Page 14

FOURTEEN

Ella

BLAKE’S in a mood from the second I see him in Austria for the next Grand Prix. Snappy and closed off, his hand permanently rakes through his hair in an agitated state. I try asking him if he’s okay, but he waves me off without a word. To make things worse, his practice sessions on Friday do not go well. It seems to be problem after problem with his car. The camber on his back tires isn’t right for the circuit conditions, there’s too much grain, something with his engine is off. His team makes changes to address the issues, but I don’t think anything can snap him out of this funk.

By the time Saturday rolls around, he’s in no better of a mood, yelling at everyone from the mechanics to Andreas. I keep enough distance between us so that I can oversee and overhear everything without being an inconvenience. Apparently, not enough distance because after he lands himself P9 at qualifying, which is the worst position he’s yet to start in, I become his personal punching bag.

He growls at me in front of the entire pit crew. “Christ, do you have to write everything down, Ella? Enough is enough. Move out of their way and let them do their job.”

I’m standing off to the side, taking notes on my iPad, not bothering anyone. His jaw clenches and his brows knit together in frustration.

“Sorry,” I mumble, wishing I could hide behind the stack of tires next to me.

“Can’t you find something more meaningful to do than follow my every fucking move?”

Color storms my cheeks in embarrassment. After a few more similar instances, I’m this close to losing my shit on him, but people always surround us. He might not care how he sounds, but being here is my job, and I have no intention of losing my professionalism because of his temper tantrums. I make myself scarce the rest of the weekend to avoid him. He has yet to say sorry for being a dick and I have a feeling I’m waiting on an apology I’m not going to get.

I spend Sunday with Andreas, the team principal. He’s the heart and soul of McAllister. Nothing happens that he doesn’t know about, so he’s a great source for the biography. I’ve spent some time with him before, but not a ton. Everything he says sounds like he’s mad even though he’s not. He’s indifferent about my presence as long as I don’t interrupt what he’s doing because there’s a lot going on.

After stopping by the pit garage for some conversation about tire compound for the circuit, it’s just the two of us. I’ve already hit 10k steps on my fitness watch and it’s just a few minutes before noon. He shoots me a small smile, a knowing glint in his gray eyes. “Wondering how I deal with Blake when he’s a pain in the arse?”

“Lots of patience … and alcohol?”

Andreas has muttered about five times already that he needs a drink. I can probably use one too considering Blake’s snarky attitude and menacing glares.

“This weekend’s been a walk in the park compared to last season.”

“I can only imagine.”

“He has a fire in his eyes that I haven’t seen in some time,” he says thoughtfully. “And I’d be remiss not to think it has something to do with you.”

“Oh, well, I—”

“I know you’re here to help with his book but don’t think I haven’t noticed your friendship.”

“He’s a good guy when he’s not being … well, when he’s not being a complete asshole. Pardon my language.”

“Just don’t give up on him,” Andreas tells me. “He’s a tough egg to crack, but he’s worth the scramble.”

Well, that’s a new expression.

I’m still mulling over Andreas’s comment as I make my way back to the paddock. I run directly into Blake. The force of it knocks me back a few steps and he grabs onto me before I fall. It’s like a scene out of a poorly directed, low-budget Lifetime rom-com.

“Shit. Sorry. Are you okay?”

S orry for running into me or sorry for being a dickhead?

“Yeah.” My voice is flatter than my chest was in sixth grade. “All good.”

Scratching the side of his face, he focuses on me for the first time all weekend. He has circles under his eyes and his face is paler than usual. I don’t know if I want to pull him in for a hug or smack him upside the head.

He gives me a rough semblance of a smile. “How’re you doing?”

His hand is still on my waist and I’m having trouble pushing air out of my lungs. I seriously think I may be asthmatic. Why does the smallest touch from him make me feel like my entire body’s on fire?

“I’ll be doing a lot better once you remove your hand and let me do my job.”

I take a step back, walking away before he can say anything else to me. It’s more than him being rude to me. I can handle that. But doing it in front of his team? When I’m just doing my job? Until he gives me an apology, I have nothing to say to him.

JOSIE and I are hanging out in my hotel room after the race when she tells me she has a “positively brilliant” idea. She’s absurdly British sometimes.

“Okay.” Josie claps her hands together, tugging at the necklace she’s wearing. “What if we recorded something just for the hell of it? Something fun.”

I still haven’t touched the podcasting set Blake got me. It’s not that I don’t want to; I just don’t know how to without it bringing up everything that happened at PlayMedia. I’ve been trying to move on from my past and this feels like kicking that door wide open and inviting in a lot of shit I’d rather forget.

Josie picks up the podcasting set from my suitcase with a hopeful smile. I know her efforts are well-intentioned because after a girls’ night with way too much cheap wine, I told her why I left my last job.

“Something fun,” I repeat back, staring at the equipment like it’s a ticking time bomb. “Like what?”

“Just something to get the ball rolling. Get you used to the whole idea of even recording stuff again. Not a podcast at all , just two girls chit-chatting and having a good time.”

I raise an eyebrow. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. It’s like dipping my toe into the podcasting kiddie pool.

“We can blind taste test wines and see if we know which kind they are,” she continues, getting more excited by her own idea. “Oh! Or we can get multiple pints of ice cream, all from different brands, and try to guess which is which!”

I’m thankful Josie loves ice cream, wine, and lounging in pajamas as much as I do. She can tell I’m considering the suggestion and before I can protest, she’s out the door and running to the nearest corner store. She’s back shortly after with six different white wines, three different brands of vanilla ice cream, and a lot of chips. Or crisps, as she calls them. Those are to cleanse our palates. Have I mentioned how much I love Josie?

It takes me almost twenty minutes to set up the podcasting set, but once I do, my hands start shaking and my heart pounds in my chest, the sound pulsing in my ears. I know it’s just a dumb fucking podcasting set, but it feels like it’s too much, too soon. What’s the point, anyway? Even if I can manage to podcast without panicking, I’ll never be able to reach the same success I did at PlayMedia. I don’t know if anyone else will even hire me. No one wants to work with someone who’s “high-maintenance, unprofessional, and rude,” which thanks to Connor, is what everyone thinks. It’s a lost cause.

“I can’t do it,” I tell Josie resignedly. “It’s—I just can’t. I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t right now.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” she says, waving me off. “The fact that you traveled with it from London shows that there’s a part of you that wants to give it a go. That day’s just not today. But it’ll happen. Your horoscope says so. It also says you should be open to new love in unexpected places. Cough, cough, Blake.”

I ignore the not-so-innocent smile she’s giving me. Josie fills me in on the press conference I chose to skip out on earlier as we disassemble the podcasting set. The asshole still managed to place third even with his shitty starting grid position. It was pretty impressive. Not that I care to tell him this. I guess he snapped at multiple reporters during the press conference, even telling one to “either ask a new question or bugger the fuck off.” At least it’s not just me taking the brunt of his anger.

“I thought Blake was going to flip the table over. It was like a reality TV show. I wish you had seen it.”

I spoon ice cream into two bowls for us. “Yeah, well, he’s making me angry.”

“Angry with desire?” she teases with an exaggerated wink.

“More like angry with a desire to punch him in the throat.”

Opening up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, I take a sip straight from the bottle. It’s one of those nights. We spend the next hour getting way too tipsy off cheap wine while devouring a substantial amount of ice cream and playing the game Fuck, Marry, Kill. Or as Josie calls it: Bang, Smash, Dash.

Josie can’t stop giggling and barely manages to get out her words. “Chandler, Joey, Ross.”

I lick my spoon clean as I think. “Marry Chandler, fuck Joey, and kill Ross. I feel like that’s the only right way to answer.”

Her blond head shakes in agreement. She’s going to either love or hate my next one. “Blake, Theo, Lucas.” I spoon a ginormous bite of vanilla ice cream into my mouth as Josie squeals. The brain freeze is worth it.

“The Formula 1 fuckboys? Pass.”

“Gun to your head.”

She starts singing La Roux’s “Bulletproof” and then sticks her tongue out at me, which is white from the ice cream. “You’d probably choose Blake for all three.”

I narrow my eyes at her. Admitting how I feel means I’m putting it out into the universe and despite what my horoscope says, I’m not sure I’m ready to do that quite yet. Do I like spending time with Blake? Yes. Even though his favorite facial expression is a scowl, when he does smile? I swear it could end a war. He’s clever and always willing to have a debate with me. It doesn’t matter whether it’s over hot dogs being considered sandwiches (Theo’s question), Ronaldo being named the greatest footballer over Messi, or which Taylor Swift album is the best—obviously 1989 (Taylor’s Version) .

Our conversations are easy, and we genuinely want to hear what the other one thinks. He’s surprisingly thoughtful, too, and even started keeping Double Stuf Oreos in his suite for when I need an emergency snack. And God knows we have enough chemistry to create another Breaking Bad spin-off. But he’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t do relationships, and there’s no way I can just casually sleep with him. There’s no point in wanting to order something that’s not even on the menu.

“It’s obvious you have a crush on him,” she continues, adjusting the clip that’s holding back her hair. “And he likes you too.”

“Blake likes women in general,” I remind her.

“When’s the last time you saw him bring someone back?” She has a point. Blake and I pretty much spend all our free time together. I can lie and say it’s all for the book, but he went to Paris with me after the French Grand Prix to do a tour of the Jewish Quarters. He listened to the tour guide intently, asking thoughtful questions, even though he’s neither religious nor Jewish. That’s not the kind of stuff you do for an interview. That’s the kind of stuff you do with someone you want to spend time with.

Speak of the devil.

BLAKE HOLLIS

If you’re around, can we talk?

I’ve listened to Blake talk for the past three days and nothing he’s said has been nice. I toss my phone onto the couch. Out of sight, out of mind. Turning back to Josie, I hit her with my next Fuck, Marry, Kill combination.

“Fred Flintstone, Elmer Fudd, and Tony the Tiger.” If real-life men suck, may as well go with the fictional ones.