Page 46 of Red Flag
“I’ll book some interviews for Sunday,” I blurted, crossing my legs, the towel over my lap. “After the race. Hi,Cesari.”
Cesariwas one of the other racers who only spoke a few words outside of Italian. My panicked garble would have gone over his head. He nodded and gave a small wave before sitting on the other side of the sauna.
Nix didn’t stop touching me, his hand around my ankle, but out of view as he sat properly once again. “I’m flying early after.”
“How early?” I asked, still a little breathless. It was so hot. It was too hot.
“Got to see an old friend,” he said, eyes latched on my cleavage peaking out.
“A friend?” I repeated, not holding back my frustration. Must be some friend for him to see them with such necessity.
“Don’t be jealous,” he chuckled, struggling to look away from my body. I stopped trying to wriggle away. “My friendVelazco.”
I recognised that name. Wait, no…
Surely he didn’t mean PedroVelazco, theCiclatianalyst before Abbe joined a few years ago? Not the one that had used the championship to traffic drugs across the world.
“No,” I said, disbelief and disgust thick within the syllable.I pulled the towel back around my chest for him to frown.
“What?”
“Your friend is getting out of prison this weekend!” I hissed, glancing atCesariwho had his eyes closed, head back.“You need to get as far away from that and him as possible. You’re not going.”
“You don’t control my life,” he grunted.
All lust had gone.
“I’m telling Cris.”
“My friend needs me right now,” he argued, letting me go.
“Then give him a call!” I said, voice raised. “But don’t go to his bloody house! Do you need to talk to him more than you need to save your career?”
“My career doesn’t need saving,” he snapped. Then paused, turning away from me. “It’s much easier to talk to you when you’re five thousand miles away. I prefer you like that.”
“I prefer it when you don’t try andflirtwith me to be able to go to silly, drug-fuelled parties!” I cried through gritted teeth. “For crying out loud, Nix, how stupid are you?”
“You’re overstepping,” he muttered, already standing and going for the door. “You’re not my manager.”
“I might as well be! I’m managing you more than he is.”
But he shook his head and left me. No matter how much I had wanted to be in the sauna, no matter how much I wanted to relax, that was no longer possible.
Chapter 12
Nixon and I ignored each other.
For two days.
I’d toldCrisabout his ridiculous plan to see his friend andCrishad let out a frustrated sigh before telling me he would handle it.
An hour later, I received an email.
Dear Media Manager,
I am now available on Sunday for any post-race interviews.
