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“Both.” Adrian drops his hand, and I almost whimper from the loss of contact.
“What are the other reasons?” My eyes drift to the flames of the fire next to us while I enjoy the warmth it brings.
“I never wanted to be a journalist for Formula One. I’m very grateful I got a job, but tennis is my department, not F1, and I know I’m supposed to be happy, but no matter how hard I try, I’m not.”
I pause as the realization sinks in, swallowing past the lump building in my throat to keep talking instead of lingering on the existential crisis that’s trying to make me fall apart.
“My boss also keeps giving me random tasks without explaining the purpose, and every time I ask, he says it’s just important. Part of me is convinced I’m doing his busy work, but it’s not my place to say anything, so I don’t. Plus, now they want me to become fluent in French, and I have to go find a tutor,” I rant and pick up my glass to take a sip of my water. Adrian watches me for a second before responding.
“I’m sorry you don’t like your job, Nevaeh. I wish I could help you.”
There’s a sad look on his face now, but I guide us back to a different conversation to see his smile again.
Time passes as Adrian and I fall back into lighter topics. My stomach cramps from laughing at Adrian’s story of standing in front of an automatic door for five minutes and waiting for it to open without realizing he needed to press a button first. I laugh so hard at how upset he is over his stupidity, tears flow out of my eyes.
When I can’t stop, he throws a few cold fries at me.
“Okay, alright, yes, I was an idiot,” Adrian says, and I finally manage to turn my laughter into amused chuckles.
“At least you were a pretty idiot, so that’s something,” I offer, and he bursts into laughter, covering his face with his hands.
It takes him a few moments to collect himself again before his gaze drifts back to me and he shakes his head.
Adrian leans back and tilts his head to look at the ceiling.
“Aghh, what are you doing to me, Nevaeh?” he asks, the frustration in his voice clear as day.
“I don’t know, but you should move on from whatever it is. Nothing can happen between us.” Adrian’s gaze focuses on me again, and I forget to remind myself to breathe.
“Tell me how to move on, and I will.”
None of this makes sense to me. How did I manage to completely capture the attention of this unbelievably attractive Formula One driver? And why does it give me an ego boost like nothing has ever before?
“Usually, I would suggest we get it out of our systems and just have sex,” I blurt out before I can keep my mouth shut. Adrian lets out a loud groan and falls backward onto the carpeted floor.
“Nevaeh!” he complains and covers his face with his arms. “If your job wasn’t so important to you, we would be doing exactly that. Unfortunately, my sister raised me right, and I would never get between a woman and her career.”
The doorbell rings before I have a chance to respond, to tell him that I adore Valentina for being such an amazing influence and tell him how sweet I find it that he loves his sister so much.
“Are you expecting someone?” Adrian asks, but I shake my head.
“No, not a single person,” I say as I walk toward the front door and open it.
Fuck, this is not good.
Chapter 17
Nevaeh
Lincolnsmilesbrightlyatme, holding a bouquet of flowers in a vase he clearly made for me.
“Before you say anything, butterfly, I don’t expect you to have forgiven me or anything of the sort, but you’ve made me realize it’s time I put more effort into my apology. So, here I am—” Lincoln’s eyes drift behind me, anger replacing the happy mood he was in before. “—clearly interrupting you while you’re on a date.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “And with Adrian fucking Romana, out of all people.”
Lincoln shoves the vase into my hands while watching, without a doubt, Adrian walking up behind me. My left hand burns from the impact, so I look down to spot a little cut. Blood fills the wound, but I don’t have time to focus on it when Lincoln grabs my full attention again.
“Feel free to throw the vase and flowers in the garbage,” he says through gritted teeth and moves to the side just enough to face Adrian, whose hand moves onto my shoulder.
I give him a confused look, unsure why he’s touching me, but one glance at his face tells me everything I need to know. He’s trying to protect me. Adrian doesn’t trust Lincoln. I look down at my hand, which is barely bleeding, but only the Monegasque notices it. He takes my hand to study the cut, his thumb running over the skin below it.
