Page 7 of On The Edge

“Why should I pick you?” he asks, back to his decisive, calculating self we all know and expect.

I may be offering to be a wallflower, but being subtle has never been my strong suit.

“Because I know shit about racing.”

He chuckles. “It’s Formula 1. Saying it’s ‘racing’ is an insult to the sport.”

I offer him a droll look. “Correction. Because I don’t know anything about Formula 1. Hell, I don’t even know the first thing about it or its racers.”

“Drivers.”

“Fine. Okay. Drivers,” I say to appease him. “I don’t want in on this deal for the clout of saying I know the racer—”

“Cruz Navarro is his name,” he says, stifling a chuckle.

“Sure. Fine. Case in point—I don’t even know his name. I mean, Aaron or Macey only want in on this so they can have clout with their friends or post pictures of themselves at races or in the . . . whatever it’s called where they have the cars.”

“You mean the paddock and garage?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

“Look, this job is my ticket to the next step. I have my degree but I’m not getting any chances to gain experience. I’m nowhere near getting to the next step.”

“The next step always takes sacrifices, Maddie—”

“Maddix,” I correct, to which he waves his hand in irrelevance.

“Sure. Maddix.” His smile is quick and stoic. “What are you willing to sacrifice to get to the next step is what you should be asking yourself.”

“All I’m asking is to be in on the meeting that sounds like it might be one of the most influential branding agreements for the past five years.”

“So you’re telling me that your lack of interest and knowledge is to your benefit?” He crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips in that way he has that we’re not sure if he’s going to explode or smile.

It’s always extremes with him, which is partly why asking this is such a big deal.

I nod. “I am. You know I want to be in there for all of the right reasons.”

His sigh is heavy as his eyes skitter over my head and around the room. “It might be a shitshow.”

“I thought the deal was—”

“It is done, but a few parameters need to be refined but . . .” He pauses. Then sighs. There’s a lot of weight in that sigh, and I stare at him with fingers figuratively crossed, hoping that weight is in my favor. “Fine. Sure. Yes. What the hell. The more the merrier, right?” He looks down at the stack of papers in his hands and then back over to Aaron who is eyeing him with uncertainty. “But just a warning. There’s going to be some serious jealousy over you getting to sit in there.”

“I can handle that.”

“The knives are pretty sharp around here.” He chuckles and lifts his eyebrows seconds before holding out the papers to me. “Run these to the conference room on the ninth.”

“Yes. Okay.” Holy shit, he said yes. “But isn’t that floor closed for improvements?”

He nods. “That ensures privacy then, doesn’t it?”

Don’t question him. Just go with it.

“I’ll run those down right now.” I point to the red folders tucked under his arm. “Those too?”

He pauses before he responds. “Not yet. I’m still finalizing . . . these.” But the way he says it—his brows knitted together and irritation etched in the lines of his face—has me taking a step back and calling this a win before he changes his mind.