Page 9 of Fast-Track Fiancé

‘You’re the daughter of one of the most famous families in Monaco.’ He frowned, noting the way her hands anxiously twirled her napkin around her index finger.

‘Infamous,’ she corrected. ‘We fell out of favour with the public long ago, as you well know.’

He knew a lot, of course. As part of acquiring a company in debt, it was his job to dig deep and know everything about what had got them there before he committed and planned his strategy. He knew about her great-grandfather’s brilliance as an auto engineer and how he’d founded and ruled his empire with an iron fist, raising an army of his own children to carry on his legacy with their innovative designs and racing wins. Her own father had been a truly terrible businessman plagued with a catalogue of personal vices, and her aunt, Lola Roux, had been a racing legend in her own right before she’d died in a tragically ironic car accident.

Most recently, her reckless brother, Alain, had been happily draining the last of their funds for his lavish lifestyle, ending with him losing everything to Tristan in a high-stakes poker match. Said poker match was how Tristan had inadvertently ended up in his current position as the new team owner. What had happened, and the deal he’d made afterwards with Alain to try and save the Roux company, was not public knowledge and iron-clad non-disclosure agreements had been signed, but still he wondered just how much Nina knew, and if she potentially shared any of the vices of her more scandalous family members, other than the obvious thrill for speed.

‘You believe your family’s financial downfall has made you less interesting to the press?’ he asked. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘My mother was the most in demand with the press, but, of course, they took an interest in me for a while once I was old enough and began attending parties.’ Nina took another sip of water, pursing her lips into a thin line. ‘They would take strategic shots of me at bad angles to make it look like I was some kind of party girl. Like mother, like daughter. But I didn’t want to be a society princess. I preferred working, being on the track. Once I stopped attending any events or socialising outside work at all, they switched to the unlikable, plain Jane, ice-princess angle. Quite predictable really, yet I much prefer it.’

He surveyed the measured lack of interest on her face, and the way she pressed her fingertips down flat into the tablecloth. She spoke of the press’s interest in her calmly, but he had always been an expert in reading people. Everything about this bothered her. The press, public opinion... He knew the look of someone who had suffered. But he would not have expected that of the spoiled society princess everyone had described to him.

He had spent his entire journey this morning from Paris to Monte Carlo trawling through her social media and various news articles. To learn about her, not for personal reasons, but in an effort to gauge how he might fix the PR nightmare he’d realised was about to unfold.

There had of course been coverage of her academy successes and the handful of Elite One Premio races she had taken part in as a reserve driver.

But most of the articles he’d seen had focused on a few years in her late teens, most specifically upon a photo shoot she had taken part in a few years back. A rather risqué photo shoot, by most people’s standards, and it had shocked him to see that the brand involved was Roux Motors’ now defunct luxury car brand.

The New Generation Never Looked So Good! the advert had proudly proclaimed, while showing a fresh-faced, bikini-clad Nina draped over the bonnet of a sleek silver coupe.

The press had taken an interest ‘once I was old enough’, she’d said. Old enough for whom? The girl he’d seen in those photos had looked as though she’d barely finished school. She had come to Paris, to the museum event, incognito, choosing to sneak her way in to confront him rather than using her family name as a bargaining tool. She had asked him to release her from her contract, to allow her to start over elsewhere. None of those actions matched up with the image of her that he’d assumed was accurate.

‘Nina...’ he said quietly, reaching a hand across the table to grasp hers. ‘Could you please try not to look like you’re being tortured or blackmailed into having lunch with me?’

She made a non-committal noise, stabbing her fork into her salad. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’m having a wonderful time. Thank you so much for giving me the option of having lunch with you in public, Mr Falco.’

‘I really think you should call your fiancé by his first name, don’t you?’ he reminded her, fighting the urge to laugh aloud at the saccharine sweetness in her voice.

‘Tristan.’ She met his eyes with challenge.

‘Can I take that as confirmation that you accept the terms of the deal?’ He waited, his hand still extended towards hers across the small table. Slowly, her fingers uncurled from her fork and moved towards his. Her skin was silky soft as she placed her much smaller hand into the palm of his and he wasted no time in closing his grip around hers with triumph.

‘I accept,’ she said calmly. ‘Pending an official contract outlining the details of the arrangement in full.’

He nodded his own agreement, making a mental note to have the terms drawn up immediately. Further conversation was first interrupted by the arrival of their steaks and then subsequently by a business acquaintance who stayed a few moments to arrange a meeting. He was a hard man to pin down, as everyone seemed to say.

When the other man raised a brow in Nina’s direction, Tristan made a show of linking his fingers through hers to leave no question as to the nature of their relationship. The media loved a possessive caveman, didn’t they? He was simply playing to the cameraman he had seen arrive midway through their food.

That was also why he insisted upon taking her hand as they exited the restaurant terrace and guiding her along the promenade that lined the seafront.

Nina hesitated, glancing anxiously at the slim watch on her wrist. ‘I told you I don’t have much spare time. I’m racing for the next two weekends until Apollo is ready. I have to get back to headquarters to test out some new strategy in the racing simulation equipment.’

‘Surely you want to linger here a few minutes for a prolonged goodbye?’ he said smoothly, running a hand along her shoulders as he turned to pull her against him and whisper near her ear. ‘Two photographers, just over the wall. Don’t look behind you.’

She nodded, seeming to brace herself before relaxing slightly. ‘I forgot, sorry. Tell me what you need me to do.’

Tristan closed his eyes against the onslaught of inappropriate thoughts that immediately followed her innocent words.

Think of the deal, Falco. Focus.

‘Wrap your arms around my neck and look up at me. Like you can’t resist me,’ he murmured, sliding a hand tightly around her trim waist. Again, her body tensed before she did some more deep breathing and followed his command. Another woman might have slowly slid her fingertips along his shoulders, teasing him into a sensual haze. Not Nina; she might as well have been performing a Swedish massage, for all the grace she put into her grip. Once she’d settled her hands into place, she met his gaze with an irritated huff. He smiled, a small sound escaping his lips.

Nina instantly tensed up. ‘What? Am I doing it wrong?’

His mind tripped over the question, at how odd it seemed for her to be uncertain of something so simple. Surely she had been in a lover’s embrace before?

‘You’re supposed to melt into my powerful embrace, not attempt to wring my neck.’

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