Page 59 of Green Flag
“Abbé still work with you guys?” he asked in English.
“He does,” I said slowly, hesitant to change the conversation. “Most decent man on the team.”
“I haven’t told him I’m here today,” he said, checking his silver Piaget watch. “Was going to go down to the pit box to see Nix. We go way back. But they wouldn’t let me.”
“You used to work forCiclati?” Not just StormSprint?
He grinned and pulled out a faded StormSprint Staff pass, placing it on the bar.
“Haven’t for a few years,” he said and paid for his tab with a wave of his card. “Probably not since you started racing. Sprint2 is over, so I guess they’ll be up soon. Abbé will need his gin.”
“How did you get out?” It was a rush of words.
He looked me over, pausing to drain the last of his glass. “What are you willing to do?”
I wouldn’t quite sayanything, but… There was a shorter list of things Iwouldn’tdo.
“Don won’t let me go,” I told him.
“Cris won’t either?”
“He says it’s not his call.”
He scoffed. “If he wanted to let you go, he could. You’ll just need to do one of two things.”
“Which are?”
“Rig the races so you purposely fail,” he said, but judging by my outraged expression, he nodded, already knowing that wasn’t my style. “Or make him hate you. His daughter is a good shout.”
I nodded, trying to shake the idea into my head. Hate was an option. Using Everly wasn’t.
He tsked, knowing that was almost impossible for me too. When he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, the words escaped me before I could stop them because I couldn’t let this stranger go just yet.
“Come down to the pit box with me,” I said and he immediately stopped. “See everyone. They’re filming a StormSprint documentary today, it might be nice for you to get involved.”
Sure, Livie would be fuming, but a man who hated Cris was probably a friend worth making.
Nix would be getting changed, and Abbé would be tuned into his iPad, looking at Nix’s performance from qualifying. Livie would be wrapped up with the producers and camera team.
With them busy, maybe I could get more out of this all-too-willing man.
“Are you sure?” he asked with a blink.
“Yeah,” I said. “Our media manager probably won’t appreciate me coming down with a drink in hand while they’re filming, so let me just finish this.”
We continued to talk about our love of bikes, the championship and how racing had changed since he’d last been on the tarmac. When I told him the power difference between my Sprint3 bike and my StormSprint bike, he almost choked on his pint.
Security looked alarmed when I took him to the back. I had no names attached to mine for VIP entry. Ever. Most of my family were known by everyone here, and my friends were all racers. I never had any romantic interests worth inviting. Down the walk to the pit box, he remarked how nothing had changed in the four years since he’d been there last, even down to which pit box was Ciclati’s.
“It’s the one coming up next, isn’t it?” he laughed. “Nothing really changes around here other than the tech.”
Everly opened the door, and my chest tightened when she immediately smiled at me. Then her face dropped as her gaze crashed into the man I’d brought down.
And I knew I’d made a huge mistake.
She was frozen as Pedro continued to discuss the years-old rivalry between Prixton and Ciclati, but I wasn’t listening.
Because Everly looked horrified.
