Chapter 46 Better than Gold
Better than Gold
Three weeks later
Where the bloody hell was she?
Juliette jogged down the empty corridor, peeking in various rooms. Recording studio, offices, a gym, cocktail bar, another gym…
No sign of her, which was unusual. The Toro Significa headquarters weren’t that big; Juliette ought to have run into her by now.
Especially since they had a meeting planned.
She paused by the trophy cabinet. The trophy on the middle shelf looked freshly polished, and her name was engraved into the gold. She raised a hand to the glass cabinet, then paused as the crinkle of a crisp packet caught her attention.
She poked her head into the nearest office. “Hamish.” Her race engineer was typing on a computer, nodding along to the heavy metal blaring out of his earphones, and she waved her hands. “Hamish.”
Hamish took out an earbud. “Disappointing.”
Juliette blinked. “What?”
“These bloody crisps,” Hamish said, pulling a face as he held up the bag. “Pickled cucumber. Who makes a flavor like that?”
Juliette leaned against the doorframe. “I notice it didn’t stop you from finishing the package.”
Hamish shrugged. “I don’t like to waste food.”
He looked about to go back to whatever he was doing—an intense game of Candy Crush, if she wasn’t mistaken—so she spoke quickly.
“Have you seen Ranya?”
Hamish pitched the empty packet into the bin. “Not today.”
Juliette sighed. “Helpful as always.”
She turned. Hamish’s voice chased her down the corridor. “Write to the company! I want more Irn-Bru-flavored ones!”
Juliette shot him a rude hand gesture over her shoulder, and Hamish chuckled. She made it to the airy lobby and then paused, scanning the corridors. Seriously. Where the hell was Ranya? She’d checked every room now. Twice.
She glanced at her watch.
She had to be at the airport in an hour, which left her about ten minutes to work with. Maybe she should double-check the bar. She was already turning when a blond man rushed by. Dominic’s race engineer. Juliette caught his arm, and he gave a startled yelp, almost dropping his pile of paperwork.
“Blake. Sorry. Do you know where—?”
“Jules.” Blake looked relieved that it was her and not, in fact, a corporate criminal looking to steal his paperwork. “Congratulations on the magazine cover. One of the boys left a few copies in the office.”
Juliette’s cheeks grew hot. “Thank you.”
She didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing her own face staring out from one of Britain’s leading lifestyle magazines.
Her mother had papered the local theater with copies, so now there were about twenty photos of her lounging on her childhood race car bed with the headline “Where There’s a Wheel, There’s a Way.
” Half had been decorated with little gold medal stickers courtesy of Cap.
She nodded at the paperwork. “What’s that for?”
“Oh.” Blake pushed up his glasses. “Tucker signs his contract today.”
Juliette paused. “Oh, right. I’d forgotten.”
Tucker Davies. The twenty-one-year-old Australian driver, and her new teammate. Funny, Juliette thought, that she’d spent most of the season begging for a new teammate, and now that she had one, it felt…
Strange.
Blake shifted his paperwork. “Were you looking for someone?”
“Ranya. She has my—” Juliette darted forward, righting the pile before it could topple. “Never mind. Have you seen her?”
“I think she went outside.” Blake hesitated. “Just between us, it’s not been a good morning. She had to convince the shareholders to sack Robert, and they put up more of a fight than she expected.”
Juliette’s heart sped up. “But she did it?”
Blake’s smile was wry. “Have you met Ranya? She’s terrifying.” He hesitated. “Also, she got a call.”
“What sort of call?”
“Don’t know.” Blake shrugged. “She spoke to them for about four minutes, hung up, and now she’s sitting outside.” He started down the corridor. “I’d proceed with caution.”
Juliette exhaled. “Thanks.”
“Give Dom my best,” Blake said. “If the two of you are still…” The rest of the sentence hovered like a question mark, and when she raised an eyebrow the tips of his ears went red. “Never mind.”
Blake disappeared down the corridor. Juliette glanced at her watch.
Five minutes.
She pushed through the rotating glass doors.
Covent Garden was a crush of Christmas music and gloved shoppers cradling hot cocoa.
Artificial snow drifted from a champagne bar, dusting the towering pine tree with icing sugar.
She spotted Ranya sitting on a bench by a street performer; her team principal was bundled in a thick woolen coat, her dark hair pulled back into a crisp knot.
“I assume you came for this,” Ranya said without turning.
She held out a stack of papers. Juliette settled on a bench, burrowing further into her scarf. She weighed the contract in her hand.
“Bigger than I thought it’d be,” Juliette observed.
Ranya shifted her cane. “You’re worth more money now.”
“Ah.”
“Do you want to read it before you sign it?” Ranya asked, although the question was clearly rhetorical. She wasn’t holding out a pen.
Juliette nodded. “I’ll get my lawyer to look at it.” Bizarre to think she actually had one of those now.
She pushed the papers into her bag. The street performer was balancing on a pile of stacked chairs, his hands held out for balance.
Ranya tipped her head back. “I used to train here when I was your age, you know.” Her frozen breath hung in clouds.
“These exact streets. I’d time myself to see how fast I could sprint from Holborn to Covent Garden.
Sometimes I’d do it hungover in the rain, just to challenge my body to withstand pain. ”
A passing vendor cast them a curious glance, and Juliette pulled her baseball cap lower. “I read an interview with you, once. You told a reporter that you’d grip ice cubes before races for the same reason.”
Ranya’s mouth quirked. “I was a self-destructive little thing.”
“You would have won,” Juliette said softly. “Given the chance.”
She’d seen Ranya’s lap times before the accident; she would have outdriven every male competitor on that track. Easily. But Ranya shook her head.
“No.” She sounded almost rueful. “I wouldn’t have. But I don’t have what you do.”
“Delusional self-confidence?”
Ranya turned. “A head for strategy. And a refusal to accept defeat.”
“You have both those things.”
“Well,” Ranya said. “That’s nice of you to say.”
They lapsed into silence. The street performer flipped onto his hands, the tendons in his arms straining as the crowd cheered.
Juliette glanced at her watch. Three minutes before she’d have to book it toward the airport.
Something tightened in her chest. Sadness, perhaps, or maybe nostalgia.
That was the trouble with emotions: They tangled together like fishing wire around a reel.
She cleared her throat. “Ranya? Are you disappointed in me?”
Ranya raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you could do better than gold.”
She looked down at her gloves. “Not about that. Do you remember what you said that night at the hospital? About relationships and racing not mixing?”
“Ah,” Ranya said slowly. “About Dominic being a distraction.” Her profile was wreathed in the glow of a Christmas tree. “Do you remember what I told you? About how I met Vance Hastings?”
Juliette paused. She watched as a child tiptoed over some fake snow, being careful not to tread too heavily. “Your car broke down.”
“Yeah.” Ranya met her gaze. “And I wish he’d never had those damn jumper cables.”
Coins jingled. The street performer was passing around a hat.
Juliette swallowed. “Those pictures…Were they his fault?”
Ranya’s mouth tightened. “We have different opinions on that.” She looked at the Christmas tree. “One second of distraction, and it cost me everything. I wanted better for you.”
The street performer took a bow. Juliette watched as he packed up his things, trying to pull the right words out like scarves from a magician’s hat.
“Dominic is a distraction. I’ll acknowledge that. But life is filled with distractions. Doctors’ appointments and kids and really good books…” She raised her gaze. “I suppose what I’m saying is that it’s impossible to eliminate distractions, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t sure what she was seeking. Approval? Forgiveness? A pithy line to put on a Christmas card? For a moment Juliette wondered if Ranya might ask the same question that every reporter had asked—if she and Dominic were still together—but her mentor merely brushed artificial snow from her coat.
“Well,” Ranya said. “It’s your life.”
Juliette nodded. “Blake said you got a phone call.”
Something about Ranya’s face changed. “Yes, I have one more thing to give you. Wait here.”
Juliette watched her disappear into the building. The street performer held out his arms as a woman rushed forward to give him a kiss, looking relieved that he was still in one piece, and something in Juliette’s chest tightened.
God. Love was so terrible, wasn’t it? You worried about them constantly.
Their dreams eclipsed your dreams, and their fears swallowed your fears.
You let them walk around in this world like a second, pulsating heart, this Horcruxed bit of your soul that you were desperate to protect.
They were something raw. A fresh, still-bleeding wound.
Why did anyone do it to themselves?
Her phone buzzed.
Hastings: Have you left yet?
Juliette smiled, tugging off a glove with her teeth.
Juliette: Heading to the airport now.
She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Juliette: Also.
Juliette: Don’t be annoying about this later.
Juliette: But I can’t wait to see you.
Her phone dinged. A stupid little smile crept over her face.
Hastings: Oh, I’m going to be insufferable.
Hastings: Unbearable.
Hastings: I’m going to tell everyone that you’re obsessed with me.
Hastings: (I miss you too.)
Juliette pocketed her phone, her smile growing.
Oh yeah.
That was why.
The thing about love was that it also gave you strength.
It was the voice at the end of the phone line.
The late-night omelets. The “Did you pick up more dishwasher tablets?” texts.
The tight hand in the hospital. The warm hug after a long day.
The person who chased you into the howling rain, soaked to the bone, raging defiantly against the storm. The person. Your person.
Love was—for all its shortcomings—the only thing worth living for.
“Juliette?” Ranya called.
She turned. Ranya hurried toward her, her cane clicking on the cobblestone. A fat brown file was tucked under one arm.
“Here. Take it.”
She extended the file. Juliette frowned.
“What is it?”
Ranya smiled, but there was something sad about it. “Open it on the plane. And just remember…it’s your decision.”