Page 110 of Hot Lap
His heart sinks. Then explodes.
“No. No way in hell we’re letting them drive a wedge between us.”
She looks at him, the shimmer of tears behind her defiance. “I’ve never had this kind of attention. I’m used to being looked at, sure, but this isn’t admiration.” She draws a shaky breath. “It’s contempt.”
He takes her face gently in his hands. “Then we show the world they’re wrong. We show them this video is a deliberate attack on both of us.”
There’s no line Graham won’t cross. Anything to destabilize Reece. Anything to give WolfBett and Wyn a better chance.
Maiken’s breath catches and a tear spills down her cheek.
"Ichose you, Mai. Not Graham, not the fucking media circus, not anyone else.Me." His hands frame her face, thumbs brushing away tears. "And I will burn this whole bloody sport to the ground before I let them take you away from me. They want a war? They've got one."
He pulls her into his arms and holds her like he’s anchoring them both.
Outside, the city hums. The lies spin.
But in this moment, they hold.
“We’re done being reactive. No more letting Graham and Junior steal the narrative. If they want to play dirty, honeybee, we'll show them exactly how nasty this can get.”
Reece stands at the bedroom window of their suite, arms folded, jaw tight. From twenty-one floors up, the world seems orderly, but his inbox is a goddamn mess.
Branca has forwarded three emails from sponsors. Two are dancing around the issue. EverWell Energy is not.
We require clarification on the incident involving Ms. Lange. A statement from the team or the driver would be appreciated, as media speculation is impacting brand alignment.
Brand alignment? Ms. Lange?
Fuck.
He wants to punch something. Or someone with the initials D.B.J.
Maiken pokes her head around the corner into the bedroom. She wears fuzzy hotel slippers and looks exactly nothing like thesocial media villain du jour. “We have company with really good eyebrows.”
Behind her, Lina steps into view with a sly smile and a familiar gleam in her eye. “We’ve decided your wife requires a deep tissue massage and a mimosa, RP11.”
Maria and Gudrun follow, armed with spa brochures and zero fucks to give.
Reece nods. These women are exactly what his wife needs right now.
“WAG protocol,” Lina says. “She’s ours for the afternoon. You go talk business. We’ll handle morale.”
Maiken glances at him, uncertain.
“I’ll be back before you’re done with sea salt anything.” He crosses the room, cups her face, and kisses her forehead. “You good?”
“I think so.” Then she straightens and summons some of her old sass. “Unless one of these bitches makes me do a cold plunge. Then I’m suing everyone.”
Gudrun smirks. “No plunges. Just steam, salt, and battle plans.”
The women sweep her away, Maiken's soft laughter already returning in the hallway as Maria regales their group with some outrageous story.
For the first time since they landed, Reece relaxes. The respite is temporary, however. His phone buzzes with a message from Claudia:
Emergency strategy meeting. Nedry on Zoom in twenty.
Nedry? Christ.
