32. Wes
When Camden and I arrive at the gym, I’m extremely confused to be greeted by Marcus, Baz, David, Albrecht, and Adrien.
“Gentlemen,” I say, forcing my voice to be breezy. “I didn’t realize this was a group session.”
There are a couple laughs before Marcus points to the chair beside Adrien. “Wes, please sit.”
Camden looks as confused as I’m feeling. “I, uh…” he says, motioning to the door. “I guess I’ll see myself out?” I give him a desperate look but he shrugs and heads out the door.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Marcus says, a smile on his face.
“They are?” I ask, glancing at my agent.
“You’re in a relationship,” Marcus says, looking like the cat that got the cream.
My heart very literally skips a beat. Because how the hell does the owner of the team I race for know that? Not that I’m going to deny it—hell no.
“I was going to talk to you about it on Sunday, after the race.”
“Don’t bother with any of that,” Marcus says. “Instead, we need to worry about this weekend.”
“Of course. The race is always the priority.”
I watch as the men around me exchange glances. “That isn’t exactly what he means,” David says slowly, in his most serious voice. “Wes, I need to prepare you for what’s about to happen.”
I rub my hands down my face. “Not going to lie, you’re really starting to freak me out.”
“We’ve got your back,” Adrien says. “But you need to stay calm.”
And then I learn that tomorrow, at 8am British Summer Time, the entire world is going to find out that Elizabeth and I have been in a relationship since May.
“That’s not right,” I say quickly. “Hell, I only met her in April. We didn’t even decide anything until Sunday.”
“Be that as it may,” David says. “The story that’s running will report that the two of you have been together since the Miami Grand Prix. There are photos, Wes. And they paint a very compelling picture.”
“How?” I ask, but I immediately know the answer.
I’m an F1 driver, constantly surrounded by people with cameras.
Press. Fans. Social media teams. Random people on the street.
Of course there are photos of us in the paddock, in the garage, at events.
And of course reporters are using them to fit their own narrative. “Oh.”
“Indeed,” David says, his accent crisp. “As tomorrow is media day—”
“Ah, shit,” I say, trying to keep myself from panicking. “Does Elizabeth know?”
“She is finding out right now from her boss.”
“What?” I yell, jumping out of my chair. “She thinks she’s telling HR about us!”
“Calm,” Adrien says. “Stay calm.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to be calm when the woman who can manage any crisis is finding out that she is the crisis?”
My voice echoes off the concrete around us as everyone goes silent. My thoughts race and race, as if my brain is the fastest circuit in existence. When they land on a question, I physically flinch. My voice sounds far away as I ask, “Is she losing her job? Is she being fired because of me?”
It feels like I live an eternity before Marcus says, “No. Elizabeth is going to be fine.”
“Oh my God,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
“But she has to go back to New York tomorrow.”
I look up again, my heart pounding against my ribs. “What?”
“I’m sure you can understand that her company has no choice but to remove us from her client portfolio.”
Before I can say that no, I do not understand and, in fact, have a lot to say on the subject, David, Albrecht, and Adrien begin talking about statements and interview prep, about my paddock arrival schedule, about risk mitigation and additional security, about getting Jaclyn on a flight as quickly as possible.
But I don’t care about any of this. All I want is to get back to Elizabeth.
I want to assure her that we’re going to get through this.
That I’m not going anywhere. That if it turns out Marcus is wrong about her job, it’ll be fine.
I’ll be the first investor in her own kick-ass agency.
I’ll add her to all my accounts and give her keys to every place I own. Hell, I’ll do that anyway.
“Do you have any questions?” David asks.
“Why is this story running? Why didn’t you guys—or Elizabeth’s guys—stop it?”
There’s a tense silence around the room before David says, “We tried. Clint tried, too. But it’s The Drift.”
The most horrific tabloid in existence. And the one Elio Rocca always tips off. “Shit.”
“The good news is that we know it’s coming,” Marcus says. “We have a plan. Elizabeth’s team has a plan. It’s going to be loud for a little bit, but at least we’re going into summer break.”
I blow out a breath. Only a few hours ago, I was thinking about whisking Elizabeth somewhere tropical and private. Just the two of us on an island in the South Pacific that’s only accessible by sea plane, where we could do absolutely nothing but each other.
Now, it seems I’ll be in Monaco, alone, hiding from the paparazzi.
“And now for the other good news,” Baz says. “It’s time to sign your contract extension.”
“Right now?”
“Yes,” they say in unison. Papers are put in front of me. Adrien points to a number with a lot of zeroes in it. Albrecht hands me a weighty fountain pen. I sign on the indicated lines. “Is that all?”
Five pairs of eyes blink at me.
“No,” David says. “We need to—”
“That’s all,” Marcus says, cutting him off. “Congratulations, Wes.”
My heart lurches at how wrong that sounds right now.
“Go spend time with your girl,” Adrien says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Give her our best!” Baz calls, but I don’t respond. I’m already out the door.
In my hurry to get to Elizabeth, it didn’t cross my mind to tell her I was on my way.
So when I rush inside her hotel room, I half expect her to berate me for barging in on her. But she’s not at the desk typing furiosly or under the covers reading a book.
“In here,” she calls from the bathroom. She’s sitting on the tiled floor, her back against the tub and her legs stretched out in front of her.
“Hey,” I say softly, unsure of the vibe.
“Hi. How was your meeting?”
“A fucking rollercoaster. Yours?”
“It was that carnival ride where you sit at the top for a long time and aren’t quite sure when it’s going to drop. Or if you’re going to survive it.”
“Shit,” I whisper. “What happened?”
“I dry-heaved on camera and convinced myself I had lost both my job and you in the span of about sixty seconds.”
“Why would you think you’d lose me?” I ask, turning toward her.
“You don’t need another scandal this season.”
“Hey,” I say sharply. “You are not a scandal. This stupid fucking story is, but you aren’t. We’re not.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “I’ve lived through my fair share of scandals.
I drunkenly posted a photo that showed my very nude reflection in 4K.
I was papped kissing an heiress’s husband—at her behest, but no one cared about that part of the story.
I’m best friends with a Russian national who got arrested as an accessory to organized crime.
Those are scandals. But being with you? The brilliant crisis specialist who immediately captivated me and challenged me and never let me get away with anything?
The woman everyone watches, awestruck by how capable and confident she is?
The one everyone is intimidated by and hopes they can impress? That’s not a scandal.”
“Then what?” Elizabeth asks. “A coup?”
“For me? Absolutely.” I reach over and thread my fingers through hers. “But I think most people would call it a love story.” She gasps softly. “I’d say it’s our little secret, but...”
Elizabeth laughs—a melodic sound that warms me from the inside out—and then leans in to kiss me. Joy bursts through my entire body, and I can’t hold back my smile. “I’m pretty sure I knew this would happen the second you asked if I was a media liaison in front of the entire company.”
“No way,” she says, shifting to straddle my lap. “You thought I was an idiot.”
“Not an idiot,” I say, settling my hands at her hips. “Ignorant about motorsports.” She frowns, but doesn’t refute it “Maybe it was when you called me a disrespectful dick. Or when you thought penguins lived at the North Pole.”
“Of course,” she says, nodding, though her cheeks go pink. ”Nothing says romance like realizing a girl can’t differentiate the North Pole from the South.”
“The important thing is that you know pole position.”
She smirks. “Is that a sex thing?”
“You know what, hell yeah,” I say, laughing as I kiss her. “I’ll happily show you my pole position.”
“Pretty sure it’s this one, actually,” she says wryly between kisses, making me laugh again.
I’ve never had this much fun kissing anyone before.
I’ve never felt this right with anyone before.
I pull back and look directly into Elizabeth’s eyes—still dark, but no longer cold.
I think of that drawer in my mind with her name on it that has never fully closed.
There’s no compartmentalizing Elizabeth Jacobs. And now I know why.
“I’m falling in love with you.” I’ve barely thought the words before they’re out of my mouth, but they don’t feel rushed. There’s a calm certainty deep within me. Even if this confession is met with silence, I won’t be offended. She can take all the time she needs.
So when Elizabeth says, “I think I’m already in love with you,” I blink, wondering if I’ve just hallucinated. “You are?”
Her mouth twitches with amusement. “Wesley Fitzwilliam Grant, is that so hard to believe?”
“Shit,” I say. “Full government name. That means it’s serious.”
She looks at me thoughtfully. “I never told you mine, did I?”
“You did not, Elizabeth W. Jacobs.”
“It’s Wren.”
“Wren,” I repeat softly. “Fitting that you’re named after a bird that sings year-round.”
“Because of the playlists?”
I grin. “You have one for every situation.”
“Crisis specialist,” she says with a shrug, and I’m so overcome with emotion that I have no idea how I was containing it. I hug her to me and whisper, “I’m falling in love with Elizabeth Wren Jacobs.”
She sighs, a pretty, dreamy sound. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll wake up tomorrow, and the whole world will learn that I adore you, and that because I am fine as hell and completely irresistible, you’ve decided to tolerate me.
I won’t stutter when I confirm that we’re together, and David will send out a release about the contract extension I just signed.
You’ll go to New York to escape all this insanity.
I’ll race. And then I’ll get on a plane and come straight to you. ”
Elizabeth stares at me as if I’ve just said all that in a foreign language.
“What?”
“Did you just say you signed a contract extension?”
“Oh. Yeah. That happened. I can’t tell you a damn thing about the terms because all I was thinking about was you, but I’m sure a copy is in my inbox. Do you want to read it?”
“No,” she says, laughing. “But holy shit.”
“Marcus might be losing his marbles.”
“I’d only agree with that if he didn’t offer you a contract. Also: you’re coming to New York?”
“I just decided that,” I say honestly. “I’m about to have three full weeks off and there’s no way in hell anyone is keeping me from you. I’d prefer heading to a private island, but hey—at least Manhattan is an island.”
Elizabeth snorts lightly. “You don’t have to do that. I have a feeling things will get worse before they get better. New York is probably the last place you want to be.”
“Only place,” I say. “Wherever you are, I’ll be there. Besides, I’m not worried about the press. They love me.”
“How could I forget that you’re a media darling.”
“I have no idea, Jacobs,” I say, stealing a kiss. “It’s Wes Grant 101.”
Elizabeth takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. It’s a plan.”
“I have another one,” I say. “You, me, bed. Effective immediately.”
“Only if I’m getting pole position,” she says with a wicked grin.
And that’s exactly what I give her.