Page 35 of Spin Control

The corner of his mouth kicks up into a sardonic grin. “You really stopped working to chat with me?”

Horrifyingly, that’s the truth. I thought he’d need to talk—to decompress, to get all this shit off his chest. But no. He’s still itching for a fight.

And I refuse to be his punching bag.

“Go home, Wes.”

“On Monaco Grand Prix night?” he asks. “Nah.”

Irritation pricks at the back of my neck. “Then go to a party.”

“Is that your official advice?” He scoffs. “It’s like you want us to get bad press.”

“Keeps me in a job,” I say coolly. If I’m going to shut him down effectively, I need to make it clear that he can’t unnerve me.

Wes laughs, but it’s an ugly sound. “You know you can be a real bitch, right?”

I smile sweetly.

“That turns you on, doesn’t it?” He interprets my stillness as confirmation. “I bet you’re squeezing your thighs together, forcing yourself not to squirm.”

I say nothing. I don’t move a muscle.

“You walk around like you’re this force to be reckoned with and act like you’re untouchable. But I bet you fucking love it when someone calls you on your bullshit and puts you in your place. I bet you want to be forced into submission. I’m sure you’d fight it. But you probably can’t come without being spit on.”

He’s walked further into the room, all nonchalance. The fact that he’s said all of this as if he were chatting about the weather or what he’s planning to have for dinner is actually fascinating. It’s not the way most men would go about it, that’s for sure.

But Wes Grant is not most men.

What he needs right now is not the thing most men would go looking for after a weekend as disastrous as the one he’s just had. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s decided to say these things to me, despite knowing I could report him for sexual harassment or make one phone call and have him canceled in twenty minutes flat.

But I’m not most women.

My preferences are actually the opposite of what he’s suggested. I’m not sure if he’s fully aware of it yet, but that is why he wants to push me until I snap. He wants me to take control away from him so he can collapse into feeling like he’s an actual piece of shit.

But the thing he’s forgotten is that I know he isn’t.

He wants everyone to think he’s nothing more than some charming and reckless playboy driving a race car for kicks. But I know he’s a loyal friend and a team player. I know he cares deeply about his future—and that he understands how much damage he’s done this weekend, both to himself and the team. I also know that he’s hurting, and that he feels angry and desperate. It’s a dangerous combination when you need an outlet that could easily become a vice. That’s why he’s here instead of at some party, snorting everything in sight until he’s numb.

“What do you want, Wes?” I wonder if that will disarm him. If he’ll actually tell me the truth. When he doesn’t answer, I give him a very pointed look. “Do you even know?”

The air between us becomes charged as our gazes remain locked. For one blazing moment, I wonder if he might decide to show me rather than tell me. But then he grins—and it’s the kind that lets you know that the fight isn’t actually over.

I grit my teeth, and don’t soften the command that colors my voice. “Go home.”

He walks out without another word.

16

I never wake up early the Monday after a race.

And yet here I am, up with the sun and wondering how to fix all the things I fucked up yesterday.

I need to apologize. Not just to the fans, but to the top brass at Martine and the journalist I lost my temper with. Honestly, I’m embarrassed. I’ve been in this sport long enough to know what to expect from the media, and I’m more than old enough to understand how to respond maturely. But fuck, I had a terrible weekend. So when that reporter brought up Stas, I lost it.

The most ironic thing about it is that Stas probably would’ve been exceedingly rational about my race. He would have given me shit for what happened in qualifying, but he wouldn’t have been mad or disappointed. Hell, he would have poured me a shot of Stoli and told me to focus on the next race.

I wish I could talk to my friend. But his phone is off, and I have no way to contact him.