Page 1 of Fast-Track Fiancé

CHAPTER ONE

NINA ROUX KEPT a polite smile in place until she’d gained a safe distance from the hot overhead lights of the press tent. The rain-soaked paddock of the Elite One Monte Carlo circuit was relatively deserted in the aftermath of yesterday’s disastrous race during which ten drivers had crashed. Thankfully there were no significant casualties, with the exception of one career-ending injury for the lead driver of Falco Roux. The team in which she was currently the first reserve driver.

She wasn’t so callous as to say she’d been waiting for this moment, but, as a reserve driver, the only chance she’d ever had to get actual race time was at the expense of one of the lead drivers on the team. She had sat patiently during the morning briefing from management, proudly wearing her standard polo shirt and crisply ironed chinos in the team colours of white and maroon. It had seemed straightforward, to promote her into a permanent seat for the remaining seven races of the season. To give her the chance she had earned and one she deserved after graduating top of the academy at eighteen, followed by five years of hard work in testing and development. Much longer than most other drivers had to wait when they performed at her level. Team members had shaken her hand, and she’d felt a sense of bubbling excitement grow within as they’d readied for a ‘surprise announcement’ that would be delivered during a live-streamed press briefing.

She had imagined how they might announce it. Would they lead with her being the first Roux to earn a seat on their family’s team since her brother’s ill-fated attempt as a race driver ten years before? Or go with the more shocking fact that she would be the first woman to take a permanent seat in Elite One since her aunt, Lola Roux, had dominated the sport twenty-five years ago?

In the end, they had discussed none of those things...because it had turned out that Nina wasn’t the subject of this surprise announcement after all, but rather the signing of a completely new driver. Not only that, but a driver who was the grandson of the owner of their biggest rival team, Accardi Autosport. Apollo Accardi, a championship-winning driver who had stunned the racing world by disappearing from the sport six years ago.

The announcement had come from their new team owner, Tristan Falco, via video link, his handsome tanned face and perfectly coiffed dark blond hair filling the screen as he performed his most basic of duties from somewhere far away. Likely upon one of his famous superyachts, surrounded by glamorous guests and merriment. The potential return to Elite One of the legendary driver had been whispered about all season, and she’d foolishly believed the rumours too good to be true. But Apollo Accardi had indeed made his return, and with it had taken her chance to secure a seat for the rest of the season. She’d get a drive for the next few races, but, once Apollo had arrived and familiarised himself with the car, he’d complete the rest.

As the details of the shocking announcement had been talked through and not one of her teammates had spoken up at the injustice of it all, her chest had tightened with despair and anger. She’d found herself standing suddenly, ignoring the quick warning look from their head of PR as she’d mumbled her excuses and made her exit. Her knees had threatened to buckle with every step she took, cameras flashing wildly to take in her reaction. Watching for the woman they’d nicknamed the ice princess to scowl or tantrum or make a scene that they could gleefully publish on their various websites.

So she’d smiled.

She’d smiled as she’d walked calmly past the line of journalists and through the belly of their impressive track headquarters, only breaking into a run once she’d reached the empty front foyer filled with their legacy of Elite One driver and constructor championship trophies as well as posters and flags in white and maroon. Colours that had been made famous by her family name alone for more than half a century until one impulsive playboy billionaire had seemingly swooped in and made her reckless big brother an offer he couldn’t refuse. Even when she’d emerged into the rain outside, she hadn’t slowed down. Her feet stomped along the tarmac, keeping time with the furious beat of her heart.

She waited until she was a safe distance towards her own secluded motorhome at the edge of the Falco Roux buildings before she released a growl that had been building in her chest. Video link. The biggest disaster that had hit their team in years and their billionaire owner hadn’t even bothered to be here in person. Tristan Falco had been almost completely absent from every race and meeting from the moment he had taken the reins from her older brother, Alain.

Famous for his skill in acquisition, rebranding and subsequent big-figure sales of struggling corporations, Tristan Falco likely believed that his usual routine would work just the same here in the pinnacle of motorsport racing. But as evidenced by their recent slide of steadily declining popularity and investments, it was not. She seemed to be the only one willing to tell him why, which she would do if the man weren’t utterly impossible to get a meeting with.

If her frustrations with management hadn’t already been at boiling point, perhaps she could have held it together today. For any other team, Nina would have been impressed and excited. Nabbing a huge name like Apollo...it likely had cost Falco more than a quarter of their year’s budget to achieve. But she was the reserve driver, a position she’d held for far longer than any other driver she knew with adequate licence points to drive in Elite One. It was unacceptable. And it was exactly the kind of move that she’d needed in order to make the next difficult decision about her own career.

What was that saying? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. She knew now that there was no other option for her here, not if Falco was prepared to pay an external driver probably triple her salary to come in and learn their car from scratch. The car she had been instrumental in developing alongside the team she’d known from birth. The car she had set their track record in at the end of last year during their winter break. She had taken first place in this year’s Legends race, for goodness’ sake, after being chosen as a second driver by former Elite One world champion Grayson Koh.

If all of that wasn’t enough...nothing ever would be.

It was a gift really—perhaps she had held on too long to familial loyalty. Her charity girls’ driving academy was already on the verge of bankruptcy since her shares and inheritance had been lost in the months of financial woes that led to her brother accepting the buyout. She understood why Alain had done it, or at least she had tried to over and over after she’d realised that he had got her inadvertently to sign away every cent in what she’d believed was an effort to save them. Instead, reckless and selfish as he was, Alain had sold their legacy to Falco and left her with nothing. The last she’d heard, he was currently living it up in Ibiza on one of the yachts owned by none other than Tristan Falco himself. Probably another little perk that he’d secured in the secret negotiations that had led to Monaco’s oldest and most historic team, Roux Racing, being renamed Falco Roux.

She slammed the door of her private motorhome, turning around just as the door swung inwards. Astrid Lewis, Falco Roux’s head of PR, entered, her green eyes sparking with fury behind her designer horn-rimmed glasses. The woman was a silhouette of perfectly coiffed rage and Nina was the sole recipient.

‘Before you say anything, I did the right thing by walking out of there.’ Nina turned away, still intent on getting changed and leaving as quickly as possible. The press wouldn’t follow her to her late aunt’s home in the south of France, and she knew better than to assume she would be left alone if she remained in Monte Carlo any longer.

‘Your contract requires you to remain in the press tent for the entirety of each sitting. We just announced a major development in the team line-up following the worst driver injury of the season, Nina.’

Nina bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to hold her tongue. She knew better than anyone what happened when she allowed herself to speak freely. Keep calm, she told herself. Calm people didn’t lose their jobs. It wasn’t that she was unable to control her temper, it was simply that injustice was her biggest trigger. She believed in working hard and reaping a fair reward for her efforts. She deserved to be the one in that seat for the remainder of the season instead of just the next few races. She had been the one pushing the team to make upgrades. She had spent hundreds of hours with the engineers during development and they had ended up with the best car they’d had in a decade and were maybe even on track to win a constructor’s championship.

She’d put every ounce of herself into being a hard-working team member, believing the results of her talent and drive would be enough. So no, she wasn’t going to sit and listen to her team wax lyrical about how excited they were to welcome their new driver to the Falco Roux family. She wouldn’t smile and wave and play the good girl a second longer. She had done it for the entirety of her career so far. She had followed every rule and toed every line and look where it had got her.

Superstition and loyalty had led her to sign a ridiculous contract that kept her locked into Falco Roux until she turned twenty-five. But she knew now, she couldn’t stay that long. She wouldn’t waste two more years in a place that seemed determined to use her and benefit from her talent while giving her none of the recognition or opportunity. Maybe another team would treat her with more respect, give her more actual access to opportunity instead of constantly holding her back with excuse after excuse.

And there was only one man who could set her free.

‘I don’t like that look in your eye, Nina,’ Astrid said warily. ‘I know that this might seem unfair, but I promise you there is a plan. Tristan Falco knows what he is doing—’

‘Do not mention that man’s name in front of me. Not when he hasn’t even had the decency to speak to me in person once since he took my family’s company from under me.’

To her credit, Astrid pursed her lips and remained silent. Good, too, because Nina didn’t want to take out her frustrations on the other woman. They might not technically be friends, but Astrid had never steered her wrong in the years since they had both started as newbies on the male-dominated team. Nina as a brand-new test driver, Astrid as a PR assistant.

‘Please just tell me what you plan to do.’ Astrid sighed wearily. ‘And if I need to take measures on my end to counteract any potential damage.’

Just as she’d opened her mouth to offer benign reassurance, Nina’s phone beeped, grabbing her attention. A slow breath escaped her lips as she read the text message. A smile slowly spread across her face as she realised it was exactly the news she’d hoped for. She’d nabbed a last-minute invitation to an exclusive event taking place in Paris later that evening. If she left now, she could just make it. She could take matters into her own hands and show Tristan Falco exactly who she was.

‘There will be no damage,’ she said carefully, putting the last of her things into her gym bag before turning back. ‘Not if Tristan Falco is as good a businessman as he claims to be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.’

By the time Nina’s limousine pulled up in front of Paris’s stunning Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the sky over the city had faded to a pleasant brushwork of purples, pinks and oranges. The one benefit she enjoyed from the four years she’d spent at an elite all-girls boarding school in the Swiss Alps was the network of powerful women she now had dotted all across the globe. One of whom was Hermione Hall, a fashion stylist who had served to get her access to this particular event. Considering the ticket she’d nabbed was for a model who’d fallen sick at the last minute, she’d also been required to sport an haute couture gown for the evening.

Nina took one last look in her compact mirror at the finished result of the past hour of lightning-fast make-up and dress alterations. Fashion-world people truly were magicians—there was no other explanation for how they had managed to transform her from a tired, unpolished mess to whatever illusion of glamour this was. Her gown was a kind of powder-blue lace and tulle creation that clung to her body like a second skin from neck to mid-thigh, before flowing out into a long train behind her. A white glittering mask covered her from above her eyebrows to below her nose with glittering diamond appliqué making her sparkle as she moved in the light.

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