Page 17 of Fast & Reckless
“You’re welcome,” she said with an overly saccharine tone. “So, are we done here?”
“Yes, please,” he pleaded. “Let’s get out of here.”
Finally Mira found her voice, amazed to hear herself sounding so normal. “No, we can’t. There are more interviews.”
Violet glanced at her tablet. “Six more, to be exact.”
Will looked pained. “Violet …”
“Hey, this is how you properly thank me for covering your ass back there. Get in there and behave yourself.”
He groaned. “Got it.”
“And smile,” she said, turning and heading back out to the soundstage. “The ladies love you when you smile.”
Mira gathered up the rest of her scattered wits and started to follow Violet out of the room. She heard him sigh behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at him.
He was upset, that was all. She’d been there in front of him in a vulnerable moment and he’d … well, they’d … well, something almost happened that shouldn’t have happened. But the important thing was, ithadn’thappened. So they could carry on just as before. One thirty-second aberration wasn’t the end of the world. Soon they’d be on the road, on the racing circuit, and Will was sure to forget all about it, and her. And by then, maybe she’d have figured out how to forget about it, too.
10
After the press interviews wrapped, Violet and Will decided they should grab some dinner before taking the car back to Chilton. Mira hadn’t been to London in years, so she let Will and Violet pick the place. After a spirited debate, which was only settled because Will was paying and vetoed Violet, they ended up at a small brasserie not far from the television studio.
“It’s cozy,” Mira observed as they got settled. It was lit mainly by the votive candles on the table, and the walls were lined with an eclectic selection of old paintings and photos, all in mismatched gilt frames. Over the small bar in back, a chalkboard displayed the daily specials. A waitress with an undercut and a nose ring dropped off menus on her way to another table. It was hard to imagine this place being one of Will’s favorites, but then again, he kept surprising her.
Will shrugged. “It’s not far from my place. Good food.”
“Where’s your place?” Mira asked, telling herself she was just making polite conversation. In truth, she was wildly curious about his life outside of Lennox.
“Hackney, just north of here. I bought it …” He hesitated. “Three years ago. When I signed my Hansbach contract.”
“I see,” Violet teased. “It’s your splashy Formula One driver den of iniquity.”
Will shot her a look. “Not all that splashy, actually. It’s just a flat in a converted old factory.”
Okay, not quite the Death Star she’d imagined.
“What’s good here?” Violet said, before Mira had heard nearly enough about Will’s apartment.
He sighed. “Their pasta is brilliant, but my trainer will have my head if I eat it, so do it for me, please. At least I can smell it.”
“Sounds good,” Mira replied.
Violet was still examining the menu when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the face and frowned. “Order me the Bolognese and a big glass of red. I need to take this.”
Then she slid out of her seat and made her way to the front door. Mira could see her out on the sidewalk as she took the call, looking more annoyed than normal.
“Wonder what that’s about.”
“I’m convinced Violet is secretly an elite assassin,” Will said.
“Actually, I can totally picture that.”
The waitress returned for their orders. She ordered for herself and Violet, while Will forlornly ordered the steamed salmon, no sauce. Now that she’d seen him—nearlyallof him—it was hard to imagine that he could getmorein shape, but the pressure to stay in peak physical condition was the same for drivers as for any other elite athletes, especially as the start of the season grew nearer.
When the waitress had deposited their drinks—wine for Violet and herself, sparkling water for Will—Mira glanced back toward Violet, but she was still outside on the phone. No help coming from that quarter. She was going to have to makeconversation with Will on her own. Not that it was hard. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. And she was trying to forget any lingering weirdness from the afternoon, because he seemed fine. It probably wasn’t even a big deal for him. He likely kissed random women all the time and then never thought about it again. He might have already forgotten it even happened. She wished she could.
“Do you think Violet really managed to kill Pippa’s story?” he suddenly asked. His dark eyebrows were furrowed, casting his eyes into shadow. His uncertainty did a number on her, the same way it had that afternoon. It made her want to protect him, which was just ludicrous. Will Hawley hardly needed her as his defender.
