4. Reed
Cooper Miles calls me five days later offering me a job, and for some insane reason, I say yes.
I am now officially Wilder Miles’s social media manager / PR assistant for his rookie season, he just doesn’t know it yet.
I don’t know why I said yes, it’s not like I need the money, but the opportunity sounded just too good to pass up.
Getting to learn a whole new sport and travel the world doing it, while also making an already talented racer look good seems like a pretty sweet gig to me.
Mr. Miles didn’t seem to care that my last attempt with his son was less than productive, apparently he wants someone Wilder can relate to, someone to make him see that not all press is bad, while also improving his social media accounts.
From the attitude I’ve already seen from him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to achieve that, but I guess we will see.
All I know is that I’m going to remain professional and not let the fact we fucked get in the way of me doing my job. I mean, how hard can it be?
From what I remember…really fucking hard.
Sex with Wilder Miles was the best I’ve ever had, and I hate him for that.
Why is good dick always attached to the damn Devil?
The morning after the party I spilled my guts to Eloise about what happened with Wilder, and she said it was the hottest thing she’d ever heard.
I didn’t bother confirming that it was, because what was the point?
I thought I’d never see him again. I guess the joke’s on me though, because now I’m walking side by side with his father, on the way to break the news to him that we are going to be stuck together for the season.
“I know my son can be difficult, Lamont, but he will come around, you’ll see,” Mr. Miles tells me, attempting to fill the awkward silence between us as we reach the hallway that houses the changing rooms at the training center, and all I can do is nod and smile in response.
I can’t exactly tell him I know exactly how difficult his son can be, or how much I liked it.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve had hot sex before, plenty of it if I am being honest, but no one has ever treated me the way Wilder did.
He was as cocky in his ability to please me, as he is on the racing scene, and wasn’t afraid to manhandle me.
Usually I hate that kind of superiority complex, but for some reason it suits Wilder Miles to a tee.
And don’t get me started on his mouth and the filthy things he said to me.
Fuck. I don’t know what was worse? The degrading things he said, or how hard they made me come.
Eloise found that tidbit particularly wicked when I told her it’s what pushed me over the edge, and she begged me to let him fuck me again.
She even went as far as bringing up his Instagram and shoving his abs in my face, as if I hadn’t already done my own sleuthing and committed them to memory.
She made me recount him shoving his fingers in my mouth and calling me his fucktoy three times, before I told her to piss off and then I made her vow to never discuss him again.
That was before his father called me and offered me a job of course, and now here I am, about to come face to face with the man who bent me over a balcony, in what I’m sure he thought was a one night stand he’d never see again.
A thought that has me inhaling deeply, as his father knocks on his door and pushes inside before Wilder can even protest.
“Hey, son, can we come in?” Mr. Miles says, stepping into the doorframe and thankfully blocking me completely, giving me another second to collect myself.
“We?” Wilder gruffs in response, in that same dominant tone from the other night. One that sends a sudden shiver down my spine that I rush to shake off, as his father steps aside and reveals me.
“Yeah, you remember Prescott Lamont, right?” His father gestures to me, but Wilder’s intense gaze is already locked on mine and completely seething.
I can practically see the thoughts rolling around in his brain, as he cocks his head to the side, letting his stare trail over me in the exact same manner as he did the other night.
I try not to fidget under his watchful gaze, but it’s just as predatory as it was at the party, except it feels entirely different now.
“You know I can’t say I do,” he grunts in dismissal, as if he’s forgotten me completely, and my own glare hardens.
“Sure you do, he was here last week for an interview,” Mr. Miles explains, clearing his throat and offering me an apologetic look. “I’ve hired him to take care of some of your media for the season.”
At that, Wilder snaps his gaze back to his father in question. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Again, Mr. Miles offers me a sheepish look, before he takes a step closer to his son.
“Come on, Wild, I know how much you hate the fucking press,” he sighs, clearly having had this argument with him multiple times before.
“So, this is me trying to limit their access to you, or more like your access to them.” He adds the second part of his statement a little quieter, and judging by how Wilder normally handles the press, I can’t say I blame him.
Still, Mr. Miles sighs, as he gestures to me again.
“I’ve struck a deal with Mr. Lamont here, and he will handle all your media going forward.
You’ll still have to do post-race press, but everything else to do with improving your image, Prescott will cover. ”
I’ve been hired to cover all Wilder’s races, shoot some behind the scenes stuff for fans for his social media accounts, and make him more appealing to sponsors.
Something that should be easy for an attractive and talented up-and-coming PRI star who has a legacy last name.
That’s a job that sounds easy to anyone, but those people don’t know Wilder Miles and his reputation.
Wilder cuts me another scathing look, but before either of us can say anything, his father’s phone rings.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this, but I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” he says looking between us, before focusing on his son.
“Play nice, Wild, I haven’t got the time for your shit this week,” he warns, before turning on his heel and storming from the room.
An awkward tension settles between us at his father’s absence, one Wilder seems to be more than comfortable keeping us in, as he stares at me with half a smirk.
I on the other hand can’t bear it, and step forward clearing my throat.
“I just have a few questions for you,” I start, but he cuts me off instantly.
“I think I’ll be the one to ask the questions here, press boy,” he snaps, moving to close the door behind me, leaning on it so I can’t escape.
A sense of panic settles in the pit of my stomach at what he could possibly want to ask me, although his first question doesn’t surprise me. “Why did you lie about your name?”
I exhale quietly, relaxing a little, as I reply, “I didn’t, my name is Prescott Reed Lamont IV, my friends call me Reed.” I can almost hear his silent snort at the announcement of my full name, one I am more than used to experiencing over the years, and I refrain from rolling my eyes.
“I’m not one of your friends,” he replies casually, once again surveying me from head to toe, before he adds, “Are you in the closet, Prescott Lamont?” He ensures to enunciate my name, and this time his question not only surprises me, but pisses me off too.
“Yes,” I grit through my teeth, not sure why the answer is relevant, or any of his business for that matter.
“Why?” He asks the one word question, as if he can’t possibly imagine why anyone would hide their sexuality, and it only annoys me more.
Who you fuck or love shouldn’t be anyone’s business, but the world we live in is completely fucked. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but my father is a different story entirely.
“Because many scandals can be paid off and hidden in the Lamont family, but being queer isn’t one of them,” I sigh, reciting the same words I was told when I was still a child.
I don’t bother hiding how much I detest that fact, and Wilder scoffs in disgust, holding my stare before he once again lets his eyes trail over me.
“And what about the rest of it?” He nods his head toward me and I frown in confusion, shaking my head.
“The rest of what?” I question, not sure what he is referring to.
“This,” he gestures to my body, frowning as he looks at me. “The clothes, the hair, the makeup, and then this.” Embarrassment burns through me as his meaning dawns on me, and I shift uncomfortably, straightening my stupid tailored jacket.
“This is how I’m expected to dress when I’m representing the Lamont name in public,” I tell him truthfully, not seeing the point in lying when he is already aware of how I enjoy dressing.
“The other stuff is only in trusted circles.” I hate myself for having to admit that out loud, but I hate him even more for making me.
I dyed my hair back to its normal blond color last night, and also removed the nail polish in preparation for today.
It kills something inside of me every time I have to hide who I am with who I am expected to be, but that’s just the hand I was dealt.
A lot of people have it worse than I do, so who am I to complain?
“I see,” he bites out, looking as annoyed about what I just said as I am, but I’m too pissed off to care.
“Look, Wilder, I want this job, I want to make a name for myself away from being Prescott Lamont, so can we just put whatever this was behind us and start over,” I plead, hating how vulnerable I sound, but he’s already seen me stripped bare, so what’s another layer?
Wilder watches me carefully, assessing every single one of my words, before he nods. “Okay.” He pushes off the door and opens it back up, effectively ending the serious tone of our conversation and acting like the last five minutes didn’t happen.
I straighten my shoulders back up and take a deep breath. “Okay then, so I have some questions,” I start again, pulling out my phone to bring them up and offering him a weak smile.
“And you can ask them,” he replies with ease, before shoving me roughly through the open door. “On the press court later on with all the other vultures,” he adds with a cocky smile.
Then he slams the door in my face. Again.
Shaking my head with a smile, I don’t bother trying to push my way back in.
I know people like Wilder, people with nothing but ego backed up by raw talent.
He has enough people feeding that for him and I won’t be one of them, regardless of what we did the other night.
Instead I make my way back to the main viewing area, looking for somewhere to set up.
Wilder might want to act like I don’t exist, but his father is the one who hired me, and I have a job to do.
Luckily, I spot both Knox and Beckett lurking by the catering corner, so I head in their direction to speak to them instead.
“Lamont? What the fuck are you doing here?” Knox calls out when he spots me, greeting me with a fist bump, as Beckett turns toward me and does the same.
We didn’t exactly run in the same circles in high school, but they were always friendly enough, and we have seen one another plenty of times over the years.
I’ve always liked both of them and they’ve always been decent enough with me in return.
I meet both their fists with my own, as awkward as that might be, and smile politely.
“Cooper Miles hired me to do some PR for his son,” I reply, and menacing grins cross both of their mouths.
“You mean he hired you to try and fix Wilder’s shitty fucking image,” Beckett responds with a laugh, and I can’t help but nod.
“Yeah, I’m starting to see why it’s needed in the first place,” I muse, only making both of them smile wider.
After what I’ve seen so far, I’m not surprised he needs his image fixed, the guy is an insufferable asshole.
A fact that is only reinstated when Wilder appears across the room, noticing us all talking, and instead of heading our way and greeting his friends, he scowls and tosses his middle finger in the air.
My frown deepens, wondering how the hell I am ever going to fix his image when the guy won’t even agree to a normal conversation with me.
The most I’ve heard him talk was when his dick was buried inside me and despite how good it was, it doesn’t count.
“Don’t worry, he’s an asshole but you get used to him,” Knox states, and that makes Beckett snort.
“More like you learn to put up with him,” Beckett corrects, and I’m half inclined to agree with him, but honestly I’m only here to do a job, so getting used to Wilder Miles and his shitty attitude isn’t on my radar.
“Do you guys know a good place I can set up to get a few good shots of the race?” I ask, looking between them, but Beckett is the one to answer.
“Yeah man, come on, I’ll show you a decent spot away from everyone else.” I don’t know much about Beckett, but I know like me, he hates being around big groups, and prefers his close circle of friends. Which somehow includes a moody asshole like Wilder.
Beckett leads me to a balcony overlooking everything, with a perfect view of the whole track and the pit.
I spot Wilder almost instantly, as I set up my camera and pull out my phone and other camera.
I take pictures and videos of him talking to his team, checking over his car, and getting ready for the race.
Thankfully I take a lot of pictures beforehand, because the second they line up and start the race I am mesmerized, barely remembering to take any notes.
The cars, the speed, the agility in which they move, all of them pulling me in deep until I stop taking pictures completely.
I have never seen anything like it, and the thought of being around this for a full professional season, even with Wilder being an asshole, sounds completely amazing.
Plus, I can make him look good while still knowing he’s an asshole.
I’m an expert at making things not what they seem, and I plan on making Wilder look like a damn racing god.