Chapter Six #2
She stomped her foot and released a low hiss of frustration. She had Ben’s voice in her ear, and if she said no, she felt she’d be letting him, as well as herself, down.
‘Is that a yes?’ Taz asked.
Millie scowled at him. ‘A million. A third now, a third in three weeks, the balance at the end of six weeks.’
Taz dared to grin at her. The blasted man never doubted the outcome of his proposal. What was it like being so certain all the time, so convinced that the dominoes of life would fall in line for you?
‘Deal.’
Millie thrust her hand at him, expecting him to shake it and was caught off guard when Taz clasped her fingers and lifted them to his lips. She shivered, and ribbons of heat and light darted down her fingers and up her arm. Damn the man for being so sexy, and relentlessly charming. ‘Excellent.’
He wrapped his uninjured hand around hers and tugged her toward the De Rossi section of the paddock. ‘I’m expecting a decent turnout for the press conference,’ Millie said.
‘I’m Taz De Rossi, and they’ve been baying for one. They’ll be there,’ Taz stated with complete conviction. ‘They wouldn’t miss it.’
Oh, to be so self-assured. But he was right, as they’d been flooding her email and phone requesting interviews or asking for a comment.
‘I have a draft statement I’m still working on.
I’ll get it to you within thirty minutes,’ she told him, very conscious of her hand in his.
People started noticing, their eyes darting to their linked hands and their eyebrows rising.
Five minutes in and she already felt like a goldfish in a too-small bowl.
‘I’ll look at it, but expect changes,’ Taz stated, pushing her ahead of him as they walked into the area allocated to the De Rossi Racing team. Of course he would change what she wrote, because Taz never did what was expected of him. Millie watched as members of his technical team approached him.
Taz squeezed her hand before letting it go. ‘Text me when you’ve finished with my statement, and we can go over it. If I’m not in the pit, find me.’
Millie nodded and watched him walk away, surrounded by his people, everyone wanting something from him. She’d been swept up into Taz’s world, into the maelstrom he created. He was taking her acceptance to be his fake girlfriend as a given.
And she was, probably, going to let him.
And if she found herself floundering in choppy, unfamiliar waters, she had no one to blame but herself.
Taz, sitting alone at the long table, a raft of microphones in front of him, tapped his finger on the white linen tablecloth and schooled his expression into what he hoped would pass for pleasantness.
He was a pro at press conferences; they were a necessary evil, but there were better ways to spend his time.
Taz sneaked a look at his watch and sighed. They were running ten minutes late, mostly because members of the press were still trying to get into the now-packed room. Millie stood in the corner to the right of him, her iPad clutched, as it frequently was, to her chest.
Unfazed by the eyes on him, he saw Millie staring at a spot on the floor, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth.
Her shoulders were an inch from her ears, and he knew she was second-guessing herself and him.
He lounged in his chair, wearing his usual mask of detachment, pretending to scroll through his phone.
He had a girlfriend. He grimaced at the childish term; it didn’t suit him, a man who’d spent his life avoiding emotional entanglements.
His career was his greatest love, the only mistress he ever needed.
He was doing this to benefit his company, to bolster his brand.
Dating Millie was a strategic move to repair his image, to keep his fans, sponsors and the media focused on what mattered: his path to his fourth championship.
After a few weeks, everything would go back to normal.
Or whatever passed for normal in his world.
Tension crawled up his spine, and he told himself to relax. This wasn’t a big deal. But it was, because this was Millie. The same Millie he kept imagining naked beneath him—or on top of him because, honestly, he wasn’t picky—her skin flushed with pleasure, her breathless moans in his ear.
He wanted Millie almost as much as he wanted that fourth consecutive championship.
A sliver of self-doubt slid under his skin.
What had he gotten himself into? And why did the thought of being with her thrill him?
Racing was his world. Winning his satisfaction.
Yet here he was, his thoughts on a woman he employed.
A woman he was paying an obscene amount of money to hold his hand and play a part.
Maybe if he banged his head against the table hard enough, he’d knock some sense into himself. But then again, maybe not.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, Taz De Rossi will now read a statement, after which we will take a set number of questions.’
Right, he was up. After pushing his hand through his hair, he looked down at the statement Millie had carefully prepared. Off his game, irritable, the rookie should’ve slowed down while navigating the corner. The strain of driving and owning a team had caught up with him…
It was a raft of excuses for his questionable behaviour, and he knew the press corps would lap it up. It was also all BS. He picked up the statement and scrunched it into a ball. Noticing the surprise on the faces of the journalists directly in front of him, he almost smiled.
‘I could sit here and give you a dozen excuses about my behaviour in Shanghai, tell you how stressed I am, how the demands of owning a team and being its number one driver got to me last Saturday. I could tell you that…’ He looked at Millie amused by her shocked expression.
But was that horror or approval he saw in her eyes?
A mixture of both? ‘But I’m not going to.
The truth is that I lost focus on that race, my mind wasn’t completely on my driving.
Jackson did nothing wrong, the blame for what happened in Shanghai should be placed on me. ’
Oh, well, he’d stepped into the hurricane, so he might as well see if he could ride his way out of it.
‘I have apologised to Jackson personally. I’d also like to apologise to the sponsors and my fans.’ He lifted his cast-covered arm. ‘I am paying for my stupidity, as I should.’
The silence in the room was absolute, and all he could hear was the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional cough from a reporter at the back of the room. The rebel in him enjoyed their shocked silence.
‘You know I was given the punishment of community service by the FIA stewards,’ he said.
Should he mention Alex’s philanthropic efforts?
No, he was not going to invite them to make comparisons between his brother and himself.
They would do that anyway, without his help.
And, as always, he’d probably come up short.
‘I intend to complete that service by working with five charities until my injuries are healed, hoping to shine a spotlight on what they do.’ He went on to name the charities, giving a brief description of the organisations’ work.
‘You can find links to all the charities on the De Rossi website, and if you can, please donate. Any amount is helpful and would be gratefully received.’
‘I will be at all the races, supporting my team and, hopefully, not driving them too crazy.’
That statement elicited a laugh. ‘I’ll take a few questions now.’
A wave of questions rolled over him as the journalists shouted over each other.
He glanced over at Millie, and she gave him an encouraging smile. Surprisingly, it instantly dropped his irritation levels. Strange, because no one ever made him feel like that before.
‘Can you tell us how you felt when Jackson nudged you in Shanghai?’
God give him strength. This? Again? ‘As I’ve said, twice now, my behaviour was unacceptable. I’m not going to rehash it again.’ He couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice.
How much longer was he supposed to endure this? He glanced at his watch. He’d give them a few more minutes, and then he’d leave.
‘Are you worried about losing championship points?’
Of course he was; he wasn’t an idiot. If his nearest rival won all the races he’d miss, they’d be level on the board.
It made him furious to think that he’d wasted that lead because he’d lost his temper.
That he was the disappointment his father believed him to be.
Had called him such to his face on numerous occasions.
Thinking back, he preferred his father insulting him than ignoring him: At least he could be bothered to interact with him.
But those stretches when he was consistently disregarded or dismissed were worse.
They were right. Bad attention was better than no attention at all.
Being made to feel insignificant and unimportant was far more dangerous to the psyche than being told you were bad.
In his father’s eyes, the world’s eyes, Alex had been as perfect as a human could be. Handsome, intelligent, charming, nice…he had it all so Matteo hadn’t hedged his bets or spread his attention. Everything he wanted in a son he had in Alex.
‘You seemed quite chummy with your press liaison. Something happening between you?’
It took Taz a moment to make sense of the question. When he did, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his thighs, his fingertips digging into the fabric of his pants. He made sure his expression remained unruffled. ‘You know I never answer questions about my personal life.’
‘Is Phoebe still on the scene?’ the reporter persisted. ‘Are you going to the Caribbean with her?’
Damn, the urge to launch himself across the table and punch the smirking journalist was strong. But he hauled in a breath—he’d done enough damage lately. This line of questioning grated more than usual. Normally he shrugged such queries off and gave them no more thought.
It was because the journalist had mentioned Millie.
His instinct to protect her left him reeling.
When she appeared with him at the polo tournament on Saturday, she would be on everyone’s radar, something he wanted, needed if he was going to ride out this media storm.
The press would focus on them and would blow the smallest interaction into a drama.
It was part of dating a celebrity, of being seen with him.
Taz pushed a hand into his hair. What would it be like to have someone standing in his corner, providing support for no extraneous reason?
He brushed his thoughts away. He wouldn’t know what to do with a serious girlfriend—or how to handle her. It wasn’t for him, never had been. Trust wasn’t something he could do on a long-term basis.
Millie was different—interesting and funny—but she was his employee and would be playing a part while she handled his PR. This was a business deal.
And because it was business, he had to stop thinking of her as a potential lover, someone he wanted in his bed.
He was aware of the power imbalance: He held it all, and he had to tread carefully through this minefield.
Had to play the game, get this deception underway—and draw on every bit of his willpower to keep his hands to himself.
‘Taz? Taz?’
He jerked, his attention returning to the curious faces in front of him. He turned up his cuffs, pushed back his hair again and cleared his throat ‘I didn’t hear your question. Would you mind repeating it?’ he asked, thinking that he was being a great deal more polite than he wanted to be.
‘Are you and Phoebe still on track for that Caribbean getaway?’
He let out a slow breath, and turned toward Millie, pulling up a smile he hoped was both affectionate and intimate. His gaze locked onto hers, and he caught the flicker of panic she couldn’t quite hide.
Better to rip the bandage off. Brutal, clean. Yes, this was an ambush, but this way he could take control of the narrative. Control was everything. Besides, it was time for her to start earning her million pounds.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, keeping his tone smooth, ‘allow me to introduce Millie James. Not only does she manage my PR, but she’s also my significant other.
’ He let that land, enjoying the shocked gasps followed by stunned silence.
‘Our relationship is still new, but we both agree it holds a lot of promise.’
The crowd in front of him gaped, and he handed them a wry smile. ‘I’d ask you to respect our privacy, but let’s be honest—that’s not going to happen, is it?’
He rose to his feet, the scrape of the chair on the floor the only sound in the room.
Then, taking his time, keeping it casual, he crossed the room to Millie.
He cupped her cheek with one hand and brushed his mouth over hers—keeping the kiss soft, but deliberately possessive.
He swallowed her shocked gasp, and her fingers trembled as he laced their fingers together.
‘Let’s go,’ he murmured against her ear before pulling her toward the exit. The room behind them erupted with shouted questions, some laughter and the general chaos that followed the detonation of a conversational landmine. He didn’t care.
As always, he’d accomplished exactly what he’d set out to do.