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Blake

THEO LOVES ELLA EVER since he learned that she said girls try to climb him like they’re koalas and he’s a eucalyptus tree. He’s mentioned this about three times in the past week even though I heard it myself when I listened to her podcast. Her comment doesn’t surprise me since I’ve seen firsthand how girls fall over Theo’s Australian accent and larger-than-life personality.

He’d love to have someone write his biography considering he’s the most open person in the world. He gives more details than anyone would ever want or need. A reporter once asked what he eats before a race and he somehow managed to turn that into a debate over which mythical creature he could win a fight against. He landed on a unicorn, in case you were wondering. Needless to say, that reporter doesn’t ask him as many questions now.

He’s been hanging out in my suite before the race, badgering me with questions to try to get inside my head. Do you like Ella? Did she tell you about when she met Tom Brady? When she interviews you, does she write shit down or does she record you? Have you lied about anything to see if she’ll call you out on it? He peers at me, waiting for details, but I don’t offer anything.

“You need to relax.” He laughs at my scowl. “Ella’s a cool bird. You’ll like her if you stop being a moody asshole. Name one girl who knows what a bite point find is or can easily talk about the aerodynamics of downforce.”

“Ella’s a sportswriter. That’s her job.” I aggressively sip my water, drips splashing onto my chest. “And I’m sure lots of girls know that. Don’t be sexist.”

“Some may say Formula 1 is sexist,” he replies casually.

Excuse me? Formula 1 is sexist? I’m not saying he’s wrong, but this is the man who asked if the Chinese food we were ordering had any misogyny in it. He meant MSG and somehow confused the two. Lucas almost cracked a rib from laughing so hard.

“Did you know that out of almost one thousand Formula 1 drivers who have raced in a Grand Prix, only two of those have been women?” he continues. “How wild is that?”

Shock weaves its way through my body. I’m debating calling a doctor because a concussion is the only reasonable explanation for Theo’s sudden interest in this topic.

He looks at me before adding, “And out of all female journalists, only twenty-one percent write about sports.”

Theo’s talking as if this is the most normal conversation we’ve ever had. As if five minutes ago, he hadn’t asked me if he could pop a woman’s breast implant by grabbing it too hard. So, excuse my confusion.

“I’m glad she’s teaching you how to be a productive member of society, Theo.”

“I promise she’ll surprise you if you give her a chance.”

“Why are you so obsessed with her?” I snap in annoyance. I’m starting to not like how buddy-buddy the two of them have gotten after a few fucking race weekends. He even got coffee with her and Josie in London over the weekend. I know I haven’t exactly made it easy on her, but she’s supposed to be spending time with me , not Theo.

“I like her, Lucas likes her, Josie likes her, Sam likes her,” Theo answers. “You’re the only one who seems to have an issue with her, mate. She poked some fun at you on a podcast—who cares? You’re a big boy.”

“If I agree to spend an hour or two with her, will you stop talking about it?”

I don’t mention Ella’s little wager. She wins either way because it’ll force us to spend time together, but if she’s going to spend the season asking me things, I won’t say no to a chance to return the favor. No one likes being asked questions that can trigger painful memories or scratch at secrets that are best kept locked away.

“Yes, but I’m going to fact-check you and ask Ella so you can’t lie your way out.”

He sounds like Keith and Marion. Both have been texting me nonstop, asking how things are going. Spending time with Ella will probably be more pleasant than having to tell my team that I’ve been making her job near impossible.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Now drop it.”

He answers me with a thumbs-up. I slip my earbuds back into my ears to indicate I’m done with the conversation. He takes the hint and heads back to his own suite, most likely to play video games.

Curiosity finally beats out bitterness and I’ve been listening to Coffee with Champions . I started from episode one last week and am already on episode twenty-one. It’s a damn good podcast. Even I can admit that. It’s equally educational and entertaining. Ella interviews everyone from the coach of the Giants, to an ESPN correspondent, to the agent of three very prominent football players. The podcast series abruptly ends with no reason as to why. Ella’s a great writer, but she fucking shines as a host. So, my question is … what the fuck happened?

SWEET, sweet victory. There’s nothing better than a champagne spray from P1. I check my phone during the press conference after the Australian Grand Prix, catching up on texts and emails, when a new message pops up. I didn’t give Ella my number, but clearly someone did.

FROM: ELLA GOLD

Congrats on the win! I should be the one asking you the questions, but a deal’s a deal. Breakfast at 10 a.m. tomorrow?

I spy her sitting in the second row, writing something on her iPad with her stylus. She’s wearing an oversized McAllister shirt and ripped jeans with “gym shoes.” I quickly text her back.

BLAKE HOLLIS

That works. Just so you know, it’s not very professional to be coloring on your iPad during a press conference.

ELLA GOLD

I’m actually doing a puzzle, but coloring isn’t a bad idea. Want me to draw you a picture? I’m great at stick figures.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth before I can stop it. Ella was everywhere this weekend. Talking to the engineers about the DRS. Asking the pit crew questions about the tires we were using for the race. Hanging out with the staff in the motorhome. There’s no avoiding her and her fucking infectious laugh.

Lucas nudges me in the arm, telling me I was just asked a question. Oh fuck . I wasn’t listening to a single word.

“I didn’t quite catch that.” I apologize with a head nod. “Could you repeat that, please?”

I’M surprised to find Ella already at breakfast when I arrive. Thanks to Theo’s never-ending Instagram story, I know she went to a bar to celebrate with the team. Going out with Theo takes about a year off anyone’s life, so I’m surprised she’s alive and well. I’d been banking on a hungover and unpleasant Ella.

She greets me with a small wave. “Morning!”

Her hair is tied back into a messy ponytail and the glasses she has on can only be described as grandmum inspired. She’s in biker shorts and a Queen shirt. I wonder if she researched what kind of music I like and wore that shirt to win brownie points being that I’m a huge Freddie Mercury fan.

I slide into the seat across from her and a waiter fills the empty cup in front of me with fresh coffee. It’s a good thing I like my coffee black because Ella is pouring the entire carafe of milk into her own cup. No wonder why it tasted so horrible when I drank it a few weeks ago.

“Saw you went out with Theo last night. I definitely thought you’d be late.”

“Nope. I’m a professional and I’m always on time.” Her mouth twists into a knowing smile. “Plus, this is the first time you’ve willingly been in a room with me, so I wouldn’t dream of being tardy.”

I ignore the comment and take a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket. Before going to bed last night, I took some time putting together a list of questions for Ella. Some easy, some uncomfortable, some to push her buttons.

She whistles in appreciation. “I’m thoroughly impressed, Blake.”

I ignore the compliment and get right down to business. “First question. Why’d you take a job working for me?”

An arched eyebrow flicks up in amusement. “Technically, I work for George. My job just happens to be you.”

Touché, Ella. Touché.

“Why’d you leave your job to spend the season with a guy you barely know?”

“For you to be influential enough for people to want to read about your life? That’s impressive, not to mention brave. I’m excited to be a part of that. And I left my job before deciding to take this job. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Why’d you leave, though?” I press.

I tried searching online to see if something scandalous happened and didn’t find much. PlayMedia announced the end of the podcast on their social media pages but gave no reason as to why. Some fans speculated on Twitter, although it’s clear their guess is as good as mine.

“Does it matter?” She tries coming off casual, but her tone is snappy.

“Why should I be honest with you if you’re not honest with me?”

It comes out harsh, but I don’t apologize. If I’m expected to share my life story with her, she can cough up one detail about hers.

“It doesn’t matter why I left, Blake. I just did.”

Ella leans back in her chair, observing me with a cautious gaze. Part of me wants to dig deeper, but a sliver of guilt works its way through my body. I’ve suffered from anxiety since I was a kid and recognize how her shoulders tense and her brows dip. Add in the way she’s clutching her necklace like it’s a lifeline and she’s easier to read than a stop sign. Shit . I didn’t mean to push a button hard enough for her to shut down and go on the defensive. I just wanted to give her a little taste of her own medicine. But a frown looks wrong on her somehow and I hate that I was the one who put it there.

I take a sip of the scalding hot coffee, burning the roof of my mouth in the process. Karma for being a dick, I suppose. “Well, what have you been doing between that job and this?”

“Watching Law & Order: SVU reruns and selling photos of my feet on the Internet,” she says with no inflection in her voice. Her shoulders seem to lose some of their tension at the topic change. “This pays better, although you’re starting to make me second-guess if it’s worth it.”

I snort in response. Looking through my list of questions, my eyes laser focus on one that’s sure to bring out that fiery attitude of hers. “Are you single?”

I stalked her Instagram and she seems close to this guy named Jack, but there were no obvious signs of them being in a relationship.

“Is that seriously on your list of questions?” The disbelief in her voice has a hint of annoyance.

“Yep. My interview, my questions.”

She mumbles something under her breath before saying, “Yes.”

“Cool. Then how do you feel about a friends-with-benefits situation? It’ll make this whole interview process a hell of a lot more enjoyable for us both, that’s for sure. Figure it’s a good way to get out any tension we have.”

The friends part of friends-with-benefits is a stretch at this point, but my other option was bum chums , Theo’s favorite way to describe casual sex. I lean back in my chair and link my hands behind my head while I wait for her answer.

Then, as if some internal switch has been activated, she bursts out laughing. All-consuming, belly-holding laughter. “Are … you … I … oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, Hollis.”

She’s the one who’s got to be messing with me. I’ve been breaking hearts and backs since I grew facial hair, and I’ve never seen someone look so simultaneously offended and perversely entertained by the idea of sleeping with me.

It takes her a few more seconds to stop laughing, but when she does, she stares at me as if I suggested we stick our hands in a garbage disposal for some type of twisted bonding activity. “Regardless of if you are or aren’t,” she adds with downturned lips, “I’m going to have to politely pass.”

I scan her face to try to get a better read of what’s going through that pretty little head of hers. “Why? Casual sex between two consenting adults isn’t a big deal.”

Sex is the only thing where coming first is the worst and second is the best for me. I make sure every woman I sleep with leaves more than satisfied.

Ella shakes her head back and forth as if she’s in a stunned state of disbelief. “Uh, we work together. I’m not putting my job in jeopardy just so you can get your rocks off. You need to respect me as a person and as a professional, Blake. And even if we didn’t work together, I’m not the hump-and-dump kind of girl. I don’t do casual sex. Based on the number of women you’ve brought back since I first got here, I don’t think those are things you’re interested in. Plus, aren’t you a little old to be sticking your thingy into holes like it’s playing Whac-A-Mole?”

Thankfully, I’m wearing black, so the coffee I spit out doesn’t stain my shirt. “My thingy? Are you serious?”

She takes a long sip of her coffee-flavored milk. “Were you serious when you point-blank asked me if I wanted to fool around with you and had some unrealistic expectation I’d say yes? Because if so, then yes, I am absolutely serious.”

“I don’t do relationships,” I say without further explanation. “I’m more than happy playing Whac-A-Whatever with my thingy.”

God, I cannot believe I just called my dick a thingy.

“Well, enjoy your games. I won’t be participating. But just a word of advice”—she shoots me a wicked smile—“you may want to brush up on your Whac-a-Mole skills because the redhead from the other night was definitely faking it.”

I’m honestly not sure how much more my ego can handle. My brain short-circuits and I can’t get a single word out.

“Our hotel rooms are next to each other,” Ella reminds me. “Her name is Natasha, by the way. She’s really hoping you call her. We took the elevator down together the next morning.”

The waiter appears and asks for our orders. Ella takes her sweet time asking about their different kinds of pancakes and what veggies they have for their omelets. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s some sort of restaurant critic.

I’m still speechless when Ella says, “Now what’s your next question?”

Who is this girl and why does she throw me off my game?

“Uh, yeah, okay.” I cough awkwardly, trying to recover. “Why do you think I’m a bad driver?”

“I don’t think you’re a bad driver. I think you’re an extremely talented driver.” She gives me a funny look. “Not sure if you listened to the episode or not, but I spent about ten minutes talking about how flawlessly you adapt to whatever conditions you’re thrown in, no matter who your competition is.”

“You questioned if it was me or the McAllister car winning.”

“I questioned it. I didn’t say that’s what I thought. But I’m sorry.” A faint flush tinges her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh, and I apologize. So, can we call a truce?”

She moves her hand in front of me and sticks up her pinky. Is she seriously about to make me give her a pinky promise? I look at her, trying to gauge if she actually expects me to do it. Bollocks . As much as it kills a tiny piece of my soul to admit this, maybe Theo was right and I just need to give her a shot. The issue is that the closer Ella gets, the more harm she’s able to do, and the easier it is for her to see how damaged I already am.

Sighing deeply, I wrap my pinky around hers, cementing the promise. The look she gives me in response sends a bolt of lightning straight to my dick. Traitor.

She answers the rest of my questions thoughtfully. Based on her résumé, writing, and George’s glowing review, I know Ella’s smart. But hearing her talk confirms it. We’re sort of like Millie’s favorite movie: Beauty and The Beast . A gorgeous, independent woman forced to spend time with a selfish, arrogant prick. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—for Ella, I’m not equipped for the emotional roller-coaster of falling in love. And sadly for me, she’s not interested in the ecstasy of falling in lust.