Page 7 of Fast-Track Fiancé

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts and she rushed to wrap a towel around herself before answering, betting it was Sophie come to chastise her for working too hard. It took her a moment of stunned blinking to realise that the handsome blond besuited man standing on the other side was not her trainer, but Tristan Falco. With a squeak, she threw the door closed again.

‘I’ve already seen you, so there’s no point in hiding. We need to talk.’

She held her breath, pressing herself back against the cool tiled wall and fighting the urge to groan at her own terrible life choices. Realistically, how long could she hide in here before he gave up? Her gym bag with all of her things was on the other side of the door and he knew she was in here. She wasn’t the only one who’d been dealing with a personal PR nightmare for the past twelve hours. He hadn’t come all this way for a casual chat.

As if to prove that point, he rapped on the door once again. ‘Nina. We don’t have time for this. I’m here to discuss urgent matters.’

Her name in his silky voice sent a shiver down her spine—of trepidation, she was sure. This man was her team owner, her boss’s boss. The person who controlled every cent that kept the racing team she loved alive. Like it or not, she had to at least try to plead her case to him. She had to fight.

‘Do you plan to hide in there all day?’ His voice was a rough rasp on the other side of the door, his impatience clear. ‘Your little photo stunt in Paris has created a situation that requires immediate action.’

Irritation won out over modesty and before she knew it, Nina was flinging open the door to face him once more. ‘My little stunt?’ she fumed. ‘I’m not the one who was comparing my eyes to diamonds and bragging about my skills.’

His eyes briefly lowered to take in her towel-clad form before his jaw set and he met her gaze head-on. ‘I didn’t know who you were.’

‘That says more about you than me, considering you’ve owned my family’s racing team for more than a year.’ She ignored the wave of embarrassment threatening to drown her and focused on her anger and indignation. ‘I never court the press and I had nothing to do with that photo. I followed you because you are impossible to meet with and I needed to convince you to cancel my contract. That’s the only reason I went to Paris.’

Falco’s eyes narrowed, a hand absent-mindedly rising to scrub along the shadow of stubble along his jawline. ‘Did you kiss me in the hope I would fire you?’

‘No.’ Nina gasped, her cheeks heating. ‘And you kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘It’s irrelevant who initiated it...because your contract is not up for negotiation. Surely you know that. You’re the only remaining family member working in a team that thrives on superstition. A team that I’ve been trying to rescue and bring back to glory, but been met with public resistance at every turn. I may not be a racing expert, but I’ve done my research. The only thing that has not been against us is having you locked into a five-year term.’

Nina closed her eyes, knowing that he was right. Knowing that the superstition the Roux fans held was ridiculous, but that didn’t make it any less real. It had been the only reason that had kept her here over the past couple of years since her brother had brought their family’s finances to the brink of collapse. They had only ever been without a Roux on the team for a handful of seasons, and each one of those had been plagued with crashes and incidents bringing them nothing but ruin.

‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you signed Apollo Accardi instead of promoting your hardest-working and best-performing reserve driver.’ Nina stood up tall, wishing she’d at least been wearing her gym shorts for this altercation. But she was here now, so she might as well say her piece.

He tilted his head to the side, surveying her with keen interest. ‘You expected the promotion to fall to you instead of a former world champion with years of track experience?’

‘I expected at the very least an attempt at showing me some respect, some form of communication to explain why the usual protocol was being changed to make way for a completely new driver mid-season instead of the obvious replacement, yes.’ Nina stood her ground, ignoring the flash of awareness in her gut that she felt with his eyes on her. ‘But it really shouldn’t have surprised me, considering the way you do business.’

Tristan tried to ignore the way Nina’s cheeks flushed as her temper rose. The woman was furious with him, that much was abundantly clear. Suddenly her aloof attitude from the night before made infinitely more sense. She’d been in a mask and haute couture, but as he’d surmised—scrubbed clean, she was still strikingly beautiful.

Pulling his attention back to the conversation at hand, he tried to resolve his unusually scattered thoughts. He’d come here to ascertain if her appearance last night had been with the intent to sabotage the team, or deliberately cause a scandal. Now that he was relatively sure it had been a misunderstanding on both of their parts, he had an even more difficult job to do—convince her to help him.

‘Exactly how do I do business, Miss Roux?’ He purred, ‘Please, enlighten me.’

‘You buy up failing companies and sell them off, with very little close contact or sentiment,’ she responded easily. ‘That tactic might work in a hedge fund or a faceless corporation, but it won’t work here. You may have put your name up front, but Roux Racing was built on passion and loyalty.’

Passion. Loyalty. The way she said the words with such conviction, it was clear she truly believed them. Perhaps in this case, she was right. ‘My ownership style is not why you weren’t consulted on the Accardi deal. We secured the signing of the decade that will give us a psychological and strategic edge against our biggest competitor. Surprise was essential.’

She didn’t answer him immediately, instead she grabbed her gym bag and disappeared momentarily into a screened-off area, no doubt to change into some clothing. He took the chance to steer the conversation to his ultimate goal. To the reason why he’d chosen to race here himself today, instead of sending his PR team in his place to clean up the mess. Tristan Falco never missed an opportunity to capitalise on a business opportunity, and Nina might not know it yet, but their kiss had unwittingly become the answer to both of their problems.

‘Speaking of passion, Astrid has informed me that the photo of us kissing has officially gone viral.’ He waited a moment, taking a seat on the long bench that lined the wall of the dressing room.

She reappeared from behind the screen in a pair of white gym shorts and a loose-fitting Falco Roux polo shirt. ‘You say that like it’s a positive thing.’

‘Actually, my team seems to think it’s the answer to all of our PR issues.’

Nina immediately stiffened and shook her head, jet-black waves shaking gently with the movement. ‘For you, perhaps. I’m sure the comments about me aren’t quite the same.’

He slid his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the curated list of comments that Astrid had forwarded him an hour before. They included gushing viral clips from critics and romantics and superstitious old-timer racing buffs alike. The list also included an unheard-of increase in the sale of Falco Roux merchandise, stock and race tickets over the past twelve hours, which was predicted only to grow as the news continued to spread. He watched as Nina read through the data, her keen eyes rising back to his with stunned understanding.

‘These comments...they’re all positive. Happy, even.’

‘Apparently the fans love us together. And the stockholders love it when the fans are happy. This is great for the team.’

She crossed her arms. ‘So this is why you came here. To ask me to go along with a lie for publicity?’

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