Reserved the pitstop ser.., p.14
Reserved (The Pitstop Series Book 6), page 14
“I would—” Nevaeh starts, but Gillian shoots her a warning glare that probably makes her feel stupid for saying anything in the first place.
Fucking dickface.
My head tilts as I force the smile on my face to stay put, even if I want to smash his face against the wall for how he’s treating Nevaeh.
“You want Nevaeh to shadow you so she can write an exclusive article? You do understand she has only started on her journalism path, right?”
“If Nevaeh would like to, yes. I think she has great potential and seeing her running around, doing errands like collecting schedules for you seems like a waste of her talents. I read your article on Serena Williams while you were interning for their rival, Specter Sports, and I would love for you to write one like that about me, just in more detail,” I say, only addressing her with the last sentence.
“I—” Gillian cuts her off again before she can get a second word in.
“We will discuss it and get back to you.” I choose to ignore him, waiting for Nevaeh to respond instead.
“I would love to, but you should check with your team first, and I will check with mine.”
She doesn’t want to undermine Gillian’s authority, no matter how much he deserves it right now. It’s not who she is, unfortunately. Plus, she told me Specter Sports didn’t rehire her because they had no position open.
Between you and me, I’d have fired every single person to have Nevaeh on my team.
“Mr. Fender,” I say, my focus now drifting back to her boss. “Take this deal. Don’t waste Ms. Fuchs’ time.” I straighten out my Velocità Rossa team shirt and fake another smile. “Oh, and if I ever, no matter which race, watch her faint again because you forget to give her a break, I will make sure your time as a Formula One reporter will be over. I have great respect for you and your years here, but that was unacceptable, and I have taken note of how you treat your employees. Best if that stays between us, wouldn’t you agree?” Nevaeh nudges my side, but I don’t even flinch. I stand in front of Gillian, immovable as a rock.
“You fainted?” Gillian asks, his whole demeanor changing abruptly.
His hand moves onto her shoulder, and he squeezes a little, probably to comfort her. But it twists everything inside of me until I’m nauseous and angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” Because you’re a disgusting, slimy man who hides behind a nice mask to make people like you, that’s why.
“You didn’t give me a chance to,” she replies.
“Nevaeh will write that article. You will accompany him starting tomorrow. For today, you’re free to go back to the hotel,” he says before finally walking away, leaving me alone with the beautiful woman beside me.
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in my business,” she points out, crossing her arms in front of her chest and scowling at me. My tongue swipes over my bottom lip as I lower my head and close the distance between us.
“Your health and happiness are my business, Nevaeh,” I say, and the frown on her lips fades as her cheeks turn pink. The urge to reach out and run my fingers over her freckles, count them so I know how many dust the bridge of her nose and cheeks, is overwhelming. “Plus, this was to make sure he doesn’t disobey labor laws again. Really getting involved in your business would have been me ‘convincing’ him to drop the no-dating-the-drivers rule,” I go on, watching her bite down on the inside of her cheek.
“You can do that?” The corners of my mouth curl into a smile before I can stop them.
She’s watching my mouth again. Always watching my lips like she can’t wait for me to kiss her. And I want to kiss her. I want to so fucking badly that I can’t think of anything better I could do right now. I want to press her up against that wall behind her and explore her mouth until her knees buckle. Until I have to hold her up by pressing my body against hers and she’s whimpering into my mouth how good I feel.
“Do you want me to?” I ask.
Her brown-blonde hair flies a little as she moves her head to the side to laugh, and I get lost in the thought of running my fingers through it, wrapping it around my fist, and tugging on it.
Fuck. Me.
“I think it’s best if we focus on the weekend for now.” She’s overwhelmed. I can see it in her eyes, so I don’t push. I’d never push her when she’s already all over the place because of her boss. Add Lincoln and her anxiety on top, and anyone would crack under that mountain of pressure.
But not Nevaeh.
No, she’s a fucking warrior.
Not to mention, I don’t know if I could actually make that rule go away, but I’d at least try. I’m not sure I’d give up either if she told me that’s what she wanted, and that terrifies me above all.
“Whatever you want, mon ange,” I say, lifting my arms in the air to stretch and show off my body a little.
Her eyes trail down my chest, lingering on my exposed skin before she forces them away again. The way her cheeks turn red once more has me fucking giddy. I love turning this woman on.
“I want you to eat more and go to the hotel and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, ripping a chuckle from her. I look around the empty room for a moment before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her cheek.
“See you tomorrow, Adrian,” she replies as I step away, a shy smile on her lips.
The things I’d do to kiss that smile.
Chapter 25
Nevaeh
My parents were texting me non-stop yesterday, worried after they found out what happened, but I felt great. After eating, drinking, and getting some sleep, I was rejuvenated and ready for my day with Adrian. Yesterday were the free practice sessions of the race weekend where the teams tried out new things to get the best performance out of the car on this specific track.
Whenever Adrian wasn’t in the car or with his strategists, he was with me, answering whatever questions I asked him. He even allowed me to snap some pictures, which I plan on including in my article. I haven’t asked Gillian, Mrs. Lu, or Ms. Martin for permission, but I’m going to as soon as we get back to England.
Journalism and photography go hand in hand, after all.
I’m sure they won’t have a problem with it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself while I take candid photos of anything and everything that catches my eye.
Velocità Rossa made me sign a contract promising that should I catch any information I’m not supposed to this weekend, I’ll keep it to myself or they’ll sue me. A non-disclosure agreement. However, Adrian has been very careful not to let me get too close to what his team is doing and keep the focus entirely on him and everything he does during the weekend.
Today is the sixth Qualifying of the year. I don’t find it nearly as exciting as the race, but it determines the starting positions of the drivers for the Grand Prix.
Valentina appears on the screen in front of me, beaming up at her performance coach, Isabella, and looking happier than ever before. This is where she belongs. Formula One is her place in the world.
I envy her.
It must be the best feeling on the entire planet to feel like you belong.
“I’m talking to a wall,” Adrian’s familiar voice says loud enough to fill my ears. The noise in his garage is almost unbearable.
I look at him to see he’s dressed in his red racing suit, which hangs at his hips, revealing the red fireproof shirt the Velocità Rossa drivers wear underneath their suits.
“I’m sorry. I was lost in your sister’s smile,” I reply honestly, and he cocks a brow, handing me a to-go cup. I smell whatever is in it, and the scent of hot chocolate fills my nose. I told this man yesterday that I can’t have coffee because of my anxiety, so he brought me this instead.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but Val’s happily taken, Nevaeh. However, she and I do look a lot alike…” He trails off, making me laugh.
“You do look a lot alike, but Val’s got curves to die for,” I say, tilting my head to the side and causing his jaw to drop. He places his hand on his stomach to imitate getting stabbed.
“Are you telling me my ass doesn’t do it for you?” he says while sticking out his ass and making me bend over from laughter. I have no doubt his butt is impressively trained, but his racing suit does nothing for him. “Okay, okay, my ego can only take so much laughter,” he reminds me and pats my back to get me to stand upright again. “Just because you have a perfect ass and body.”
Adrian pouts, twisting his head to take a peek at his, while my mind lingers on the fact that he likes my body. I do have a nice ass. It’s all the squats and running I did when I played tennis.
“Stop looking, it’s fine,” I assure him, too amused not to smile.
He frowns at me, and I pull out my notebook to focus on what’s important: work.
“Alright, first pre-quali question,” I start, and Adrian straightens out his back, taking a sip of his water and giving me his ‘I’m ready smirk.’ He’s shown it to me ten times in the last thirty hours, and I seem to like it more every single time I see it. “What is your routine?” I ask, and Adrian goes into detail about every little step, including what he eats, the warm-ups he does, and the responsibilities he has.
I jot down notes, listening closely even though it’s quite loud.
“You know what, this is all incredibly boring. Write this in your article instead,” he says and leans against the wall we’re standing by, crossing his arms in front of his chest. When his gaze fixates on my face and one corner of his mouth lifts, my cheeks burn.
God, why is he so hot?
“For good luck, my performance coach and I have this ritual where we jump rope to see who can go the longest. If he wins, it means I’ll have a shitty race. If I win, it means I’ll have a great one. We do the same for Qualifying, too.” I smile at the visual while swinging my pen around on the page, the ink staining the paper.
“So, he won a lot last season, right?” I tease, making Adrian touch the roof of his mouth with his tongue.
“Nevaeh. Sweet, beautiful Nevaeh, that’s the second time in five minutes you’ve made fun of me. Careful when you do that, mon ange, because I have a weak spot for women who tease me,” he drawls, only making my cheeks go redder. He takes a step toward me and smiles. “You can also keep going, but don’t bring me to my knees if I’m not allowed to taste you the second I hit the ground,” he says, and I swallow so hard, it feels like a toad is lodged in my throat.
An unbearable ache appears between my legs, but Adrian leaves me standing by myself when his strategists call him.
He’s a player. This is what he does, but he’s so damn good at it, sometimes it’s hard to remember.
I catch my breath before watching him zip up his suit and place his balaclava over his head. He winks at me one last time before he slides his helmet on, adjusting until it sits right. His body disappears into the car so swiftly, I blink and he’s gone.
Qualifying starts, Q1 and Q2 going by painfully slowly. Those two are my least favorite parts about Qualifying since the teams with the drivers I care about the most—Valentina, Cameron, Gabriel, Lincoln, James Landon, Leonard Tick, and Adrian—usually make it to Q3. Val is the only rookie, but she does incredibly well, just like the first five Qualifyings this season.
I’m so happy for her, I jump up and down a little.
Her team isn’t nearly as fast as the top three, Hawke, Grenzenlos, and Velocità Rossa, but she does well with what she’s been given. That woman is without a doubt a future Formula One champion, and I’ve never been prouder to know someone than I am right this second.
Q3 starts, and my nerves get the best of me, making my heart race a little. The first eight minutes are torture. The positions mean little until all the drivers race down the track for the last time this session. Adrian is fastest in the first sector of the track, but Lincoln is fastest in the second. This is absolutely nerve-racking. I cover my eyes and stare at the ground, too nervous about who’ll take pole position.
Every single driver crosses the line in the span of another minute, and I wait impatiently for the results.
Adrian and Lincoln are one and two respectively, Gabriel was struggling and ended up in fifth while James Landon is third and Kyle Hughes is fourth. Val is in sixth, and Grant Irwin is ninth. The drivers of the Spark team, Cameron Kion and Michael Lin, are seventh and eighth. Leonard Tick came in tenth.
For some reason, excitement pumps through my bloodstream.
Adrian is first.
I rush outside with the rest of Adrian’s team, my camera in hand and ready to snap a few photos for my article. This is not the type of journalism I hoped I’d be doing when I first started studying it, but it’s pretty damn close.
After all the drivers get interviewed, Adrian signs the trophy the pole sitter of a race weekend receives, presses his lips to it, and raises it to his chest to take pictures. I hold my camera high, looking through the eyepiece before taking a dozen photos.
When he sees me, he winks and turns his body so I can get a better shot. His bottom lip moves between his teeth, but his attention is ripped from me to another reporter a second later.
Adrian tells me to meet him outside of the Velocità Rossa motorhome, so I make my way there, sweat running down the back of my neck. The weather here in São Paulo is humid and hot today, something I’m not used to anymore since moving to England, but I love it. I love sweating with every step, as strange as it sounds . I simply love the warmth, even if it’s a little overwhelming.
“Nevaeh,” I hear Adrian say right as I was about to walk past a gap between the two buildings. His voice comes from the alley, so I smile as I make my way over to where he’s standing with Daniel, Gabriel, and Gabriel’s performance coach.
“What’s going on?” I ask, a little breathless when I take in his bare chest.
My body catches fire at the sight of every hard ridge. At the sight of his light skin having taken on a bit of a tan since coming to Brazil and spending a lot of time in the sun. At the sight of his cocky smile because he knows he’s turning me on simply by standing there without a shirt, but I can’t help the way my eyes trace every muscle lining his chest. The blonde hair dusting it, and the darker hair trailing from his belly button into his swim shorts.
I’ve never been more grateful for swim trunks because they pull me out of my ogling trance and back to reality.
“Gabriel and I were just about to take an ice bath to cool off after Qualifying,” Adrian explains, watching my mouth as I lick my suddenly dry lips. Fascination makes his eyes sparkle, causing heat to creep up my neck and settle on my cheeks.
“Is that something I’m supposed to write in the article?” I ask, a bit unsure why else I’d be here. Adrian’s smirk lingers as he takes a step toward me, while Gabriel turns to Daniel and his performance coach to start up a conversation.
“If you’d like to, sure, but the reason I called you here is so you could admire me the way everyone else does when they see the videos of my ice baths. My fans love them,” he says, and I almost snort because, good God, this man.
“I’m not a fan, so I think I’m not the right audience,” I tease, but he merely tilts his head down to smile at me. We both know I’m kidding. I am a fan. I’ve been a fan since the first race, but I will not give him the satisfaction of saying so out loud. His ego is big enough, and we still need some room to breathe out here.
“Whether or not you’re a fan, I do like seeing you blush at my half-naked body,” he says with a wink before spinning around and joining the other three men again.
“Cocky ass,” another familiar voice says, and I turn to see Valentina approaching, her sunglasses on her nose and her Alfa Adrenalina team shirt across her body. She’s wearing black shorts and sneakers from her biggest sponsor, Spin.
Adrian’s biggest sponsor is Trill, a clothing brand with a parrot as the logo. I’ve noticed it a few times now when he wore his black cargo pants because the logo is always printed on the left, front pocket.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and she slips a hand onto my arm to give it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes are glued to her fiancé as he grins at her and cocks a suggestive brow.
“I love it when Gabriel does ice baths,” she says and leaves me standing by myself to go admire her future husband as he submerges himself in the ice water, cursing and breathing through groans. She smiles at him but keeps her distance as the social media person films Gabriel.
“Let’s go, Adrian,” Daniel says, and the gorgeous Monegasque places his left foot in the tub of water and ice, taking several deep breaths before almost throwing himself inside.
“Ah, fuck,” he breathes out, the sound a combination of pain and shock, but the little moan that leaves him after has my cheeks heating.
“What is this good for?” I ask Val, and she turns to me to give me her full attention.
“It helps get their body temperatures down quickly. I already did mine,” she replies with a smile before turning back to Gabriel.
Now that the social media person is gone, she walks toward him and cups his cheek in her hands. He closes his eyes and puckers his lips to get a kiss from her, my eyes drifting back to Adrian to see the longing in his gaze. The way he’s studying my mouth as if he wants nothing more than for me to walk over there and kiss him.
I break eye contact to scribble down some information and try not to smile at the fact that he wants to kiss me.
Gillian, Liz, Fallon, and I are at dinner while I’m being told a hundred things I need to take care of when we return to London. My boss wants me to proofread his articles, type up a report of the entire weekend based on the voice notes he apparently takes, and do countless other tasks.
The entire time he speaks, I feel his anger slicing through me, ruining my mood. He wants to yell at me, I can sense it by the way his eyes narrow slightly every time they drift to me.
Gillian taps his finger twice on the table, and, suddenly, Fallon and Liz excuse themselves to go to the washroom.
