Page 64 of Formula Fling

But I’m already gone. I’m already walking away, my chest tight, my vision blurred with tears I refuse to shed. I push through the paddock exit, elbowing my way through the throngs of people and finally I’m free of the track with the desert spread out before me.

For a moment, I’m lost and unsure of what to do and then it must be serendipity because a taxi pulls up and out pour some Matterhorn FI fans. I bolt that way, grab the back door and peer into the sedan. “Can you take me to Manama?”

“Yes,” the driver says and motions me inside. I give him the hotel address and he nods his understanding.

My phone buzzes inside my purse as the car pulls away, but I ignore it. I know it’s Maeve begging me to come back. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes, formulating the plan in my mind.

I feel long bursts of buzzing coming from within my purse, but I’m not about to answer. Maeve is just going to have to deal with it all because I don’t have it in me.

It’s time to come up with a plan. I need to pack, check out of the hotel and head to the airport. I’ll grab the first flight to anywhere—doesn’t matter where it’s going. I just need to get as far away as possible.

That’s a good plan.

I grab my phone so I can book a flight and I’m shocked when I see it was Harley who called me. I bet she’s been hit by the reporters and now she knows the truth. The voicemail icon shows she left a message and I stare at it in horror. I can only imagine what she said. Probably something like,You are unbelievable. Absolutely deceitful. You preyed upon our generosity and you are sick, depraved and beyond redemption.

Truthfully, Harley wouldn’t say that, but she’d probably threaten me with legal action. I can’t bear to listen to it so I pull up my browser and get to work on booking my ticket out of here.

By the time I make it to the hotel, I’ve booked a flight on Emirates to New York, and I have just enough time to make it if I hurry.

“Can you take me to the airport?” I ask the driver, assuming he speaks English as many here do.

“Yes, of course,” he says.

“I’ll be fifteen minutes max. I promise a good tip.”

He nods politely and I scramble out of the back seat.

It takes only ten to stuff my clothes into my suitcase, swipe my toiletries into my carry-on and slide my laptop in my backpack. I spy one of Lex’s T-shirts at the foot of the bed. I wore it last night after…

Tears spring to my eyes and I resist the urge to take it, even as my hand rubs at the bare spot on my wrist where his bracelet had been.

Without a backward glance, I leave the hotel room and begin the process of putting the shambles of my heart back together. It all starts with distance, and I cannot wait to leave this place.

In the taxi, I sit quietly as we navigate out of the city to Bahrain International Airport. It’s weird, but my mind should be swirling with the horrors of the last hour. Instead, I relish the blessed numbness.

Actually, I feel a decided calm within me and I think that has everything to do with the fact that I’ll be flying out of this country, away from this lifestyle and back to my little cocoon in North Carolina. It makes me almost giddy with excitement and I vow to myself I’ll just forget this ever happened.

In fact, I’m deleting the damn manuscript and going back to my historical fiction.

Fuck formula racing.

This new burst of confidence has me curious and I pull out my phone. I navigate to voicemail and without hesitation, press the button to listen to Harley’s message. I do need to know how bad the fallout could be for me.

“Posey, I need you to call me back immediately. It’s important that we talk about what happened. Obviously, we aren’t telling Lex that you left as we can’t have him distracted, but… well, just call me.”

The message ends and I’m flummoxed. There were no threats. In fact, she didn’t sound angry, only mildly annoyed.

Part of me wants to dial her back and get the berating over with, but the other part—the one that wants to put this all behind me—decides against it. I delete Harley’s message and shut off my phone, shoving it deep into my bag.

Back into the sand my proverbial ostrich head goes, and there it will stay.

CHAPTER 22

Lex

The engine roarsthrough my bones, but my mind is split between the track ahead and the battle behind me. I’m in the lead, holding a solid two-second gap, but Stefan and Tomas are right on my heels, fighting for second. It’s the last lap, and Titans Racing has been making waves ever since Brienne Norcross took over. Everyone’s been watching Tomas this season, and it’s no surprise he’s going wheel-to-wheel with Stefan.

I push hard through the next corner, hitting every apex perfectly, but I can’t shake the thought of them closing in. The rearview mirror shows glimpses of their cars battling, Rosso Corso versus Titans Racing, both desperate and unwilling to back down.

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