Page 45 of Jump-Start
Two hours later, he steps into the room, sinking into the armchair at the far corner from me. His head drops against the backrest, and he briefly opens his eyes to help Benz adjust on his lap. I notice he changed into his team shirt, and something about the white color makes him even more attractive than he usually is.
“Are you okay? Do you need an ice bucket poured over your head?” I tease, earning me a small chuckle from him. The sound lights my heart on fire. His eyes flutter open and soften at the sight of me walking toward him.
“Your first Qualifying with me, and I didn’t even get pole. Sorry, little demon.” Frustration plays in his voice, so I kneel next to his chair, wrapping my arms around my knees and keeping eye contact.
“Qualifying doesn’t matter. The race does. You know that. Everything can change tomorrow, and I know you will win. You're a World Champion. You’re currently leading this season’s championship. You’ve got this, Leonard,” I say, and he watches me with both uncertainty and surprise.
“You’ve got faith in me, Starling?” I roll my eyes at his question.
“Of course not,” I lie, and he laughs in response.
“Oh, good. For a second, I was worried there,” he replies and runs a hand down the length of his face. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Me, too, Leonard. I’m not going to have sex with any of your friends.” Or anyone else for that matter because I want—
“Good, because I did forbid it,” he says with a smile, but I don’t return it. “I’m kidding.” He mouths ‘no, I’m not’ right after, and I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Come on, I’m in desperate need of sleep to recharge for tomorrow and kick Jonathan’s arse.”
Leonard lifts Benz off his lap and steps in front of me, holding out his hand for me. I take it, allowing him to help me up and pull me right against his chest. He smells fresh, clean, and like that special scent only Leonard has. I lean a little forward to take in more of it, my eyes threatening to shut. His index finger moves under my chin, tilting my head upward so my gaze meets his.
“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks softly, the pad of his thumb caressing my cheek.
“Graham isn’t coming back home like he said he would,” I blurt out, almost as if his touch is sending some kind of truth serum from my skin right into my bloodstream.
“I’m going to need a bit more information, little demon.” His voice is so, so soft, it sends me into a trance. I tell him exactly what Graham told me, Leonard’s eyes remaining on my face the entire time. “He doesn’t want to open the gallery with you anymore?” I shake my head, and Leonard curses.
“I will do it by myself. I’m already working on the show, and it will be great. Don’t worry, you didn’t waste your time yesterday or by organizing for me to meet more investors during the rest of the season, I promise,” I assure him. Frustration dances onto his features again.
“Chiara, I invested my time because I believe in you. Nothing I do for you will ever be a waste of my time,” he says and cups my cheeks. “Nothing,” he repeats to make sure I hear him.
“Okay,” I whisper as his thumbs caress my cheeks.
“Come, let’s go to our hotel. I’m going to make us some food,” he says and takes Benz’s leash. I follow behind him, trying not to think about how much I’m looking forward to a quiet evening with Leonard.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
leonard
Iwon. Jonathan tried everything today, but my team’s strategy was better. My tyre management was better.Iwas better, defending first place ever since he was too slow to keep it at the start. I won the French Grand Prix, and fuck me, it feels fantastic. The numb feeling I felt during the first few races is entirely gone now. Only excitement, joy, and pride remain as I drive my car one more lap around the track, waving to the thousands of fans standing behind the metal fences and cheering me on. As much as I love and will forever be grateful for them, I rush back to the pit box, driving to the first-place sign. My whole team is waiting for me as I get out of the car, and I can’t help the way my heart somersaults when I notice Chiara standing in the second row, clapping for me with a little smile on her lips.
I work my way out of the car, standing on the nose of it and punching the air while a thrill runs through me.I have to get to her, is all my mind focuses on, so I jump off the car and run toward the crowd of cheering Mercedes team members. Pretending she isn’t the one I was rushing for, I hug everyone else first, then I turn to her, helmet still on as I lean forward and close the distance between us. Chiara gives me a brighter smile as she nudges the underside of my helmet with her hand to tilt my head up before placing it on top of my heart and giving it three taps. My Formula One racing number is three.
I rip off my glove to wrap my fingers around hers, smiling harder under my helmet than I have in months. Chiara has jump-started something inside of me, reignited my love for this sport, and if she wasn’t already coming to the rest of the races this season, I would beg her to do so now.
The rest of the post-race procedures go by in a blissful blur. The champagne tastes better than it has in a while on the podium. The cheers sound sweeter in my ears. The reporter doing the interview doesn’t piss me off as much anymore. All I can think about is how proud I’ve just made that woman standing with the rest of my team.
Once I’ve finished all of my interviews and fulfilled my responsibilities, I look for Benz and Chiara, wanting nothing more than to get back to the hotel and celebrate by finishing the movie we started yesterday. I spot them at a table, Chiara and Quinn playing UNO. My heart warms at the sight of them, but a hand stops me from moving in their direction.Danger, my head screams, and I spin around to see Jonathan touching me.
“What?” I bark, and he takes a step back. Good. I would love nothing more than for him to back up so far, he stumbles into the bathroom, preferably into a toilet where someone forgot to put the seat down and flush.
“Calm down, dude,” he says, and I barely hold myself back from punching out his perfectly straight and white teeth. Jonathan Kent is a privileged little brat with blue eyes, blonde hair, pale skin, and a stick so far up his arse, I think I can see it when he speaks.
“What do you want?” I grind out, and he smiles at me.
“I just wanted to let you know that if Chiara ever threatens me again, or does anything to undermine my safety, I will have to report her. I feel very unsafe with her around, and I shouldn’t have to worry about my well-being during a race weekend,” he says, and I feel anger heating my face instantly.
“The fuck did you just say?” He’s threatening me? Fine. Chiara is not the only one who can fight.
“Hey, alright, fellas, why don’t we all just chill,” Adrian’s now familiar voice drones into my ears, and I relax a little.
