Page 7 of Formula Fling

Lex shrugs, that cocky smile still plastered on his face, and his phone rings. “Suit yourself,” he says before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He connects the call. “Yo… mate. What’s up?”

I can’t hear the other side of the conversation but based on the easy grin that creeps onto his face, it’s clear this isn’t business.

“You’re kidding,” Lex says, his voice lowering slightly. “That’s tonight?”

He glances at me, then looks away quickly, like he’s just remembered I’m standing there listening.

“Yeah, I’m in. Always up for a bit of that,” he continues, excitement seeping into his tone. “Where’s it happening?”

There’s a pause as he absorbs the details from whoever’s on the other end. I stand awkwardly to the side, trying not to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible not to notice how animated Lex has become. Whatever this thing is—and I’m guessing it involves partying—it’s exactly the kind of thing he’s known for. Wild, reckless off-track behavior.

“Sounds perfect,” Lex says with a chuckle, then his eyes flick back to me, and the grin fades. He clears his throat, suddenly sounding reluctant. “Uh… yeah, just one thing. Got a bit of a situation.” Lex rubs at the back of his neck, his tone clearly irritated. “Got a reporter following me around for the next couple of weeks. Part of the whole PR stunt the team’s pulling. So, she’ll be tagging along.”

“Yeah, mate,” Lex says with a disappointed sigh. “I know. Believe me. But don’t worry, I’ll still come. Just… no chaos tonight, all right?”

Whatever the other person says causes Lex to laugh. “You need to be on your best behavior too. You’re a menace.” He listens for a moment longer before ending the conversation with a “Cheers.”

Lex slips the phone back into his pocket and appraises me. “I’m told you’re supposed to shadow me at all times. Hope you’re ready for tonight. You’re gonna get to see some behind-the-scenes fun.”

Lex Hamilton’s idea of fun is exactly what the tabloids thrive on, and the thought of following him into that world is a little intimidating. While I’m committed to squeezing all the juice from this opportunity, I know I’m out of my depth.

He must sense my hesitation and pounces on it. “Unless you’d rather not be involved in that. If you want to keep our interactions focused on the business side of things—”

“I’ll come,” I say quickly before I can talk myself out of it. I’m in too deep not to take advantage of his offer, and if I’m going to write this book, I need to experience it all.

Lex sighs. “I figured you might.” But then his smirk returns, a glimmer of something else in his eyes—maybe a test to see if I can handle this side of his life. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. Sort of.”

His words hang in the air as he walks past me, leaving me to wonder exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.

CHAPTER 3

Posey

I’m not surewhat I was expecting when Lex said we were going out tonight, but I can guarantee it wasn’t this. I look down at my jeans tucked into knee-high boots, feeling every inch the awkward American in the middle of this trendy London nightclub. I think I might be the only woman not wearing a skimpy dress, but I at least put on a sparkly blouse and earrings to match.

The music is loud, pulsing through the room, and the lights flash in time with the beat, casting everyone in shades of neon pink and blue. People here are dressed to the nines—sparkly dresses, designer shoes, leather jackets—and then there’s me. I’ve got my notepad tucked away in my bag, ready to whip it out if I need to look like I’m doing my “job.”

Lex, on the other hand, looks like he belongs here. He’s dressed in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows—showcasing some amazing forearm porn, if I’m honest—and dark jeans that cling to his athletic frame. A silver watch glints on his wrist, and his hair is perfectly tousled, like he didn’t even try. He’s not blending in but standing out. Girls in tight, revealing clothing throw themselves at him and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

No, he’s enjoying it, and I find it typical and cliché.

We’ve been sitting at a private table arranged by the management in a roped-off section of the club, and I’m trying to make the best of an uncomfortable situation. I don’t fit in withthis crowd and I have nothing in common with Lex, but this deceptive escapade is going to be anything but easy.

What’s even worse, his friend, Ronan Barnes—the second driver for Crown Velocity—is an absolute douche and Lex doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

Ronan is tall, with a build like Lex’s, but more… polished. He’s dressed in an expensive blazer, designer everything, like he’s a fashion model in his spare time. His blond hair is slicked back, and everything about him screams arrogance.

He was so rude when Lex introduced us, not waiting for the formality of it. When we entered the club, I followed Lex back to the private area. We walked up to the table where Ronan had been camped and he looked me up and down like I was a bug and asked, “Who’s the mouse?”

It would have been understandable for any girl to wilt under his critical gaze and demeaning description, but I’m made of sterner stuff. I know I’m not stunning and sexy like these women who flock around Lex and Ronan, but I don’t think I’m all that unfortunate. People always say I look like the college girl next door. My dark brown hair is thick and glossy, my skin is clear, and I have a smattering of freckles over my nose that can sometimes make me look much younger than my twenty-three years. My eyes are my best feature in my opinion, settling somewhere on the color spectrum between gold and green. Hazel, I guess is the proper term, but there’s no brown within, merely striations of burnt amber.

Lex didn’t chastise Ronan for his crass remark but tossed a thumb at me. “Posey Evans. Reporter. Writing a big article about Crown Velocity. We have to be on our best behavior.”

“Screw that,” Ronan said in his posh British accent as he eyeballed me, and that was the end of his acknowledgment of my presence.

Since then, Lex and Ronan have mingled around the club, danced with various beauties and returned to the table on occasion to slam shots. They’re currently bumping and grinding with two blonds who are so drunk they’re in danger of falling over, and I watch with interest, waiting to see what happens.

“You must be the reporter.”

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