Page 11 of Sparks Fly
“Alexandre.”
I nod.
“I’m Anaïs, or Clemmie, Clementine, whatever.” I wave my hand in front of me, and he is still standing there smiling before he dips his head and turns his back on me, walking out the room.
Once the door is shut, I inhale heavily and look around the beautiful penthouse.
Not a bad place to be heartbroken I suppose.
Chapter Three
Creed
“Just fix the damn car,”I snap, cutting off my race technical director.
Shaking my head, I press my fingers to my temple and take a deep breath. After the epic failure of Silverstone, I needed the car sorted and ready for Spa. We were tying with Red Force and the last thing I need is to lose more points to them because we can’t get the fucking car sorted.
Colby walks through the door, gives me one look, and rolls his eyes.
“You really do need to try and keep your stress levels down,” he says, so blasé.
My green eyes lift to his. “No shit.” I growl, and I watch a stupid smirk flash across his lips.
“Just letting you know Royce is here, and an FYI…” He pauses before stepping closer to me, “He is in a bit of a mood.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes.
“Probably still sour about his breakup.”
My ears prick.
“Break up?” I furrow my brows before I sit back in my office chair, hands buried into my lap.
“Yeah, he dumped Clemmie.”
“Idiot, but if it makes his racing better then good riddance.” My jaw tightens.
“You’re such a delight,” Colby says and I flip him off.
He turns on his heel and walks out of my office, purposely slamming the door behind him.
“Twat.” I shake my head and type a quick message out on my phone, arranging to see Tahlia tonight. Not that I particularly want company, but after the day I’ve had, I think I need to burn some stress, and the gym just wasn’t going to cut it.
Sitting back in my chair, I wait for Royce to bounce through the door. Turning my head, I gaze out at the rolling green in front of me. Our head offices are located in Surrey, but I’m only here during the season. I always try to get away for city breaks between races.
There is a knock at the door and I call for whoever it is to come in.
“Hey,” my son says, and my eyes lift to him.
Dark hair. Blue eyes. Skin a little pale. Gets that from his mum.
My stomach twists.
“You okay?” I ask as he slumps himself in the chair in front of my desk with a heavy sigh.
“Been better,” he admits and I nod.
“I know that feeling.” I run my hand over my lips, my stubble catching my skin.
