Page 17 of Cross the Line
I close my eyes, chin dipping to my chest. ‘Oh, but Idid.’
‘Fire her,’ he demands. ‘Right now.’
‘I can’t do that.’ I sigh. ‘I’m the one who offered her the job. I need her help.’
‘Then youreallyfucked up. Do you need me to remind you of what happened the last time you got too close to her?’
He definitely doesn’t. I’ll never forget how I found myself in the barriers on lap thirty-seven in Austin because I couldn’t get Willow and our kiss out of my head. When I finally made it back to the pit lane after riding on the scooter of shame behind a chatty marshal, I told my team principal that I just made a stupid rookie mistake and locked up the rear wheels, but all it took was one firm look from Mark to spill my guts.
‘You crashed in your home race, Dev,’ he scolds. ‘Your home race!’
‘Yes, thank you. I’m well aware,’ I mumble, rubbing my eyes as if that will get the images of Willow’s face and my ruined car out of my head. ‘And technically, Vegas is my—’
‘Shut up,’ he cuts in. ‘This is a bad idea and you know it. She’s a distraction. Not only that, but we both know Oakley will cut your balls clear off if you ever make a move on her. You remember how he threatened me when I had the nerve to say she looked nice?’
Oh yeah, Oakley was touchy in the aftermath of Jeremy-gate. We could hardly even look at Willow without finding ourselves on the receiving end of his glare. With time, he eased up, but his warning last October was a reminder of the lengths he’d go to for his sister.
‘Yeah, that’s because he knows what a whore you are,’ I joke, trying to lighten a quickly soured mood.
Mark scoffs. ‘As if you’re any better. Need I remind you of Monza two years ago?’
‘That was a one-time thing,’ I point out. ‘How can you not expect me to end up in bed with five women after making it onto my first F1 podium?’
‘You barely got third, and that’s because four other drivers got penalties.’
‘A podium is a podium, baby. Gotta celebrate what you can.’
‘You’re ignoring the point,’ Mark huffs. ‘Oakley is never going to let any of us even get near Willow after—’
‘I know,’ I interrupt softly, deflating. I hold the glass to my forehead, hoping the cold will shock some sense into me.
‘And can you blame him? Jeremy wrecked her.’ He lets out a long breath. ‘And she’s the reasonyouwrecked.’
‘Oh, fuckoff. That was a terrible joke. I’m throwing tomatoes at you in my head. Boo, hiss, get off the stage!’
‘I’m not kidding around.’ Mark’s tone makes that abundantly clear. ‘You cannot let this girl get to you again, Dev. If you’re really going to do this, you have to keep it strictly professional – for your sake and the sake of your friendship with Oakley.’
Guilt simmers in my chest. He’s right. I need to keep my distance from Willow whether she ends up working for me or not.
But after seeing her tonight – after dreaming of the words she said to me that drunken night last year – it’ll be easier said than done.
Because Willow already has a hold on me, and I have no idea how to shake her off.
CHAPTER 7
Willow
Thank goodness for jet lag. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have slept at all last night.
Dev and his job offer are the first things on my mind when I wake, my stomach twisted in knots and my head hazy. Before the fog clears, I briefly wonder if yesterday was a hallucination. But the glittering Monaco harbour outside my balcony doors is proof otherwise. So is my dress from last night’s event, thrown over the chair in the corner. The half a dozen texts from Oakley telling me he’s on his way up to my room solidify it. I’m really here. And Dev really did hire me to fix his problematic image.
Groaning, I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the door when Oakley’s complicated signature knock resounds from the other side. It’s a remnant from our days playing Ruler of the Castle in our treehouse. Back then, you weren’t allowed entry without the secret knock but, nowadays, we use it to announce our presence to each other.
Without bothering to check the peephole, I pull down on the handle and haul open the heavy door, careful not to throw my hip out to the side for leverage as I do. I learned the hard way to use my limited upper body strength instead. I’m not interested in dislocating a hip again or spending hours in a Monaco hospital to get it put back in place.
‘What should we do today?’ Oakley asks as he strides inside. It’s barely nine, but he’s already showered and dressed.
I, on the other hand, am still in pyjamas – cute long-sleeved pink linen ones, sure, but pyjamas, nonetheless – and my hair is a mess since I didn’t bother to tie it up last night, let alone wrap it in a scarf.
