Page 6 of Kiss & Collide
Yeah, absolutely not. Never. There was no way she was letting the media get within three meters of Reece. “I thought we’d start with the drivers first. Media likes to talk to them. Then we’ll segue into the new management. So I’ll contact Dieter Gruber and Joren van der Huizen to set something up at the earliest opportunity and—”
“Joren’s out,” Reece said absently, scrolling on his phone.
What?
“What’s that?” she said with forced calm.
Violet looked from Reece to Imogen, who was hovering behind Reece looking like she was about to cry again.
“Um. Joren has to have surgery on his back,” Imogen murmured. “He can’t race.”
“Since when?” Joren van der Huizen had been driving just fine right up until the start of the midseason break a few weeks ago.
Reece shrugged. “Yeah, I called him this morning to give him the good news about the sale and he told me he’d just talked to his doctor and he needs the surgery right away. Hell of a thing.”
Violet fought the urge to roll her eyes. Joren was a veteran. A dozen years in racing, a known name in the sport. This season at Pinnacle was supposed to be his swan song before retirement. No doubt as soon as he got the measure of Reece Hammond, he’d decided he’d rather not have this disaster besmirching the end of his career and suddenly developed a pressing injury that needed immediate attention.
“It’s no biggie,” Reece said. “The … whadaya call it?” He snapped his fingers and glanced at Imogen. “The understudy is on his way here now.”
“Reserve driver,” Imogen whispered to no one.
“Which reserve—” Violet started.
“Oh.” Imogen breathed out as the glass front door whooshed open behind Violet.
“There he is!” Reece shouted, brushing past her.
She turned to look.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck no.
Chase Navarro, looking like the star of some action movie in jeans and a battered brown leather jacket, lowered his mirrored aviator sunglasses and unfurled that deadly grin of his. Behind her, she heard Imogen sigh dreamily.
Reece crossed the atrium and raised a hand to high-five him. “Hey, Chase! Let’s hear it for Americans, right? USA! USA! USA!”
If Reece fist-pumped one more time, she was going to duct-tape his arms to his sides. But there were more pressing issues at present, like—
“Happy to be here,” Chase said with a smile. “You have no idea.” His eyes suddenly landed on her and his grin grew wider. “Hi, Violet.”
What was he doing here? How? Why?
Violet forced herself to move, one foot in front of the other, across the atrium to join them. She hadn’t seen him since that night—thatepicnight—in Monaco. She wasn’t supposed to see himagainunless it was in passing in the paddock. Her brain was frantically working to solve this rapidly unfolding disaster.
“Come on back and we’ll show you around,” Reece said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, my assistant will, since I’m new here, too.”
Imogen made a squeak of terror.
Reece turned to Violet and snapped his fingers at her like she was a fucking dog. “Why don’t you tag along too, ah …”
“Violet,” she said between gritted teeth. “Violet Harper.”
“Right. You can keep the fellas company, Vi. Isabelle, lead the way.”
Imogen didn’t correct him as she led them across the atrium. Violet fell in beside Chase.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “You drive Formula Two for Hansbach.”
“Yeah. I’m also on contract as a reserve F1 driver for Hansbach, Deloux, and Pinnacle.” He clapped his hands together with satisfaction, his dark eyes lit up with excitement. “And now, as of a couple of hours ago, looks like I’m driving Formula One for Pinnacle.” He looked at her sideways. “Funny seeing you here.”
