I watch her, her face completely even as Jack shakes his head.
Chloe leans in and gesticulates wildly at him.
She looks agitated, actually. My feelings switch from fear and hurt to anger and a protective urge as I watch her, still in that silver dress, her legs crossed, the fabric draping high on her thigh. My protective urge wins out.
Something in my gut tells me to approach with caution. I scan the seating near them. There is a wingback armchair just behind a huge potted palm that I could sit at. Take a drink. Pretend I didn’t see them if I get caught.
I move quickly, sliding into the seating area adjacent to them, but hiding my body behind the oversize plant. I can just hear them, and it’s clear from the tone that Chloe is on the offensive.
The bartender brings me my beer, and I stiffen slightly, hoping not to attract their attention, but the timbre of her voice is unchanged; she is too focused on whatever it is she’s saying.
“Please, Jack.” Her voice is exasperated.
“I’m just confused,” Jack says. “I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
I hold my breath, waiting to hear what Jack is about to say.
“You were so mad Barry hired him.” He also sounds exasperated. “And you were right to be. He was holding you and the team back, surely you can see that.”
“Jack, I want you to leave me alone,” she says, her voice falling now.
“Why?”
“You don’t get it? You hurt my team.”
There is a long silence, before I hear someone stand up. It’s Chloe, I think.
“If you won’t go, I’m going.”
“Chloe, wait.”
She doesn’t reply. She can’t reply. She can’t say anything that might end up in the newspaper tomorrow; she must know that now.
“You’re not a good person, Jack. You took advantage of me, and unethically printed an off-the-record conversation and added your own bullshit to it.”
I hear him scoff. “To be fair, you never said it was off-the-record.”
“I was upset, and you exploited that for your own gain. That’s not what friends do.”
“For the love of god, Chloe, I did it for you!” he says, his voice loud and clear.
“Look at the press. When you were appointed, they were laughing at you.” I stiffen, my hand clasping my beer, as Jack continues.
“Laughing at Barry. Matt was a disaster on the track and off. Arden was a fucking joke. Now, you’re the darling of the circuit.
I did that. That was because of me. And I can undo it. ”
“I didn’t want you to do anything,” she barks back, her voice strained and upset. “You hurt Matt and that’s the last thing I want.”
“Who gives a fuck about Matt Warner? He’s an asshole. Everyone who works with him thinks he’s an arrogant prick.”
There is a long pause. I can feel my blood pump, my body tense ready to spring up to protect her if I need to. But then I hear Jack laugh a pitiful, almost sadistic laugh.
“Oh my god,” he says. “You’re in love with him. Again.”
Chloe says nothing in response. I can picture her giving him a look, but then I hear her groan. “I’m going to bed.”
“Of course you are,” he says, sardonically laughing, and my fingers flex. I want to smack that guy in the face. “That’s pathetic. Just like when we were kids. He’s going to cast you aside like he did back then. He does to everyone. I thought you were better than that.”
“Good night, Jack.”
“You’re a fool, falling for him,” he says, sounding desperate now. “It’s going to ruin you. You’ll look ridiculous. Falling for a driver? It’s so fucking tacky.”
“I’d rather be a fool than a soulless snake,” she snaps.
Go, Chloe. I try hard not to cheer. Soulless snake?
“Have a lonely life, Jack.”
I hear her short, hurried paces as she crosses the bar and heads off, leaving Jack sitting exactly three feet behind me, with nothing but a high-backed armchair and a potted plant between us.
Fuck it.
I stand and walk around to the seating area to see a fidgeting, flapping Jack, playing with his phone, a recording app open on the screen. Concentrating hard on whatever the fuck he’s doing in there, he doesn’t look up and see me, and so I reach down and snatch the phone out of his hand.
“I’ll take that,” I say curtly.
“Hey!” he says, springing up.
I delete the latest recording, assuming it’s Chloe. And then in a fit of rage, I smash the phone against the pillar, shattering the screen and almost splitting the phone in two.
“What the fuck? Have you been listening?” he says, frowning, looking back toward the entrance, expecting, I think, to see Chloe there.