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“You, my friend, are the most respectful, thoughtful, considerate man I’ve ever met,” he presses, the veneration in his tone making me squirm. “There’s not a single person in this motorhome who would question your integrity or professionalism.”
I fall forward, the fatigue of the last few days shrouding me as my shoulders cave in on themselves. While I appreciate his assessment, it changes nothing. With my head in my hands, I groan. “It doesn’t matter. A relationship with Evangeline is too risky. I’m too well known, as isLuca. The media would destroy her. She’d never work in Formula 1 again.”
My friend keeps his focus fixed on me as he takes a slow sip. “And you’re sure that’s important to her?”
Confused, I frown. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head and huffs. “She just started working for Granata. On a new team. As a late hire. Some people spend years trying to break into this sport, but that doesn’t seem to be her angle. Are you sure a career in Formula 1 is some big dream for her?”
It’s not.
She told me so point-blank.
Yet I was so overwhelmed and blinded by the fear of causing her more harm that I ignored her pleas and dismissed her when she told me what she wanted and needed.
Heartache and regret swirl into a cyclone of misery as I tip my bottle up and finish off my beer.
Fuck.
What am I doing? And more importantly, why?
CHAPTER 54
EVANGELINE
Iswear my feet weigh twenty pounds each as I trudge toward the bank of elevators. Like a zombie on autopilot, I scan my card and press the button for my floor.
The weight on my shoulders is nearly unbearable, too. I can barely stand up straight. So once I’ve boarded the stainless-steel car, I slump against the far wall, dreading the few simple tasks I still have to complete tonight.
Body shower. Catch up on texts from the Eleven. Eat, maybe.
As the doors close, a woman calls out. “Hold it, please.”
Rumor is this hotel is booked to capacity, lodging Granata, Kelly, and Pavo employees. I’m sure she’s as tired as I am.
It takes Herculean effort, but I peel myself off the wall and lunge forward to push the button that will reopen the doors.
A petite woman in a Granata polo and sharp wide-leg trousers steps into the elevator, smiling. “Thanks.” As she takes me in, her expression contorts into a frown.
Do I really look that terrible? Probably. I’m too damn tired to even try to mask.
Though I do sense the tension growing between us, the awkwardness increasing with every floor we pass.
Obviously, this woman works for Granata. But I can’t place her.
“So this is awkward.” She chuckles.
I stare back at her, silent, because I don’t know why it’s awkward and I’m too tired to try to unravel her perception of me.
She blows out a long breath, offering me an apologetic smile.
Finally, the doors open on my floor.
She steps off behind me.
“Have a good night,” I murmur, desperate to be alone in my room.
“Evangeline.”
