Page 70 of Cross the Line
At Chava’s insistence, we’re all out on the dance floor instead of in the VIP section like I’m sure Mark would have preferred. Willow’s in the middle of our group, moving back and forth between me and Chava. The two of us are competing to see who can break out the worst dance moves to make her laugh the hardest.
I amnota bad dancer – my mother would disown me if I was – but I’ll happily act a fool to make Willow smile. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. As far back as I can remember, I’ve played the clown so that I can watch her face light up. So I can watch those deep dimples appear like little craters in the moon. And what’s more beautiful than the moon?
For now, it’s my turn with her. With my arm wrapped around her waist, I dip her back dramatically, pulling the sweetest laugh from her lips. When I lower her a little more, she reaches out for me, her fingers clutching at my shirt. There’s no way I’d ever drop her, but still, I don’t pull her up right away. With a pounding heart, I savour the way she clings to me and the thrill that flashes across her face. She still has that daredevil streak, the one I watched fade into an ember as she got older. But it’s flaring back to life now – her desire to push the limits and explore the things she thought were out of reach – and I’m more than happy to be her guide.
She squeals as I right her again, hands still pressed to my chest. They’re all that separates her body from mine. It wouldn’t take much to tug her closer, to dip my head and seek out her lips, to steal a kiss on this crowded dance floor. And if the spark in her eyes is anything to go off, she’d let me.
But before I can make the move, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Keeping one arm looped around Willow, I pull it out, preparing to send yet another congratulatory call to voicemail.
Except it’s Howard’s name flashing at me this time.
I hesitate, torn between wanting to continue dancing with Willow and needing to know what my agent wants. He’s never been one to waste time with flattery, so there’s likely another motive behind this call.
I bend to shout, ‘Sorry, I’ve gotta take this!’ in Willow’s ear before motioning for Chava to come closer. When he does, I’m quick with my instructions. ‘Watch her, all right? I’ll be right back.’
He nods once. ‘Got you.’
I’m reluctant to loosen my hold on Willow, and she watches me with disappointment in her eyes, like she’s just as opposed to letting me go. But Chava’s quick to sweep her into his arms, and the jealousy doesn’t surge through me like I expected. I’m who she wants. And Chava wouldn’t dare try to sway her feelings – unlike Mark, who’s been shooting me unreadable glances all night. As I slip away from our group, I get another one of those looks from him.
I make my way through a crowd of Argonaut crew members, fielding toasts and more slaps on the back as I head to a quieter back hallway. The thudding bass reverberates through the walls, but the volume is dulled enough that my agent should be able to hear me.
‘You calling to congratulate me, Howard?’ I greet, phone pressed hard to one ear and my free hand cupped over the other, suddenly warm from all the champagne. ‘People are telling me I won a race today.’
True to form, Howard doesn’t react. ‘I’m calling because there are whispers that Otto Kivinen is leaving Mascort at the end of the season.’
My agent’s words slap me into soberness. Did I hear that correctly? Because there’s no way he’s just said what I think he has. ‘You’re fucking with me.’
Otto has been at Mascort for as long as I’ve been in Formula 1. He’s the peanut butter to Zaid’s jelly, the perfect number-two driver. Exactly the kind of person a team wants supporting their champion as he fights to win his eighth title. He’s a consistent points scorer and one of the best defenders on the grid. He’s exactly who I’d want as a teammate if I were a championship contender.
As far as I know, Otto’s been in contract negotiations with Mascort, but if these whispers are to be believed, they must not be going well. Zaid’s been vocal about how much he respects Otto and how much he wants him on the team. And Mascort is nothing but supportive of the guy, so this must be something Otto’s pushing for.
Not everyone wants to be the number-two driver for ever. I know the feeling.
‘Like I said: whispers,’ Howard goes on. ‘Loud ones. And whispers that Mascort’s on the hunt for his replacement. They’re considering options now.’
My heart pounds in my ears, my blood hot and rushing through my veins. Howard wouldn’t be sharing this information unless it related to me. ‘Am I one of those options?’
‘More than an option after today’s performance,’ he reveals. ‘And I have it on good authority that Argonaut is willing to let you go for the right price.’
Of course they will. Buck may have his billions, but he’d rather make money by getting rid of me than let me stay and lead his team to victory. It’s obvious he was already looking for someone to replace me next year. This just means he won’t have to buy me out to make that happen.
‘You’re lucky you’ve turned things around for yourself,’ Howard continues. ‘People are starting to see your true potential.’
‘It wasn’t luck,’ I automatically reply. ‘It was Willow.’
And she’s the first person I want to tell about this news. I want to run to her now, sweep her into my arms and murmur against her lips that everything we’ve worked for is within reach.
Howard grunts. ‘Whatever it was, keep it up.’ He pauses, letting the news wash over me – letting me imagine what I could have. ‘Congratulations on your win today, Mr Anderson. I’ll be in touch when I hear more.’
I’m moving before he hangs up, escaping the hall and manoeuvring through the crowds again, determined to get back to Willow. In the blink of an eye, I’m in front of her. I think I bump Chava out of the way, earning myself a string of Spanish expletives from him in the process, but I don’t care.
My hands find Willow’s waist, and I dip my head low so she can hear me when I say, ‘I need to tell you something.’
She pulls back to look up at me, worry flooding her eyes. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘It’s good news, I promise.’ I squeeze her waist, then snag one of her hands. ‘Come with me.’
I guide her through the club and to the back hall I just emerged from. There are a couple of people milling around a few yards away from us, waiting in line for the bathroom, but they pay no attention when I back Willow against the wall.
