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“I’m serious, Elle. Think of sex as therapy. It doesn’t have to last forever.” I raise my eyebrow, so she searches for a more sensible metaphor. “Maybe he isn’t your Prince Charming, but he might just be what you need in order to find your prince.”
“You mean the frog before the prince?” I chuckle, having no idea where she’s going with this.
“No, frogs are for assholes. I mean the hot knight. The one who offers the princess a good time before she marries the boring prince who has all the spotlight.” She might be good at gossip, but definitely not at fairy tales.
“Knights aren’t part of the fairy tales,” I answer sarcastically.
She arches her eyebrow, pointing her finger at me. “You don’t know that. Maybe the jealous prince deleted the knight from the book. Maybe it isn’t the truth. Princes are old news. A sexy, rebellious knight… someone who fights for what they want, not a spoiled rich brat who lounges all day in silk pajamas, gathering dust while others build empires.”
We start to giggle, forgetting we aren’t the only ones in the bright office on the tenth floor. But then Tania’s expression changes radically, her eyes wild, she spins her chair to the other side without a word. I feel a shadow behind my back, hands on her hips in an authoritative gesture, and I instantly recognize who it is.
“Elle. In my office.”
I turn around to face my cold and soulless editor-in-chief, Nina. Black stilettos, tight black business dress, her silver-gray hair cut into a square on her shoulders—her looks scream of order and rigidity. At the office, no one dares to approach her. We could say Nina Braham lost her heart many years ago and sold her soul for power. She got remarried to the director of Black Publications, Albert Black, a seventy-year-old billionaire, while she’s still in her prime forties. Weirdly, a couple of weeks later she was assigned as editor-in-chief, and became my boss. Nina’s opinion is therefore the only thing that matters.
I swallow and follow her with heavy steps to her lifeless office. She has a breathtaking view of the whole city, while her black curtains are always closed. She doesn’t let any light enter. She sits behind her desk, her legs closed in a position of power as she scans me from head to toe. I feel like a helpless bug. I take a deep breath, approaching the spider trap, repeating in my head the same word:Confidence. Confidence. Confidence. After all, I accomplished what she demanded—and what no one else could achieve.
“I don’t see the article about Aaron LeBeau.” Her gaze tightens in my direction, inspecting me.
“The interview is settled for the Canadian Grand Prix. He offered me an exclusivity.”
“Almost impressive. Tell me, Elle, how did you get that interview?” Her lips curve into a dry smile. “I’ve sent two other writers, and yet, you’re the only one who got an interview, if in fact what you say is true.”
I breathe heavily, trying to calm my nerves. Of course, she didn’t trust me with this. Nina always has a backup, and by the way she studies me over, I could guess she wasn’t expecting that I would be the one succeeding.
“You sent me as bait, Nina. I just did my job.”
She cackles, making my skin crawl. “Sure. I believe you got well acquainted.” She raises her eyebrow, scanning me like I just piqued her interest. Vicious as she is, she’s probably certain I slept with Wolf to secure myself an interview.
My nerves shaking, I feel the need to justify myself. “I’ve remained professional. Nothing happened. Aaron agrees to—”
“Aaron? You’re on the first name bases, now?” I clear my throat, incapable to stand up for myself. After all, I did conclude a deal with the devil to get that interview. “Well, you’re impressing me, Elle. Having you on our team wasn’t a mistake after all.”
A wicked smile stretches on her face. “That said, I’m expecting more than superficial curiosities from this article. Aaron LeBeau has secrets. I want you to hound him. I don’t care what methods do you use. If you deliver this to me, consider your job secured. If not…” She draws in a long breath. “… don’t bother coming back. You already deceived me once a year ago. This is your last chance.” She waves her hand at me in a way of saying I’m dismissed.
Right. I nod, knowing a negotiation is off-limits with Nina. Monaco wasn’t the last step toward freedom, it was only the first step. The first step into Nina’s mind games. I stand from my chair and start to retire from her office.
“Oh, and Elle?” I turn to face her. “I’ll be following whatever is going on between you and him, closely.”Of course, she will.“I’ll be away in Paris for the next couple of weeks.”
I nod, hiding my feelings of deliverance at the thought of being weeks free, without Nina.
From 16 to 7.Interesting.
I’ve been searching for information about Aaron for the past hour on the web. It’ll be adequate to say my past week has been used to fulfill this mission; getting to know the man who’s occupying my thoughts. I’ve concluded LeBeau isn’t a social media fan. He is one of the racing drivers with the most fans, having millions of followers, and yet he follows only a few people with the strict minimum of posts on his page. The only article that catches my eye in this pool of gossips around Aaron is,From 16 to 7. Wolf had changed his car number suddenly without giving an explanation two years ago.
His driving became even more aggressive, dangerous and unpredictable. He made some reckless mistakes and got into many skirmishes with the other drivers, which gave him his nickname, Wolf, and his reputation with countless of women. My gut was right, something happened to Wolf.
I search more on the web, trying to find information related to Wolf’s family. He said he has a brother. But the results I find on the web are like nothing I imagined.Aaron LeBeau absents from his brother’s funeral.I click on the link. Aaron’s brother died two years ago. Nothing else is written. The LeBeau’s family has been trying to keep the media away from the funeral and the reason of the death. But… why would Aaron miss his own brother’s funeral? Could he be that cold-hearted? Why Wolf is so determined to be pictured as a villain?
I snap out of my thoughts when I receive a text message from the racing driver in question.
Aaron:I believe I owe you a date. See you tomorrow.
Tomorrow? I wasn’t even aware he would be in New York by then. We’ve exchanged a couple of texts the past few days. He is being his usual flirty self, and I, playing hard to get. A game of cat and mouse. He’d sent me a friend request I’ve accepted only a couple of days later. Weirdly, I’ve become active on social media, only for one purpose, him seeing it. Even if I hate to admit it, I’ve been enjoying it and encouraging his hell-bent desire to claim me.
Our last conversation was about the picture he sent me from his oversize yacht in Monaco. I replied to him that I wished the water could freeze his ego, before he snapped with, “Ma belle, there’s ego, and there’s reality, and the reality is, I’m sailing my megayatch for the afternoon before boarding a private helicopter that’ll take me into the city, where my 16,000 square foot penthouse awaits… ego no longer factors in when your reality exceed most people’s dreams.”
“You have a way with words, Wolf. I’m surprised it worked on so many women,” was the only comeback I could think of.
