Chapter 26
JACK
LONDON
My socks can’t grip my sandals and they make slapping noises against the marble as I head into the kitchen. I’m fishing around in the cupboard for whey protein when I hear Minnie come in. I flex my bicep as I bring it out – lifting a small tub requires muscle, you know.
‘My back’s killing,’ she moans.
I can take credit for a lot of soreness this morning, but not that. I make a mental note to massage her tonight. ‘Tell me you don’t take your binder with you every day,’ I throw over my shoulder.
She doesn’t answer immediately. ‘No, that would be stupid.’
She so does. What a nerd.
It’s been a month since we started this secret friends-with-benefits thing and it’s suiting both of us perfectly.
No explaining to the press, no jealousy, no strategising how to go public, no soft or hard launches, no long-term planning, no meeting the parents, no tracking my whereabouts, no curated social posts, no dry vanilla sex, no ‘where was my good morning text?’, no coordinated outfits, no his and hers matching luggage – just fun. And it is fucking fun.
I’m expecting her in one of my shirts but when I turn around, she’s looking unreal in a pink flowery dress and denim jacket, her hair falling over it curly and loose. I spoon protein powder without looking, and when I look down, I’ve missed my bottle by a foot.
‘How do I look?’ she says, cleaning up her lipstick in the mirror.
Perfect is the answer. You can tell she was born rich. It’s in the way she holds herself. She could be wearing a brown paper bag and make it look worth a million quid.
I search for creatine in the cupboard. ‘You look better without it.’
‘Without what? The jacket?’ She starts taking it off.
I smile. ‘All of it.’
She rights it with a huff, mumbling something that sounds like ‘Brian would love that’.
I want to follow it up but stop myself. We agreed two ground rules in Montreal: honesty, and no work talk.
I can’t risk revealing something embargoed.
She may look like a drop-dead-gorgeous Victoria’s Secret model, but she’s press, and she’s paid to learn whatever she can about the teams and share it with the world.
She’s still looking away from me when she says, ‘I texted my dad back, by the way.’
I stop what I’m doing. ‘Did you agree to Monday?’
She gives a small nod. ‘10am, Soho House on Greek Street.’
I’m about to congratulate her but her expression falls short of triumphant. More like dread. ‘How d’you feel?’ I ask.
She bites the pad of her thumb. ‘I have to confront him sometime, don’t I. It can’t hang over my head forever.’
‘Do you feel ready?’
She flashes her let’s-be-realistic look. ‘I’ll never be ready.’
‘Are you going to tell your mum?’
‘Absolutely not. She’d go wild.’
I can tell she hates how much she’s keeping from her mum. They used to be thick as thieves, and yesterday I heard Minnie on the phone explaining how work wanted her to stay close to the track – from my flat in London.
I feel a pang of guilt that lying comes so hard to her and she’s been so open with me, but I haven’t been fully open with her.
I’m hiding a huge part of myself. But it’s not just me I have to think about.
There are people I have to protect. Or, rather, one very important person.
And it’s not like I think she’s going to hurt him or ring up The Sun, I just can’t bear the thought of someone judging him.
‘How come you’re ready so early? I thought we were going to head over together at seven,’ I say. ‘I was going to drop you off at that side entrance I was telling you about.’ Her hesitation has me planting both hands on the counter. ‘Roberts?’
She seems to battle with herself and shakes her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m fussing; it’s not a big deal. I’m interviewing Micah this morning.’
I purse my lips and lean closer. ‘Say what?’
‘He approached me in the Pagari Hub and asked me to interview him. Said he wants to reinvent his image and I’m the best person to do it.’ She looks like a chuffed penguin. I hate that I’m the one who has to ruin it.
‘Why did you keep this from me?’
‘It wasn’t intentional. We don’t talk about work, and it has nothing to do with you,’ she says, sounding a little sharp for my liking.
‘It has everything to do with me. He’s playing you, Minnie.’
‘Don’t overreact. He doesn’t even know we’re connected.’
‘The man’s a manipulation machine. I could bet my car collection he knows something.’
‘You’re being selfish; this is a huge deal for me. Things aren’t great at work—’
‘You never told me that.’
‘I don’t need to tell you that,’ she snaps.
‘This doesn’t count as talking about the minutiae of work. How your job’s going is part of your life. We’re friends. I obviously care if it’s tough.’
‘I’m not arguing with you about where the work line is,’ she bites back. ‘All you need to know is this is my chance to give my career a boost and force the network to take me more seriously.’
The idea that someone at Channel 3 doesn’t treat her with grave seriousness sets my teeth on edge.
How could you not? The woman’s notes are the size of Texas!
I bet it’s that old fart Brian O’Connell.
He wasn’t even that good of a driver. Having a stellar car and one of the best defenders in history as your second doesn’t make you a worthy World Champion.
‘Micah’s not your guy, Minnie. I know him better than most people. He’s got an agenda and it won’t help you.’
She folds her arms across her chest and I try my best to ignore the way it squeezes her boobs higher. ‘You don’t think I can handle him,’ she challenges.
I’m creeping into dangerous territory; I can feel it. ‘I never said that. Look, Sunday’s the anniversary of the team orders disaster. He’s not going to let it pass without a fight. He’s planning something to get back at me, I just know it.’
‘Not everything’s about you, Jack!’
‘No, but—’
‘Stop ruining this for me! I got this interview on my own merit. You’re starting to sound like my colleagues.’
That makes me feel awful, not least because her eyes are starting to water. I want to make Minnie’s life better, not add to her plate. I ruffle my hair and walk over to wrap her in a hug. Despite not being a big hugger, she doesn’t push me away, and I give her a little squeeze in gratitude.
I’ve warned her. There’s not much more I can do without chaining her to the bed, and although I’d very much like to do that for different reasons, I think I’d be castrated on this occasion. Clearly I’m right and she’s wrong, but she’s a grown-arse woman. She can make her own mistakes.
I release a raggedy breath and rest my nose against her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Min. Where’s this interview taking place?’
‘The Team Hub and on track.’ Her voice’s muffled against my shoulder. ‘We’re doing a hot lap.’
I take it back. I’m not sorry. Vengeful nightmare piece of shit teammate. I’m already charging to the bedroom. ‘I’m coming.’
‘What?! No you’re not—’
‘I’m coming!’
‘What about keeping us a secret?’
‘Give me ten minutes!’