Page 12 of Formula Fling

“Yes, you clearly come across as wanting to have fun,” she replies dryly. “But I really started liking the sport. Started watching all the races, read articles, watched interviews. It’s fascinating and I thought it would be a great sport to weave with romance. But I want authenticity and accuracy in my work. I’m not just some hack, you know. I needed to see it all firsthand.”

“Right. Firsthand,” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, I could have you thrown out of here. Tell Harley, tell the team. Your little scam would be over.”

Posey’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. “No! Please, don’t.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because…” She takes a deep breath, struggling to find the words. “Because I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m just trying towrite a book, and I needed to learn about the sport. I want it to be the best book possible. That’s all.”

“So why lie about it?”

“Because…” She looks around, almost helpless, before her eyes come back to me. “No one takes romance seriously. I would’ve been laughed at if I’d reached out for behind-the-scenes privileges to write a romance novel. But I knew posing as a journalist would give me the credibility I need.”

Makes sense.

“And just how did you fake it?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I honestly thought I’d be found out. I didn’t do much other than write an email using my legal name of Elizabeth Evans, said I was a freelance sportswriter. Harley called me directly and I’m guessing she liked my pitch so much, she didn’t bother to check me out.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Harley is big on handing out opportunity. She was given the biggest when offered this job and she pays it forward.”

Posey wrings her hands, teeth dug into her bottom lip while she waits to see what I’ll do.

I watch her for a moment, weighing my options. I could end this right now, have her kicked out of Crown Velocity, and be done with it. I never wanted her babysitting me anyway.

But a few factors have me considering alternatives. First, I might not like having the babysitter, but there’s no doubt my behavior was somewhat modified with Posey in tow last night. The threat of that article hanging over me kept me slightly in check and it is my job on the line.

Second, she got me home safe and sound. No ravers in my flat. I was able to party and not worry about consequences. That’s a good thing, right?

Plus, I find her a bit refreshing if I’m honest and I do get a perverse pleasure from baiting her.

And finally, there’s something about the desperation in her eyes that makes me pause. I believe her when she says she’s not out to hurt anyone and a part of me admires the hell out of the lengths she went to in the name of her work, no matter how ridiculous I might think it is.

“All right,” I say, leaning against the cushions and tossing my arm over the back in a pose of confidence. This puts me in a position of power. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Posey lets out a breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

“But,” I add, holding up a finger, “there’s a catch.”

She frowns. “What kind of catch?”

I lean in, lowering my voice. “I know Harley is using you to keep me in line. She’s using the threat of you writing something bad about me to make sure I stay out of trouble. I know now there is no such article and you can’t really hurt me, but I have to say, there’s some benefit in keeping you around. You can report to Harley that I’m on my best behavior. You can make sure I continue along that path.”

“Like a babysitter,” she mutters.

“Yeah… if that’s the conclusion you want to draw. You make me look good to the boss. And in exchange, I’ll teach you everything you need to know about FI. I am curious though… how did you think all of this was going to end? Were you just going to disappear after you got your information?”

Posey shakes her head, nibbling on her fingernail. “No. I’m going to write an article and let Harley see it. I was even going to submit it as a freelancer to some publications. I intend to follow through on that, so my guise isn’t completely fraudulent.”

“Even better,” I say with a wide grin. “You write only good things about me.”

“To do that, you have to be good,” she points out.

“Of course.” I incline my head. “But you have to make sure that I stay good. Babysit, remember?”

Posey bites her lip, clearly unsure if she should trust me. But she doesn’t have a choice, and we both know it. If I out her, she’ll lose the inside research she’s seeking and possibly land in hot water for the deception.

“Fine,” she says at last, her voice firm. “Deal.”

---