Page 8 of Fast-Track Fiancé

Tristan crossed his arms. ‘I expected a true business mind would see this as the golden bargaining opportunity that it is.’

‘You’re suddenly open to negotiation?’ She paused, one cynical brow quirking.

‘My offer is simple. Stay. Play the paddock romance out until the end of the season and you’re free to go.’

‘Just like that?’ She moved to the end of the bench, her hands twisting over and over in a strangely entrancing motion. When her eyes met his, they were stark. ‘What if I say no?’

Tristan paused, measuring his words carefully before he spoke. ‘If you try to leave for another team, then this goes exactly the same way it has gone for every other driver who has tried to break their contract. No special treatment.’

Nina closed her eyes. She knew what that meant. Legal battles, public defamation, and her reputation as a spoilt princess would become even more prominent. But there was still a chance she’d be bankrupt even if she saw the full contract out. Reserve drivers’ wages didn’t pay nearly enough to cover the her annual racing licence fees and other costs, not now that she was maintaining the cost of running the girls academy fully by herself. She’d have to downsize, maybe even close down for good and disappoint all of the talented young girls around the world who looked up to her and relied on her guidance.

Nina ran a hand through her hair. ‘So my choice is to stay put for the next two years and waste more time as a reserve, or compromise my integrity by playing the part of the billionaire owner’s girlfriend for the next few months. That’s great, just great.’

‘Fiancée,’ Tristan said silkily, his eyes pinning her in place.

‘What? Why?’ Nina felt her words tumbling over her tongue but was powerless to stop them. Nothing about this interaction was anywhere close to being in her comfort zone and it just seemed to be getting worse with every new piece of information he divulged.

‘My mother has recently been pressuring me to marry, and until last night I was in the market to fulfil that wish. If we go ahead with encouraging this PR fire for the next few months, it’ll give me time without her breathing down my neck. I need it to benefit me as well.’

The mention of his needs made her breath catch and her traitorous imagination run wild with images of what such needs might entail. She pushed them away, trying to focus her business mind on the offer as a whole. Trying to make sure she wasn’t being led astray.

‘If I say yes, what would this deal entail?’ she asked slowly, nibbling on the edge of a fingernail. ‘Just holding hands in public every now and then?’

‘Initially, we would just continue to stir speculation, capitalise on the current interest by being seen often together in the public eye.’

‘And once that part is done?’ she pressed.

‘We would eventually announce our engagement and use our individual images to benefit one another: my presence at more of your races and your presence in my upcoming Falco Diamonds centenary campaign, that kind of thing. I will also require your attendance as my fiancée at my mother’s wedding in Buenos Aires, but we’ll be there for the Argentinian race, anyway. Don’t worry; behind closed doors, this relationship will be purely platonic. It’ll be safer for us both that way.’

‘So it wouldn’t be a big commitment, then. Timewise, I mean?’ she asked, mulling over the potential pitfalls and struggling to find any that weren’t in favour of agreeing to this mad plan. ‘With your decision to bring in a completely new driver mid-season, I won’t have much spare time, Mr Falco.’

‘You’ll make time for me, Nina,’ he said calmly, without missing a beat.

Nina ignored the thoroughly inappropriate pulse of awareness that thrummed through her at his words. ‘With all due respect, Tristan, as a professional driver, I have a very demanding job.’

‘Duly noted, but as my fiancée you will go where I go. Starting right now.’ He eyed her Falco Roux polo shirt. ‘You might want to change. I’ve made a lunch reservation at Blu Mont.’

‘I haven’t actually agreed to anything yet.’ She looked down at her shorts and running shoes. ‘And besides, I find it hard to see how anyone with a pair of eyes will believe that you’re planning to marry me whether I’m in my uniform or a ballgown.’

He stepped closer. ‘You’d better start convincing yourself, then. Because once you agree, this deal begins immediately.’

CHAPTER FOUR

IF HE’D THOUGHT the sight of Nina braless in her slightly translucent Falco Roux polo shirt had been a distraction, nothing could have prepared him for how she looked in a pair of jeans. She’d brushed her hair out so that it flowed around her face and donned a simple white T-shirt and red leather jacket. It was laughable that some of the media articles he’d read had referred to her as plain—considering his blood pressure hadn’t quite stabilised since he’d walked in on her in nothing but a towel.

Some casual lunches and sightings of them together in public would be just enough to add more fuel to the fire before they officially confirmed their relationship to the press at a more strategic time. Astrid had been specific in her directions, and he trusted his PR manager implicitly, which was why he’d told her the truth. She was the best in the business, and if anyone could use this situation to their benefit, it was her.

He knew all too well that the key to selling a narrative was in the details, and so as he directed Nina to precede him onto the exclusive restaurant’s very publicly visible seafront terrace he made sure to touch her elbow and guide her with his hand in the small of her back. Once she was seated, he trailed his fingers along the back of her chair, leaning down to lay a gentle caress upon her cheek before taking his own seat.

As he predicted, she was a little less relaxed about their ruse, those expressive eyes throwing daggers at him across the table every couple of moments as she intently focused upon her menu and not him.

‘Have I done something to upset you, mi cielo?’ he asked, reaching a hand out to cover hers with his own. She pulled away, hastily taking a long sip of water.

‘The photographer isn’t here yet,’ she said quietly, returning her attention to the menu.

‘This isn’t just about appearing in more photos. Everyone who sees us should be under no illusion that we are an item.’

‘These people are all looking at you, they barely even know who I am. Nor do they particularly care.’

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