Page 107 of Close Contact
Something warm and complicated twisted in my chest. I looked down, blinking fast.
“You didn’t have to,” I whispered.
“I know,” she replied. “But I wanted to.”
I swiped the back of my hand over my nose, feeling the roller coaster of emotions running rampant through me. “So, what, you want to represent me?”
She didn’t answer right away, so I pushed on. “What about Luminis? Between us, I’m not staying with them. I’m switching to Ferrari next year.”
Ivy exhaled loudly and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I representyou, not the team. Your current PR team only cares about your team image, but you really need someone looking out foryourbest interests. Besides, when your little affair comes out”—she waved her hand at me—“and itwill, you need someone to be able to smooth it over quickly and paint it in a better light.”
I hummed. “You’re right.” I tipped my glass back, contemplating as I rolled the wine over my tongue. “Would you take on other drivers? Or would that be a conflict of interest?”
She rolled her head on the back of the armchair until she could pin me with her mesmerizing pale green gaze. “Truthfully? Orion GP is being bought out next year, and an eleventh team is joining the grid. I’ve got my eye on both. They’ll be hungry for strong representation.”
My stomach sank at this revelation.
“That said,” Ivy added, “all my contracts are separate. There’s no conflict of interest unless my clients go after each other on purpose. And if they do…” She shrugged. “They’ll have to deal with me.”
I leaned forward and picked up the wine bottle, refilling both our glasses in silence. No contract. No handshake. Just the quiet acknowledgment that something had shifted.
I lifted my glass toward her.
“To new beginnings,” I said, voice soft but sure.
Ivy’s lips curved as she raised hers to meet mine with a gentleclink.
“And strategic seductions.”
We both sipped, the wine warm and rich on my tongue. She leaned back again, legs crossed, eyes studying me like she already knew exactly how this would all unfold. And maybe she did, because for the first time since this whole thing started, I didn’t feel like I was standing alone in the middle of the chaos.
I had another woman in my corner now who understood the pressures of being in a male-dominated industry.
And that changed everything.
Today’s racelanded me P1. I should’ve felt proud. Triumphant.
But all I felt was the absence of her. I sprawled across the hotel bed, phone pressed to my ear.
“You’re late,” Aurélie said through a yawn, her voice warm and teasing.
“I was doing laps around the marina. Kept checking my phone like a loser.”
“Youarea loser,” she said, “but you’re my loser.”
I smiled. Closed my eyes. Let her voice fill the hollow parts of me.
We hadn’t gone more than twelve hours without talking. Texts. Calls. FaceTimes with shaky hotel Wi-Fi.
She’d fall asleep to the sound of my voice. I’d wake up to a selfie of her in my lucky hoodie, biting her lip with a cheeky caption:Think this still smells like you.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough. Even knowing she had additional PR now—that woman from the other night, who apparently stormed into the Barcelona shoot like a devil in heels. I still didn’t feel like I could breathe. It should’ve made me feel safer, relieved, maybe even hopeful. But all it did was remind me how vulnerable we still were.
Would I lose her if this went sideways? Was I worth it if her career was on the line?
She was in another hotel across town, locked in press cycles and engineering debriefs. I was stuck with sponsors and PR meetings that never seemed to end. Our calendars didn’t just clash—they weredesignedto keep us apart.
And the worst part was that it wasn’t an accident. Barcelona proved how thin the veil really was, how easy it would be to lose her to public scrutiny, how one little slip up could result in gossip being spread like wildfire if the wrong person caught us. The moment the rumors flared again, they pounced. Ivy might’ve covered the fire, but it didn’t stop the team from trying to put out the smoke.
