Page 9 of Formula Chance

“We deal with it. But for now, Nash is right,” she says firmly. “We don’t make hasty decisions without seeing how things unfold, so Bexley stays. But if she gets in the way of your success, she’ll have to go.”

I nod in agreement, because that’s as it should be. I’m not the only one with bitter feelings. I’m pretty sure Bex hates me, and if she comes at me, I’ll let the team cut her loose. “Understood.”

“Good,” Brienne says, offering me a small but satisfied smile. “My driver is out front, ready to take you to the airport. We’ll work things out with Greg, and I’ll get someone to find you suitable housing in Guildford.”

We all stand, and I first shake Luca’s and then Brienne’s hands. As I walk to the door, it hits me like a sack of bricks what I just signed on for.

I’m going to be racing in Formula International again.

I’m going to get back onto the very track that tried to kill me.

The thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. I’d be lying if I didn’t say this was a dream that I never let be fully realized, and I’ll never question what fortune brought Brienne Norcross to my doorstep. I only know that I’m going to work my ass off to keep my place.

I make my way through the building and down to the lobby level where I see the same limousine that brought us here parked out front. The driver sits inside, the engine running and misty frost expelling from the exhaust system in the March Pittsburgh cold.

I’m heading for the door, buttoning up my coat when I hear, “Nash.”

My spine stiffens in recognition of that soft British voice, and I turn to see Bex walking toward me. Her face is grim, her gaze wary. I reluctantly hold my place, waiting for her to reach me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Everything I’ve been trying to bury rushes back to the surface—unwanted, unforgiving. She’s the last person I wanted to see today, but here she is, standing in front of me like it’s nothing.

“Hey,” she says quietly, her voice just barely breaking the tension. “I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

“About what?” I ask bluntly.

Coldly.

She steps a little closer, something guarded in her expression. “So… it’s really happening then. You’re back in Formula International and I just wanted to say congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, and start to turn away.

Her hand falls on my forearm. “Wait. Please.”

With a sigh, I turn toward her and she takes a step back. I wait her out, not willing to say a word so she understands I have no desire to talk to her.

“How are you doing?” she asks lamely, and I can tell that’s not what she really wants to talk about.

“I’m doing none of your fucking business, Bex. That’s how I’m doing. Does that answer your question?”

Her face tightens.

That beautiful face of high cheekbones, golden eyes and golden hair to match, with full lips flattened so austerely, I can see the muscles in her jaw working. “I just asked how you’re doing,” she snaps, and there’s a flicker of something dark across her face—something I’m not ready to deal with. “I should’ve known better.”

I take a step forward, not thinking, but suddenly I’m too close to her, and I feel that old pull again. The temptation to lash out, to push back, to grab her to me, to kiss her.

Fuck no. Not that.

“You’re right… you should have known better,” I growl.

“You’re acting like a child,” she sneers.

“You think it’s easy for me?” My words are rough, unmeasured and full of fire. “You think just because I was offered a contract that my life isn’t completely upended and unbalanced?” I gesture vaguely, frustrated, like I can’t articulate it. “You’ve got your job, you’ve got your place here, but me? I have everything to prove, and everything to lose, so pardon me if I’m a little fucking cranky. It’s not just about racing anymore, Bex. It’s about everything that came after—” My voice cracks, but I quickly shove it down. “None of this is easy for me, and I don’t need you adding to it.”

Bex takes a sharp breath, her chest rising as her lips tighten. She’s not backing down, and it only makes me angrier. “You don’t think I have anything to lose?” she says, her voice icy. “You think you’re the only one haunted here? You think it’s easy for me to walk into a room and pretend this is normal, pretend that nothing ever happened between us? You think I forgot everything that happened between us, Nash?”

It’s out now, and I feel the sting of her words like a slap to the face. My fury rises, swirled with dread that things are too precarious right now.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I raise my hand, silencing her. The words, the anger—everything is spiraling. “Stop,” I tell her, my voice low. “Just… stop. This is getting out of control, and I’m not doing this here. Not now.”

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