Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
My heart plummets through the floor. We never discussed… other people. And why would we? Last night didn’t make anything official. We both agreed… just sex.
Still, it’s a gut punch, mostly because I’m guessing it’s probably just sex with this girl too. My self-esteem takes a direct hit, and I curse myself for being so stupid as to think I saw something more in that man.
I watch as they move toward the entrance, Ronan taking her hand to lead her through. He scans the room as soon as he steps inside, eyes sweeping over the crowd until they land on me. A bolt of adrenaline sizzles through me, almost equivalent to the way it feels when the engine of my race car is started.
But I can’t let him see that he affects me. I refuse to, so I smooth my features to be cool and unreadable, even as my pulse hammers in my throat. For what seems like an eternity, our gazes stay locked across the room until the woman he’s with takes his attention away with a whispered word. As soon as our eye contact is broken, I take a long sip of my champagne and hiccup on the bubbles.
Carlos touches my elbow and leans into me. “All right, what’s with the face? You look like you just bit into a lemon.”
My entire being is overcome with bitterness, but I give him a bright smile. “I think I need a drink.”
He glances at the half-full champagne flute in my hand. “Pretty sure that’s already a drink.”
“I mean a better one.”
I set the flute down on the nearest passing tray and head for the bar, the click of my heels swallowed by the plush carpet. The lobby turned ballroom glows—gold light from chandeliers, the mirrored bar polished to a high shine. Laughter circulates, a reminder that I’m supposed to be having fun.
I am decidedly not having fun.
Carlos keeps pace with me easily, and when I reach the bar, I don’t bother with the menu. I catch the bartender’s eye. “Grappa Riserva,” I tell him, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Neat.”
Carlos steps up beside me and tilts his head, curious. “Grappa? What’s that?”
“It’s an Italian brandy,” I say, lips curving. “Made from the leftovers of winemaking—skins, seeds, stems. It’s very strong and meant to be sipped.”
The bartender sets the small glass in front of me, clear liquid catching the light. I lift it, swirl it once… then knock it back in a single swallow.
Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up. “Supposed to be sipped, huh?”
I grin and set the empty glass down with a soft click. “Rules are overrated.”
The liquid sears down my throat and warms me on its way down, sharp enough to make my eyes water. For one brief, glorious second, it cuts through the noise.
Carlos watches me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “All right,” he says slowly, “what’s going on? You don’t drink like this.”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He shifts, bracing one forearm on the bar, the other blocking my exit. “You’ve got that murder glare going. I remember it well from our FI2 days. It nearly struck down that reporter in Monaco when he called you ‘little lady’ in the paddock.”
The memory earns a smirk from me, but it dies fast. I blow out a long breath, my shoulders sagging enough to let the words slip free. “I slept with Ronan last night.”
I wince, wishing the words would crawl back into my mouth, especially after Carlos’s entire body jerks. His brows shoot straight up, and his eyes widen to saucers. “You slept with Barnes?” he hisses.
I cut him a look. “Do you know another Ronan?”
“Christ, Francesca…” He scrubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to erase the words from existence. “He’s—”
“I know.” My hand comes up, palm out, cutting him off before he can build his case. “Trust me, I know. And it wasn’t like it just… happened.”
“Well, what did happen?” he murmurs, moving closer. “Without the gory details,” he amends.
I lean one elbow on the bar and quietly give him the condensed version—the barbs and banter, the stupid PR stunts, the cracks in his armor that I wasn’t supposed to see but without divulging anything about his mother. That’s his secret to carry.
“One moment we’re circling each other like enemies and the next, something… snapped.”
Carlos listens, silent but frowning, and I’m sure it’s judgment I see in his expression. At least, that’s what my guilty conscience sees.
When I finish, he exhales slowly, eyes narrowing a fraction. “And how did you leave it with him?”
I lift a shoulder. “We didn’t really talk about it. Agreed it was only sex and tonight he shows up with his newest conquest apparently.”
“He’s a total dog,” Carlos says knowingly. “But come on, Francesca… surely you knew that. He’s the playboy of the FI world.”