Page 8 of Kiss & Collide (Racing Hearts #2)
“H onestly, I’m just excited to get behind the wheel and drive,” Chase said to the bank of reporters with a shrug.
“We can’t wait to see you do it,” one of them—Kathryn—replied.
“You guys all coming to Spielberg next week?”
They all nodded enthusiastically.
“Great.” He smiled. “Guess I’ll see you then.”
Violet stepped forward and angled herself in front of him. “That’s all we have time for today. If any of you are interested in interviews after Spielberg, email me and we’ll see what we can do.”
Violet must be good at her job, because they all told her they wanted time with him in Austria. He’d never gotten this kind of press interest in F2.
“See you guys later.” He waved. “And hey, Jon, don’t forget what I told you about Ascari at Monza.”
The middle-aged reporter he’d been talking to nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll check that out when we get there. Thanks, Chase.”
As the reporters scattered and started packing up their equipment, Violet turned sharply to face him.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked.
There was a look in her eye he had never seen before … elation?
“You seem happy.”
She promptly scowled.
“Ah, there she is.”
She was wearing another one of those tight suits she liked, black this time, with a black satin bustier peeking out from under the jacket. Her hair was slicked back behind her ears, and her earrings were two ferocious-looking dangling silver spikes.
She let out an annoyed huff. “My office.”
He followed her down the hall and into her office. It was small, with just one window looking out over the parking lot. It was also entirely bare.
“Where’s your stuff?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What stuff?”
“You know … house plants, pictures of your family … stuff.”
“I guess I don’t do stuff.”
He made a slow circuit of the room, opening drawers and thumbing through the folders on her desk.
It had only been a couple of days since she’d started, but it was still so curiously empty it made him wonder what her home looked like.
Did she like color or would she go for all white?
Vintage or modern? Florals or skulls? Was it also this empty? Probably.
“Will you quit messing with my stuff?” she snapped.
“You just said you didn’t have any. Aha!
” Behind a box of files on the corner of her desk he spotted one picture frame.
But when he pulled it out, it wasn’t a picture of parents or siblings.
It was her and Miranda Wentworth on the track, outside the Lennox mobile offices.
They had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and were both grinning widely.
Violet looked different, the way he remembered her from past seasons.
Ripped jeans and a faded black Violent Femmes T-shirt.
Her hair was a windblown riot, held off her face with a pair of sunglasses.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile like that. Certainly not when he was around.
“You guys are really close, huh?”
She plucked the picture frame out of his hand and set it back on her desk. “She’s my friend. Are you finished?”
He shrugged. “I guess. So what did you want to see me for?”
“Who’s your PR person? We need to set up a meeting ASAP.”
He turned to face her and leaned back on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“No, your personal PR person. You have one, don’t you?”
“Of my own? No.” A lot of guys did, but that always seemed like one of those luxuries you got when you ascended up the ranks, which had decidedly not happened to him, until now.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Who handles your media?”
He shrugged. “If someone wanted to talk to me, they went through Hansbach. Their PR person set it up. Didn’t happen often enough to be an issue.”
Violet sighed and pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Do you have someone coordinating your sponsorships for you?”
He scoffed. “There’s not much to coordinate. My agent handles the contracts.”
Violet glanced around the office as though looking for patience. “How have you survived this long?” she muttered.
“I’ve done just fine, Violet.”
“Chase, you’ve been a bottom-feeder when you could have been a star .”
“What are you talking about?”
She stabbed a finger in the air, in the direction of the conference room down the hall. “That,” she said. “Today. As much as it pains me to admit this, you were brilliant .”
“I was? I hardly said anything. You wouldn’t let me.”
“That’s the thing. You spoke for two minutes and every person in that room was in love with you. Dieter was in there for two hours and I doubt any of them can remember a second of it.”
“It’s just press stuff.”
Violet crossed her arms and he couldn’t help glancing down at the swell of her breasts cresting over the edge of her bustier. That thing was just unfair.
“That ‘press stuff’ is fucking important. Look, Pinnacle’s got a lot of liabilities.
Oscar, who wouldn’t recognize innovation if it bit him in the ass; Reece, who is a walking media disaster waiting to happen; Dieter, who is about as appealing as that fermented fish thing they eat in Sweden.
Right now, we have one asset, and it’s you. ”
“Look, I know I’m a good driver—”
“I’m not talking about your driving! I’m talking about you .” She waved a hand at him. “The face, the hair, the smile, the fucking American charm. We are making you a star.”
“Violet, this is nice and everything, but I’m not into that stuff. I just want to drive.”
“Do you really not get how this game is played? It’s all the same thing.
The press coverage leads to attention. Attention gets you sponsorships.
Sponsorships mean next year the budget is bigger, and the car gets better.
Sponsorships mean, Chase, that next season, you get re-signed to a Formula One team instead of getting bounced to Formula E or Rally Car or something. Press keeps you behind the wheel.”
That caught his attention. He really wasn’t interested in hawking watches and men’s cologne or whatever, doing the promotional stuff he’d seen the big drivers do. But if this could keep him in the car …
“What do I have to do?”
“Whatever I say.”
Despite the serious turn the conversation had taken, he couldn’t help but grin. “Didn’t know you were into that, but okay.”
She huffed. “Will you pay attention?”
He laughed and held up his hands. “I am, I am. I promise. So you want me to, what … do some interviews?”
“I’m thinking bigger than interviews. I’m thinking photo shoots, publicity events, parties … Maybe we’ll find you someone to date.”
“Hey, I do not need help with that.”
“Not actually date. Someone with a high profile. Someone who’ll get attention, which would get you attention—”
“People do that?” Although he knew from firsthand experience how ruthless some people could be about relationships, so why was this a surprise?
“In my line of work it happens all the time. One thing at a time, though. First, we need to hire you a stylist and get that nightmare you call a wardrobe into shape.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.” He gestured down at his favorite pair of jeans.
“You look like you sleep on your brother’s sofa,” Violet said flatly.
“Okay, but you just said I was hot.”
“You are hot. I’m just going to make sure the whole world knows you’re hot. This will work, but I need you on board. So?”
He considered it for a minute. It grated him, being told he had to dress up and maybe pretend to date somebody just to keep his spot behind the wheel. But on the other hand, since he was fifteen, he’d been willing to do whatever it took to race.
That was still true.
“Sure.” He sighed. “Whatever you say.”
“Great. I’ll start making some phone calls.” She pulled out her phone and started scrolling. “You can go.”
He hesitated, watching her type out an email, her inky black lashes fanning out across the tops of her pale cheekbones.
They’d had their fun once. He really should just move on.
Repeats ran the risk of feelings, and that was something he was not about to wade into.
Not again … not after last time, and certainly not with someone as … ruthless … as Violet.
But damn, every time he looked at her, he thought about it—that night in Monaco, her body under his … It was distracting to the point of obsession.
“Hey, Violet?” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah?” she said without looking up.
“Know what I keep thinking about?”
“What’s that?” she murmured, distracted.
“That night in Monaco, I never kissed you. I still think about it … a lot.”
Her head snapped up, eyes zeroing in on his, and heat ricocheted through his body.
“Do you?” he asked. There was a pause and Chase realized with horror that he had accidentally expressed a vulnerability. To Violet .
But to his surprise, she didn’t immediately tear him to pieces. She stared at him for a beat, then seemed to make up her mind about something.
“What the hell? It’s after six. Let’s go.”
“Wait. Are you serious?”
Her hands went to her hips. “Why, are you changing your mind?”
“No, but you said you wanted to forget about it.”
She shrugged. “Like you said, no strings, right?”
He nodded rapidly before she changed her mind. “No strings. I promise.”
“So let’s go. Let me guess, you still don’t have your own place.”
“I got hired last week. I’m still driving back to my apartment in East Luddleton. Plus, I have a roommate.”
She sighed with deep disappointment. “You’re lucky you’re so hot. Follow me.”