Page 10 of Octane

He closes the door and turns to face me.

“Good. You really dropped the ball today. Between arriving late and your lackluster pitch, I should fire you. Not only could you have cost the company millions of dollars, but you make it seem like you get to do whatever you want because of your connection to me.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s completely unacceptable. You need to step it up. It can’t appear as though you have special privileges. I could get into a lot of trouble. My father may own the company, but the board keeps a close watch on everything that goes on in that office.”

“Trina stayed behind with me tonight and helped me plan out some of my upcoming pitches. She told me she will help me practice beforehand next time. Okay? I’m trying, Daniel. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is make you look bad.”

I watch some anger melt away as I stroke his ego a little.

“Sawyer…”

He pulls me in for a hug and rests his chin on the top of my head.

“I just can’t help but think that if you didn’t waste your time trying to become a silly race car driver, then you might have more time to devote to your job.”

Swallowing the fireball of angry word vomit that’s threatening to spill out of my mouth, I can’t let the words I long to say out.

“Thought you didn’t want me working there, anyway?”

“I don’t,” he pulls away and looks at me with his signature condescending, asshat gaze, “but you just don’t have what it takes to be a race car driver.”

The tears I cast away down in the garage are back with a vengeance. They stab at my eyes like pinpricks, and I don’t have the power to stop them this time.

He places his cold palm to my cheek, a gesture that’s meant to bring a feeling of love and compassion, but coming from him feels like a venomous snakebite.

“Now, I will never understand why you feel the need to work when you have me to take care of you, but since you chose to work for me, I can see to it that you actually succeed in at least one thing that you’re passionate about.”

With the final blow delivered, Daniel turns and struts into the bedroom with more swagger than any one person should ever have, shutting the light off as he goes. I lean against the wall behind me and sink to the floor, bawling silently into the dark, empty room.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAWYER

It’s been nearly a week since my argument with Daniel, and the only thing that’s been helping me keep my shit together is the meeting with Powell Racing today. I need it to go well. It feels as though my life depends on it.

Riding down in the elevator, I’m reminded of my run in with the Penthouse Prick last week. I haven’t seen him since, thankfully. He may be nice to look at, but he seems like an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole.

When the elevator doors open to the garage under our building, I head to my car. Daniel’s car isn’t there since he left early this morning. I know it’s because he didn’t want to talk to me about my meeting, which actually surprised me. I had expected him to stay and make snide comments like he’s been doing all week. He could tear me down and make me even more anxious than I already am.

Imposter syndrome is real, and Daniel reminds me of it daily.

Sitting in my driver’s seat, I turn on my car then put it in drive. Before I pull out of my space, I open the visor, making sure that I look immaculate.

I made sure that I left with more than enough time to get to my meeting. Unless traffic screws me over, I should get there about twenty minutes early. I plan to hang out in my car until Vic gets there.

Pulling out of my parking space, I make the first turn around the bank of parked cars and onto the main aisle. As I gently accelerate, my cell phone drops from its holster in the air vent and falls to the floor. Reaching for it, I don’t notice the Lamborghini that’s pulling out in front of me until it’s too late. I swerve a little so I don’t hit the car, and narrowly miss rear-ending the back of another one.

“Shit!” I scream into my empty BMW.

My heart races at the close call and I silently thank God that my car didn’t smash into any of the other cars around me. Tearing my door open, I get out to make sure that the other driver is okay. Imagine my irritation when I see none other than the elevator nuisance step from the driver’s seat of the offending car.

God damn Penthouse Prick!

“You!” I shout at him.

“And you!” he shouts back, laughter following his words.

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