Page 24 of Formula Chance

I ignore the buzz of the party around me—the laughter, the low hum of voices mingling with the clink of plates and silverware. I don’t know if things will ever be settled between me and Bex to the point we can be friends, but it’s not feasible for us to act like strangers. And we certainly can’t have any hard feelings between us if I’m going to trust her and she’s going to trust me on the track.

The past three years of my life have been about rebuilding, about pushing forward, and I need to continue that path, unencumbered by anything or anyone that could pull me backward.

“I’ll catch you later,” I say to Reid, giving him a vague wave, and make my way through the crowd to Bexley.

She sees me coming, proving that she knew I was in this tent and had her eye on me. She turns her attention back to the man, shakes his hand, and starts my way. We meet near the middle of the tent, but the crowd is shoulder to shoulder.

“Want to take a walk?” I ask her.

Blinking in surprise, she stares at me. “A walk?”

“Outside… to talk,” I explain.

She tosses her thumb toward an area behind her. “They created a huge outdoor oasis. Not as many people out there yet.”

I sweep my arm to indicate she should precede me, and we head out into the warm desert night.

CHAPTER 8

Bex

The outdoor oasisis like stepping into a magical mirage. Twinkling lights are strung between towering palm trees which surround a large pool with a fountain in the middle. The water is illuminated, making the sky overhead seem even darker, and the entire feature is surrounded by cut marble tiles. I’m flabbergasted how they built such a thing in the middle of nothing but sand, and from what I understand, this was all constructed specifically for this party.

Low tables with intricate mosaic patterns hold trays of bite-size pastries and bowls of dates. The scent of oud lingers in the arid breeze, mingling with the faint aroma of spiced tea being served from gleaming samovars. I can’t help but marvel at the sheer extravagance. Only formula racing could turn a sandpit into something out of a dream.

But the dream is shattered by my own nerves as Nash walks beside me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, careful not to linger too long, but damn if he doesn’t still have that effect on me.

He’s wearing a black tailored suit that fits him like a glove, the sharp lines giving him a refined yet slightly dangerous edge. The crisp white shirt underneath is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned skin, and I’m digging his shorter hairstyle—it gives him a roguish charm that’s impossible to ignore. The moonlight catches on his profile, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble.

Still the most breathtakingly handsome man I’ve ever known.

“Nice setup,” he says, his voice breaking the silence.

I nod, my fingers fiddling with the edge of my hijab. “Yeah. It’s… something.”

He stops near a cluster of chairs arranged around a low firepit, and I almost stumble when his gaze sweeps over me. His expression softens, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look beautiful tonight.”

The compliment catches me off guard. I glance down at my dress—a modest thing, but somehow, he makes me feel very pretty in it. I hate that my cheeks flush under his attention. “Thank you,” I murmur, still not sure what to make of this version of Nash.

We sit on adjacent chairs and the awkwardness stretches between us. My stomach twists with anxiety. I’ve been dreading this moment, wondering how much anger Nash is still harboring for me. The memory of our run-in yesterday is still fresh, as is the heated exchange that followed.

The story of us, I suppose.

And honestly, my fear is that he’ll hold a grudge, and the thought of losing my job because of lingering resentment has been gnawing at me.

But instead of launching into accusations, Nash surprises me.

“My parents said to tell you hello,” he says casually, as if we’re old friends catching up.

I blink at him, startled. “Your parents?”

He nods, settling into the chair and draping an arm over the back. “I talked to my dad yesterday. They’re in Guildford, setting up my new apartment. Mom is buying all kinds of things I don’t need, and well… you know how it is with her.”

The mention of his mom brings a rush of warmth and bittersweet nostalgia. I loved Karen and Matt Sinclair. They’d welcomed me with open arms when Nash and I were engaged, treating me like family. “How are they?” I ask, dying to know. It was hard losing them from my life.

“They’re good. Excited for me to be back in racing,” he says.

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’m glad they’re doing well. Please tell them I said hi.”

---