Page 26 of Kiss & Collide (Racing Hearts #2)

Singapore

S ingapore was always a hot one, Violet thought, fanning herself with a race program outside the tent where they were setting up the drivers’ pre-race press conference. Storm clouds threatened off to the south, and the air felt absolutely drenched already.

The first panel of drivers was supposed to start in ten minutes and Chase still wasn’t here. No surprise there. He made lateness into an art. He was lucky he was so charming when he finally showed up that everybody forgot he’d ever been late.

She fired off a quick text.

Starting soon. Hope you’re almost here?

His typical one-letter reply came a moment later.

k

Rolling her eyes, she checked her email while she waited. There was a new one from her contact at Vanity Fair . The subject line was “Just went live.”

She clicked on the link inside and let out a gasp.

The photos were gorgeous … lavish, colorful, romantic.

A two-page spread kicked it off, with the title in scrolling white letters, “Young Americans in Paris,” contrasted against the green of the trees in the Square du Vert-Galant.

They were all in that panoramic shot, beautifully dressed and groomed, Zuri Clark in that stunning navy dress, Dev in his tux, Madison in her pink cloud of a gown, Anson Fitzpatrick in a sharp charcoal suit …

and there was Chase in the middle of all of it, his undone tux, sex hair, and stubble, like some Spanish god.

It was better than she could have hoped.

Clicking through, she found the shot of him and Madison, Chase cradling her as they leaned back on the tree, her fingertips on his jaw, his arms around her waist. So beautiful. Both of them.

She was firing off an effusive thank-you to her VF contact when the sleek red sports car some local race sponsor had provided for Chase pulled up beside the tent.

As he unfolded himself from the small front seat, he absently ran a hand through his riotous hair.

For all his complaining at the shoot, he’d kept the stubble and sex hair since then.

It suited him. And thanks to her ruthless nagging, he made sure he was always well turned out in his new clothes.

Not a grotty T-shirt in sight these days.

Today he was in an Italian polo shirt, designer track pants, and trainers—casual, but clearly expensive.

“You owe me,” she said as he approached.

He looked at her apprehensively. “What for now?”

She passed over her phone, watching his face as he flicked through the article. “Looks nice,” he said, handing her phone back.

“Nice? Nice! This is like … gold-standard publicity. I can’t believe I managed to pull this off for you. Look! Just look at yourself! You’re going to be trending online within the hour.”

Chase chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve never seen you like this, Violet. Are you feeling genuine enthusiasm about something?”

She tapped his chest until he looked up and met her eyes. “Marketing execs in offices around the world are seeing this right now and trying to figure out how to tie their company’s name to you. This means sponsorships, Chase. This means money .”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I’m grateful,” he said quietly. “I truly am.”

Suddenly her chest felt weirdly tight, even though what he said pleased her.

“Good,” she said, then cleared her throat. “You’d better get in there. They’re waiting for you.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked dutifully. She had to give it to him, he followed directions and respected her expertise. Which was also a welcome change.

She absently reached up to fix his hair, to make it a little more grabbable.

“It doesn’t much matter what I tell you to say, because they’re all going to ask you about this.

” She waved her phone at him. “But yeah, do try to steer it back around to the racing. You’ve had better results since Rabia started upgrading the car.

Mention her by name. We want everybody to know that Pinnacle’s improvements are thanks to her. ”

“As you wish.” He saluted her, that joking little gesture of his that she was secretly becoming very fond of.

Then he reached out and touched her bottom lip with his fingertip. It was a whisper of a touch, just his finger against her lip. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, he turned around and ducked into the tent.

She raised a hand to her mouth, still feeling the brush of his finger there. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to dispel any lingering tingles and followed him into the tent.

Inside, a PA was waiting to whisk him away and get him up on the dais next to Dieter, Olivier Lavoie, and, unfortunately, Liam O’Neill. Chase and Liam shot each other one brief, stone-faced glance and then went back to studiously ignoring each other. Honestly … men .

Violet stood at the back of the room, taking note of the increased rustling and murmuring as Chase entered the room.

The moderator, some guy from Auto Racing , asked the usual softball intro question about what challenges they foresaw in Singapore, and each driver dutifully answered, citing the street track, the heat, the stuff they always said about Singapore.

But Violet was really waiting to see the reaction when the Auto Racing guy turned it over to the press pool.

Who would they direct most of their questions to?

The first reporter stood up. “Terry Carmichael, from World News. This is for Chase Navarro. Chase, you’ve moved up in the rankings from nineteenth to sixteenth overall, and Pinnacle has moved up as well, to ninth place in the Constructor’s Championship.

Can you talk a little bit about what’s behind your improvement? ”

From the instant the reporter mentioned Chase’s name, Liam’s expression got even stonier. As Chase sat forward and smiled, Liam crossed his arms tightly over his chest and slumped back in his chair.

“While I’d like to chalk it all up to my stellar driving, I have to give credit where credit is due.

Rabia Dar is working miracles with the car.

Every week we see improvement. She and Leon Franklin are constantly finding new ways to optimize the package.

They make a great team, and it’s an exciting time to be with Pinnacle. ”

Violet gave a tight nod of approval. Perfect. He really was quite good at this, for all his fussing and resisting.

Chase leaned into the mic. “Also, I am a hell of a driver. Make sure you write that part down.” He cracked a smile and laughter rippled through the room.

And that was why he was magic. They fucking loved him. You could feel it in the air. The entire room of reporters practically let out a swoony sigh.

And she could see why. When you were with him, he made you feel like you were the most important person in the room, like he was hanging on every word you said. Or maybe that was just the way he made her feel.

She’d been so sure he’d end up with Madison in Vegas, but he hadn’t.

He’d come straight to her hotel room after their dinner.

And she’d seen the look in his eyes, the expression on his face.

She’d felt it in that fingertip on her lip just now.

It wasn’t about sex or pleasure in those moments.

Those touches felt … tender. Those looks …

they weren’t about her body, they were about her .

At some point, they’d crossed a line. Now it was complicated, and only getting more so.

But every time she thought about ending it, she got that weird hollow feeling in her stomach again.

She’d never been one to shy away from difficult decisions, but she was shying away from this one.

She kept putting it off. One more week, one more race.

After Monza, after the Netherlands, after Azerbaijan, after Singapore …

she just couldn’t seem to pull the trigger on it, which was unlike her.

The next two questions from the pool of reporters were also directed at Chase—sending Liam into a full-on sulk. Chase was the man of the moment, and even Liam knew it.

Violet was reveling in her moment of success when her phone buzzed with an email.

It had been blowing up with congratulatory texts from work contacts as the Vanity Fair piece got traction.

It was an email from Sylvie at GQ , letting her know that they were moving Chase’s profile up to the next issue, to seize on the excitement. Yes.

She was just typing her reply when her phone started buzzing with a phone call—an unknown number.

Considering VF had just dropped, it could be anybody. She ducked out to answer.

She swiped to answer the call. “Violet Harper here.”

“You sound like a bloody corporate knob.”

Her heart dropped at the sound of a voice she hadn’t heard in years.

“Astrid,” she said dryly. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the honor?”

Astrid sighed wearily. That was Astrid, perpetually bored with the world and everyone in it. “Ian tells me you’re actually working for a race team?”

“A Formula One team,” Violet corrected with asperity. “I’m the head of PR.”

“Huh.”

Violet felt herself bristling. “What?”

Astrid sniffed, and Violet could picture her perfectly in her mind, her long tangled blond hair, the pale blue eyes so like her brother’s, the weary, put-upon expression perennially on her face. “Sports … it’s just so … sporty.”

“It’s a business . A multibillion-pound-a-year industry. And it’s pretty bloody significant, me heading up PR for an entire team.”

“I suppose,” Astrid said dismissively. “Ian said you’re dating some knobhead driver?”

Violet scoffed. “Knobhead. Ian wouldn’t last a full minute on the track beside Chase. Do you have any idea how difficult driving in F1 is?”

“So it’s true, then? You’ve got a boyfriend?”

Violet realized a beat too late she’d protested all the wrong things. “What? No, he’s not … we’re not …”

“Because Ian wants you back.”

Violet rolled her eyes, even though Astrid couldn’t see her. “Yeah, so he said. And I’ll tell you what I told him. I don’t look back.”

“That girl was nothing. It barely lasted a month.”

If she heard one more time that the event that had broken her heart was “nothing,” she was going to bloody scream. If that girl was nothing, but worth breaking her heart for, then what did that make her?

“Why do you even care, Astrid? You don’t like me.”

“I never said—”

“Astrid.”

Astrid sighed again. “Fine. You’re not my favorite. But I’m not so thick that I’d deny you were important. When you were here, with the band, you … made us better.”

“I don’t—”

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Astrid spit out, as if it pained her to admit it, which, undoubtedly, it did. “The touring, the album … none of that would have happened except for you.”

Violet inhaled, very slightly mollified. It was nice to hear someone admit it, even if it was three years too late.

“Do you want me to say thank you?” she asked sarcastically.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astrid replied, unable to keep up the uncharacteristic groveling for that long. “Just …”

“What?”

“Think about it. I know my brother can be an idiot, but he really does miss you.”

It was an appealing, if unlikely, thought—Ian pining away for her. She couldn’t deny that it soothed her ego, so damaged where he was concerned. “Look, I know he’s your brother, but there’s no way I’m taking his cheating ass back—”

“Then come back for us!” Astrid snapped. “Come back for the band. Without you, Ian’s taste in music is shit. You know that. All he listens to these days is bloody Imagine Dragons ! You were important, Violet. In lots of ways. We all know it.”

All of a sudden she felt breathless, and slightly panicky. This call … it was too much.

“Astrid, I have to go.”

“Talk to you soon?”

“We’ll see.”