Page 27 of Kiss & Collide (Racing Hearts #2)

E veryone wanted to talk to Chase after the race in Singapore.

Even with a security guard ushering him along, it took over twenty minutes to reach the after-party at Cé La Vi, the bar and nightclub at the top of the SkyPark.

He’d finished twelfth, which was great for Pinnacle, but nothing special overall. Didn’t seem to matter.

Violet wasn’t kidding about the impact of that Vanity Fair shoot.

In the three days that it had been out, he’d blown up online.

He didn’t pay much attention, but Violet had been monitoring it all closely, shoving her phone in his face whenever there was something particularly good she wanted him to see.

Just as he stepped out of the elevator, finally at the top of the SkyPark, his phone dinged with a text from Jeff Corbett, his sponsorship consultant.

Check your email.

He swiped over to it and clicked on Jeff’s email.

It was an official sponsorship proposal from Jet Energy drinks.

There was an attached PDF with the details, but Jeff had bullet-pointed the deal in the email, ending with the monetary offer at the bottom.

His stomach swooshed and he felt lightheaded, reading the numbers once, and then again.

The money was … life-changing. Career-making.

Regardless of what happened with Pinnacle this season, that kind of sponsorship money attached to his name would mean some Formula One team would want him in their car next season, without a doubt.

He had to call his dad. Call Tyler and Sam.

Call his agent. But first, he had to find Violet.

She had made this happen; she deserved to be the first person to know.

He’d made it all of ten steps closer to the club, close enough to hear the thumping base, to see the flashing purple lights and the sway of bodies, when his phone buzzed again.

It was Madison. They’d been texting a lot in the few days since the VF thing had dropped.

It was huge for her, too, and people online were apparently going ballistic about the two of them as a couple.

It pained him, but it turned out Violet was right about that, too.

All those zeroes at the end of Jet’s offer were proof of that.

Assuming you’ve heard we’re scheduled for a date in London next week?

Violet had just put it in his calendar. There was a two-week gap after Singapore, and Madison had a reading with a director in London. So Cam and Violet had scheduled another date.

Just heard , he replied.

Any preferences on what you want to do?

Did he and Madison have any say? He’d assumed Violet and Cam had already sorted it all out for maximum exposure.

Anything’s good with me.

Great , she replied. Then I’m taking you to my favorite place in London. I think you’ll love it.

So Madison was planning this one? That felt …

personal. All of this felt more like a date than a business meeting, which is how he’d been thinking about it to get through.

Except maybe it wasn’t anymore? Or it didn’t have to be, if he didn’t want it to be?

He remembered Madison’s casual invite in Vegas, offering to move their date someplace more private.

Apparently, that was still on the table.

He fired off one more text to her.

Sounds great.

About as noncommittal as it got.

Inside the nightclub, the room was glass-walled, with low, curved couches on the edges for table service.

Groups of people—mostly drivers with their entourages—occupied most of those.

The bar opened out onto a wide terrace on three sides, the “prow” and sides of the “ship” that made up the top of the SkyPark, which spanned the tops of three hotel towers.

More people were out there, enjoying the stunning three-sixty views of the Singapore skyline at night.

A DJ had been set up in one corner of the terrace, surrounded by a dance floor.

“Chase!”

He turned at the sound of his name. René Denis, one of the most famous former Formula One world champions, was sitting at one of the banquets, with a small group of people. René lifted his champagne glass to him. “Come have a drink with us?”

Six months ago René didn’t even know Chase’s name. Now, he wanted to hang with him.

Surreal.

He shook his head. “Maybe later. I’m looking for someone.”

He made his way slowly through the crowd, people stopping him every couple of feet.

He finally caught a glimpse of the jet-black swish of Violet’s long hair in the cluster of people dancing.

She was with Mira Wentworth. He’d met her once briefly last season in Melbourne.

She’d been with Violet, he remembered now with some amusement.

It was wild, how much had changed for him since then.

At the edge of the dance floor, he found a spot by the glass half wall ringing the terrace.

Violet was in the middle of the crush of people out there, arms over her head, eyes closed, blood-red lips curved in a smile as she danced to the thumping techno beat.

Her dress was the same blood-red as her lips.

He watched her, smiling to himself. She’d probably groused about dancing, but she looked to be enjoying herself nonetheless.

As much as she tried to hide behind that steel-plated armor of hers, he knew her better than she could guess.

And he liked her.

She kept insisting it was just sex, but that was bullshit. He knew it even if she didn’t. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, to herself or to anyone else.

In his pocket his phone pinged with yet another text. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Madison again.

Really looking forward to seeing you in London. Have a great night.

As much as he liked Madison, he felt no anticipation about seeing her in London. You can’t help who you’re drawn to, who you like, who you want.

And he wanted someone else—he wanted Violet.

He pocketed his phone, leaving Madison on read.

Now he just had to convince Violet to want him back. And not just in bed. That part was easy. Having her for more? Having an actual relationship with her? That was a lot harder. And she was going to fight him like hell.

Why did he always do this to himself, choose the most difficult path out of every option available?

But it was definitely a pattern with him.

As a racing-obsessed teenager back home in Chicago, he could have set his sights on NASCAR and probably had a successful career in half the time with one-tenth of the struggle.

But Formula One had always been his dream, so Formula One was the goal he had set for himself.

He could date Madison Mitchell, beautiful, fun, available, and a legit movie star . Instead he found himself fixated on this prickly, defensive porcupine of a woman, one who guarded her secrets and her heart like a dragon guarding his lair.

Good thing he was determined.

Out on the dance floor, Mira turned and said something in Violet’s ear. Violet nodded and they started weaving their way through the crowd.

“Hi,” he said to them as they approached. Violet was flushed from dancing, pink suffusing her pale skin, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her in the middle of this crowded room.

“Nice to see you again, Mira.”

“Same. Congrats. Nice race today.”

“Thanks.” Chase raised his hand to summon a passing waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. “Take one. We’re celebrating.”

“Thanks, but I have to go find my dad.” Mira waved her phone. “Duty calls. Violet, dinner in London?”

“Absolutely. I’ll text you.”

Mira disappeared into the crowd.

“What are we celebrating?” Violet asked.

“Well, aside from my fucking astounding twelfth-place finish, how about this?”

He passed her his phone and watched her face as she skimmed the email. When she got to the bottom, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. It was hard to shock Violet. He wished he had more ways to do it, because she was adorable.

She lifted her eyes to his. “Oh my god,” she murmured. Then, to his surprise, she launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck. “We did it!”

“ You did it,” he murmured against her shoulder, squeezing her closer.

In a matter of seconds, she remembered herself and pulled away. “That’s … it’s …”

“It’s going to change my entire career,” he said quietly.

“You’re going to be … Chase, this is huge . Not just for Pinnacle, for you .”

“I know.”

“You’re a star.”

“And you made me. Thank you, Violet.”

“I only saw the potential. You did the rest.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. None of this would have happened if not for you. Now what do you say we get out of here and celebrate it properly?”

“You really should work the room. Everybody wants a piece of you right now.”

“I don’t care about all of them.” He caught her gaze and held it.

He cast a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching them.

The crush of bodies on the dance floor provided good cover, so he reached out for her hand, snagging her fingers with his.

Slowly he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

Her thick black lashes fluttered down to brush her cheekbones.

“I only want to celebrate with you.”