Page 66 of Formula Fling

He asks me a handful of standard fare questions, the usual stuff, and I give the appropriate credit to my team as they’re due.

I think I’m done when Gerhard drops a bomb on me. “Lex, before the race, a story broke about Posey Evans. I believe she’s been shadowing you for a supposed article about FI racing. We’ve learned she’s not actually a journalist but rather a romance author who approached Crown Velocity under false pretenses. Care to comment on that?”

I blink, my entire body going rigid. What the hell?

My head swivels, now frantically searching the crowd for Posey.

“Lex?” Gerhard prompts.

“I… I don’t know anything about that,” I stammer, thrown completely off-balance. “Excuse me.”

I shove the microphone into Gerhard’s chest and walk away, the world around me tilting as I search the crowd, panic rising in my chest. What the hell just happened?

Maeve appears, as if out of thin air, her face pale and her expression tense. She grabs my arm and pulls me to the side. “We have to talk.”

“What happened? Where’s Posey?” My voice is sharp, almost desperate.

“She’s gone,” Maeve says, and when she puts the diamond bracelet in my hand, my stomach rolls. “The press confronted her before the race. They found out her secret and descended on her like vultures. She left.”

“Left the race, you mean? Because that’s fine. I don’t blame her. She’s probably hiding out in the hotel, but I’ll smooth this over with Harley.”

“She’s not at the hotel,” Maeve says tightly. “They said she checked out.”

“What?” The pit deep in my gut turns to lead. “Who told them?” I demand, my mind racing. And then it hits me. There’s only one person who could’ve done it.

“She thinks you’re the one who told the press,” Maeve says and I jerk in shock.

“Why would she think that?” I murmur, my fingers rubbing the diamonds.

“Because you’re the only one who knew besides me and she could tell it wasn’t me.”

I glare at Maeve. “We weren’t the only ones.” I hand the bracelet to her. “Keep that safe for me.”

My blood boils, rage simmering under the surface as I march toward the cool-down room. When I step inside, I see Ronan andSebastian, sitting on their stools with bottles of water in hand. They’re laughing together, oblivious to what’s about to happen.

With focus and purpose, I stride up to Ronan and throw a punch, my fist connecting with his jaw. His chair tilts backward into a curtained wall and he tries to overcorrect by leaning to the side, only to be dumped onto the floor.

I reach for him, intending to haul him up and hit him again.

“You fucking asshole!” I shout, but Sebastian grabs my arms from behind and pulls me back.

“Lex, stop!” he yells as Ronan slowly rises from the floor, rubbing his jaw.

And the fucker smirks at me.

I’m going to kill him.

Harley bursts into the room, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” she roars, putting herself in between me and Ronan. Her eyes are intense with the promise of retribution as she murmurs to me, “We are on live television right now. You can sort this shit out later.”

I glare at Ronan, my fists still clenched, but I back off. Harley glares at us, shaking her head in disgust.

“Excuse me,” a woman says from the open doorway that leads to the podium staging area. She’s one of the FI staff. “Everything’s ready for the podium ceremony.”

The last thing in the world I want to do is stand up on that stage and smile as if this is the best moment of my life when it feels like the worst. But it’s my job on the line and I have to balance that with the need to make things right for Posey.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur. Sebastian and Ronan take their spots out on the elevated stage to the roar of cheering fans. I come out last, waving in acknowledgment and step up onto the middle tier. Clasping my hands behind my back, I barely hear “God Save the King” being played—it’s tradition for the winner’s national anthem to be played first, thenthe constructor’s national anthem. Since Crown Velocity is as British as I am, the song is only played once, thank fuck, because I’m ready for this to be over. Trophies are handed out and I go through the motions, my mind buzzing with dreadful thoughts.

Large bottles of sparkling rosewater are handed to us to spray each other with, a small deviation from the tradition of using an Italian sparkling wine in recognition of the laws of Islam prohibiting alcohol in this forum.

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