Page 33 of Spin Control

“Wes,” she says, more urgently. “You have to go. Right now.”

“Wes!” Elio crows.

“Fuck you, Elio,” I say, finally remembering how to move. Étienne matches my ground-eating stride and we’re soon flanked by people I assume are his security detail, who escort us out of the venue and into an SUV.

“Wait,” I say once the doors are closed and my brain turns back on. “What about Elizabeth? And Marcus? And, ah hell, that little asshole, Freddie?”

Étienne laughs. “He really does seem like an asshole.”

“Finally, something you and Stas agree on,” I quip.

“Oh, you’ve spoken with him?” Étienne asks. “I’ve tried to get in touch, but haven’t had any luck.”

I freeze, suddenly uncertain how to play this. It’s not like I can give him Stas’s number or pass along a message. Étienne must pick up on my discomfort because he says, “Don’t worry, Wes, I won’t ask you to betray his trust. Or tell anyone that you’re in touch with him. Honestly, anyone who thinks they can keep you two apart is deluded.”

Something about that sharpens my frustration that he’s all but disappeared. I can’t get in touch with him. I can’t get the answers I desperately need to make sense of what the hell is happening or why he was arrested. And I don’t understand why he’s gone into hiding while Elio is doing whatever he wants.

Suddenly, it’s all too much.

“Why did Elio think it was okay to walk into the Monaco Grand Prix Gala? And who the hell let him?”

“The man has balls, I’ll give him that,” Étienne says coolly.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out from the inside pocket of my jacket, relieved to see the message is from Elizabeth.

NOT LIZZY OR BETH

Meet at the motorhome ASAP.

I exhale with my entire body.

“So,” Étienne says. “Tell me where to take you. Then, tell me all about your crush on Elizabeth Jacobs.”

15

Every one of my crisis senses is on high alert.

Because I’m staring at Elio Rocca. He’s dressed in a beautifully tailored, double-breasted suit, has his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly coiffed, and there’s a wide, toothy smile on his face. The man oozes charisma, but in a way that feels rehearsed—like the ringleader of a circus, commanding the room with spotlights and bombast.

My mind clears and the carefully crafted three-pronged plan I created in a conference room blinks like a neon sign:

1) Spirit Wes away as quickly and gracefully as possible.

2) Shut Elio down as quickly, gracefully, and publicly as possible.

3) Have a statement ready to go within the hour.

The second Wes drops his arm from around my waist, I step right in Elio Rocca’s path.

“Mr. Rocca,” I say, plastering a pleasant smile on my face and injecting enthusiasm into my voice. “What a surprise!” He frowns and tries to get around me, but I move with him, as if we’re in a choreographed dance. “I understand that you’re eager to speak with Wes tonight, but unfortunately, that won’t be happening.”

The man laughs. “This is a valiant effort, Miss Jacobs. I’m sure you’re worth more than Martine is paying you for this little charade. But you are not going to distract me.”

I’m not surprised he knows who I am. It’s not like the team has tried to keep me a secret.

“Oh, they’re paying well above my usual rate,” I say, keeping my voice light. “What’s going to happen now is that you will stand here for the next minute and act like we’re having a riveting conversation. Once that minute is up, you’ll turn around, find the lovely Sophia Catteneo—yes, I know the woman you walked in here with all but owes her opera career to you—and then you are going to leave. And I don’t just mean this event. You are going to leave Monaco. You are not going to be in the paddock, on a yacht, or in a penthouse this weekend. Understood?”

Elio’s slow smile nearly triggers my fight or flight response—something that hasn’t happened in a long time. “I understand that you think you’re a powerful woman. But I promise you, Miss Jacobs, you don’t know a thing about real power.”