What’s his reaction going to be?

  “Spencer Riggs, this is my daughter and the woman in charge of marketing, Camilla Moretti.”

  A slight flare of his nostrils. A quick clench of his jaw. A tensing of the tendons in his neck. I have to give it to Spencer. He hides his shock well. Well enough that I don’t get the satisfaction I was hoping for in surprising him.

  Damn it.

  And the megawatt smile he flashes as he rises from his seat and holds his hand out to me says he knows it too. “So nice to meet you, Camilla. I look forward to working with you.”

  Our eyes hold as I try to ignore the heat of his hand and the sudden jump of my pulse. “Congratulations on the call up, Spencer—”

  “Call me Riggs. Everyone does.”

  I nod. “Welcome to the team. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

  His dimple winks as he lets go of my hand. “I think everybody is.”

  “This is a different caliber than what you’re used to,” I say, trying to get a subtle dig in. “Think you’re ready for it?”

  “No need to worry about me. I always rise to the occasion.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and I swear to God, he’s flirting with me in front of my dad.

  Flirting with me, a woman who isn’t his type.

  I wouldn’t have kissed you a second time if the card were true.

  “I guess we’ll just have to see what cards you’re dealt, huh?”

  He chortles out a laugh and shakes his head. “Guess so.”

  Our eyes hold for a beat too long before I jerk my gaze away and look at my father. He has the strangest expression on his face—lips barely turned up, eyes narrowed—almost as if he’s reading into a situation that isn’t there.

  “So, Riggs.” His smile turns charming. “Camilla here is my marketing guru. And my daughter, but you shouldn’t hold that against her.”

  “No, sir.” He plays along and chuckles.

  “Today is her first, official day with this division of the company, and I have her hitting the ground running. She’s responsible for getting your face out to the public. Having people identify you as a Moretti driver. Create the image that you’re going to have to back up with your talent.”

  “Perfect,” he says with another glance my way before looking back at my dad. “I’ll do my best to give her what she needs.”

  I all but roll my eyes. The charm and innuendos are as thick as his bullshit.

  Men. Not worth the hassle, the complication, or the effort.

  He glances over to me and deepens his knowing grin. Why can’t he be ugly?

  Then maybe my body wouldn’t betray me. Maybe my eyes wouldn’t be drawn to him, and my lips wouldn’t remember how his felt against mine.

  Get a grip, Cami. A huge, astronomical grip. The man is clearly immature and spiteful judging by the selfish games he plays on women. Remembering his kisses should be weighed against those shortcomings. Those . . . red flags.

  The irony. I’ve spent forever hating that my body doesn’t react at all—even to men I thought at the time I genuinely cared about—and now that it does, I don’t want it to.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, Camilla . . . but they can still be picky as hell.

  It’s asinine that this sudden awakening has happened around him. With him.

  I study him. His strong hands and corded forearms. His sun-kissed skin and broad shoulders. His gray eyes and dusting of stubble.

  And while all of that is attractive in and of itself, the man carries himself in a way that only seems to add to his appeal. Confident. A little arrogant. A lot charismatic.

  All the things I like in a man—but that I don’t want to like in this one.

  He meets my eyes and smiles as if he knows I’m thinking about him. My first inclination is to look away. The man just tried to pay me off downstairs. But I don’t. I meet him stare for stare.

  It’s my job to build Moretti’s presence in the F1 and global market. To promote this man. Right now, I can’t help thinking the latter would be so much easier on my mental state if I hadn’t had prior interactions with Spencer Riggs. If I didn’t know he could kiss better than any man I’ve ever known . . . and wasn’t an immature asshole.

  “If you don’t need me,” I say, starting to move toward the door, but my dad motions for me to stay. Great. Just what I want.

  “Glad you’re on board. I’m excited to get you on the ground and running. Now, let’s talk schedule . . .”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Riggs

  She’s distracting.

  Her perfume. Her pouty lips. Her no-nonsense quips that she thinks show me how tough she is but in reality, show me she’s still interested.

  And I think that’s going to be a problem.

  Because there’s nothing worse than a woman fighting against something she actually wants. It makes her irrational. Catty. Determined to win when she’s only fighting against herself.

  I won’t deny she’s alluring though. The first moment I saw her in the bar, I was intrigued. Light brown eyes framed by thick lashes. Her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail suggesting she’s all business.

  My fingers twitch as I’m reminded what it felt like with her hand gripped in it.

  I’ll give it to her. She’s pretty in that sophisticated, classy way. Enough that I’m curious about what’s beneath all those baggy clothes. Not that it matters. She’s the boss’s daughter, and I know boundaries. This opportunity is too important to me to get distracted.

  It’s a shame though, as she did have the balls to confront me in front of my friends.

  I can at least respect her for that and for her sly digs during this conversation. Do I deserve them? Yeah. Probably. But fuck if a guy can’t have a little fun at a bar. No doubt she and her friends were looking at guys and guessing how big their dicks were and possibly dismissing them because of their assumptions. So isn’t that kind of the same thing?

  And if I had known who she was—a bloody Moretti—I probably wouldn’t have tried to use her to win the dare.

  Fuck that. I’m lying to myself, I would have. She was equal-opportunity bait just when I needed her to be. No qualms about it. Just like there’s no lying to myself that the woman most definitely knows how to kiss.

  Like top five out of way more than I can count type of kissing. Is it bad that just the memory of it and the sight of her before me has my dick growing hard beneath the table?

  “In other words, a recovery without any date as of right now.”

  I pull my thoughts back to the room. Back to Carlo Moretti and his statements regarding Maxim’s injuries. Things I can’t think about or dwell on before climbing behind the same wheel my friend just got seriously injured behind. “He’s tough as nails. He’ll pull through. Hopefully he’ll have no lasting effects from it.”

  “At least we can say we know our cars are as safe as can be. We can’t control fire, though.”

  “Every drivers’ nightmare.”

  “Enough about the scary stuff.” He claps his hands together and then clasps them. Camilla whips her head up at the sound, her eyes immediately searching over her father. Something about her look strikes me as odd, but I let it go and meet Carlo’s kind smile. “So you have everything you need, then?”

  “I think I do. Thank you. I’m just . . . taking it all in.”

  He nods, his smile nostalgic. “It’s an easy thing to do in this building that holds so much of our history. Make sure you take a walk around, soak it all in.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  He glances to Camilla, holds her look for a beat. Something exchanges between them I can’t quite read before he looks back to me. “As far as I’m concerned, when you step on that grid for the first time as an F1 driver, your slate is wiped clean. A fresh start. We don’t look in rearview mirrors at Moretti. We only look forward. If we all had our pasts held over our heads, not a single person would ever get the chance to move forward. Mistakes are made so we can learn from them.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, emotion so damn thick in my throat it almost hurts to swallow over it. There were a lot of things I expected to happen today, this most definitely wasn’t it.

  Our gazes hold, the grace he’s giving me more than acknowledged and appreciated.

  “Good. I’m glad we have that cleared up. So go explore the showroom. Become a witness to our history. The history we want you to be a part of. You only get to have so many firsts in life.” Carlo winks. “This is one where you need to step back, pause, and let it sink in . . . because your life is about to get crazy.”

  I nod, already liking this soft-spoken man whose presence is like a giant in the room. It takes me a second to find any words at all. “Thank you, sir. I will.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, Halle keeps waving at me through the window. I think I’m needed elsewhere for something I’m certain someone else can make a decision on.” He rises slowly from his seat. “See you at the track. I look forward to watching your testing session.”

  He makes his way out of the room, and I stand, ready to follow, thinking it’s probably better if I leave things with Camilla as is.

  The last thing I need is the confusion I felt earlier in the break room to return. Over the need to defend my bullshit friends and our game at the bar. Over giving the justification she demanded knowing why she isn’t my type.

  Both I felt uncomfortable giving.

  It’s one thing with a little liquid courage under your belt. It’s another when you’re standing face-to-face with a woman, and you see the tears welling in her eyes from the words you just hurt her with.

  I didn’t exactly like that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach I had seeing her again. Even worse was how it twisted when she stood there with a stern expression but devastated eyes.

  Wall up.

  Defense mode enacted.

  Complications averted at any cost.

  Now’s not the time to have a heart. Now’s the time to buckle down and be selfish. To think only about me and the road it’s taken to get here.

  And to remember I tried to fucking pay off a Moretti.

  Jesus Christ.

  “A minute please.” She’s not asking me. She’s telling me. Fucking perfect.

  “Sure. What can I do for you?” I turn to face her, my smile over the top.

  She glares at me with her arms crossed over her chest and a sour look on her face. “Funny how that worked out, isn’t it? And I didn’t even need a dare card to do it.”

  She wants to lock horns. All is not forgotten as I’d hoped.

  “Hi, Camilla. Nice to finally meet the real you.” I’m going the kill her with kindness route.

  My hunch is it’ll irritate her more than anything. She can’t be mad at someone being accommodating and over the top, now, can she?

  Besides, what driver in their right mind would purposely pick a fight with the boss’s daughter? Not me. Not after all the work to get the chance to be here. And I’ve already started off on shaky fucking ground with Wills and his damn dare cards.

  If she wants to play the bitch role, she can. Her last name affords her that. Mine on the other hand, does not.

  She scowls at me.

  The smile I offer in return is brighter than the sun. “So would you look at that? Huh. We’re part of the same team. Teammates. Coworkers. Two people who work together.”

  Her expression is stoic as she stands across the room studying me.

  “The silent treatment it is then. So should I talk for the both of us?” I ask. “Where should we start? How about with, you didn’t tell me who you were,” I say.

  “Same could be said for you.” She shrugs.

  “There wasn’t much room for talking when you were kissing me.” How are you going to handle that one, Moretti?

  A widening of her eyes. The setting of her jaw. “We’re here to talk about marketing. You. The company. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh. I thought you were telling me to stay behind. That you shut the door so we could have some privacy and talk about us.” I smile and lean against the windowsill, mirroring her posture.

  She doesn’t like it so she shifts.

  I do the same.

  The scowl she gives me is sexy. So damn sexy. “There is no us, Riggs.”

  “Ah, but there is.”

  “How so?”

  What’s going to break through that goddamn armor of hers and make her relax? Ah. Perfect. “You were thinking about how bad you want to kiss me again.”

  She scoffs. “I do not.”

  “No?” I ask, loving getting a reaction out of her.

  “No.”

  “So authoritative,” I tease. “Not even just a little bit?”

  “This conversation is ridiculous.” She huffs and moves to a different part of the room.

  I make myself the mirror image of her. “How were you wanting this conversation to go? Did you want me to question your abilities? Ask to see your marketing credentials to make sure you know how to handle me?” I wink. “Ask if you’re only here because of your name and not your skill set? Is that the argument you wanted?”

  Her only response is to cross her arms and purse her lips. If looks could kill, I’d be a goner.

  “Or were you hoping for the grovel? I bet you like a good grovel. Particularly from a man. Does it make you feel powerful? In charge? Is that your thing?”

  Her expression remains impassive, her body posture stern.

  “If it is, what were you thinking? That I’d beg you for forgiveness for the dare card? For the kiss you initiated that we both can admit was pretty damn fantastic? How would that go? Me on my knees? Me showering you with gifts? Ah, I know. Me winning a race and dedicating it to you, right?”

  There is a glimmer of a smile. Perfect. It’s working.

  “You do know you just tried to pay me off downstairs, right?”

  “She speaks!” I throw my hands up and flash her a smile. And then I cross my arms seconds after she does. Her sigh is everything. “And of course, I tried to buy you off. Anything for the good of the company, though, right? You need your driver in good standing with everyone. Especially the people who make this whole world go round.” I shrug. “And here I am.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You think this is going to fly? This whole holier-than-thou schtick you’ve got going for you?”

  “Schtick?” I bat my eyes innocently.

  “You forget that I have a partial hold on the keys to your success.”

  “Ohhh. She’s playing hardball now. I’ve got to tell you, Moretti, a strong female is one of those turn-ons for me. Like, I love a woman who can handle herself. So you’ve been warned.”

  “Warned?” Another struggle to deny her smile.

  I hiss out an exaggerated breath. “Yeah. We’re talking googly-eyes and stuttered words. Weak knees and demands to get in my—never mind. I can’t say that here.” I give a dramatic look around. “That’s not politically correct enough.”

  “I don’t really think you care what’s politically correct.”

  “But out of everything, that’s what you’re the most pissed off about. My attempt to bribe you in the break room?”

  “No.” Her mouth goes in a straight line but her eyes—God, those gorgeous fucking eyes—light up with humor.

  “Oh, you were thinking about how incredibly hard it’s going to be to market me. I’m demanding. So fucking demanding. Viral when I need to be viral, but that makes it difficult when I have a fucking clusterfuck of a history with a self-destruct label attached. A Riggs in every sense of the word. Just like his dad. Then again, let’s hope not or you won’t have a racer to market, right?”

  I’m on such a roll that I don’t even think about the words I say, but her lips shock open, telling me she has no clue about my dad. The softening of her eyes even more so.

  I don’t want pity. I don’t fucking need it. What was just fun and games and banter suddenly became so much more.

  “Riggs?”

  “Nope. None of that.” I shake my head, immediately rejecting the compassion in her voice. “Because you know exactly how I feel. Two offspring fighting to make their own names and prove the privilege that came with it doesn’t factor in. Yours is an attribute. Mine is a detriment.”

  I clear my throat. I move about the room. I need to shake the sudden swell of emotion from my head.

  This was supposed to be funny. Supposed to be a kill her with kindness undertaking and now all of a sudden, I’m uncomfortable and want this over with.

  “How about this?” she asks, contributing for the first time. “For the record, I think my dad picked the wrong replacement for Maxim.”

  My feet falter and thoughts skip around. But more than anything I recognize a lifeline when I need one—and she just gave me one. Something to feed off rather than get stuck thinking about my dad.

  “Well, shit. Okay.” I nod several times and purse my lips. “I’m the wrong guy, huh?”

  I glance her way. She has her arms crossed over her chest again and challenge back in those eyes of hers. “Yep.”

  “Fortunately for me, your opinion isn’t the one that matters.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.”

  “Why are you trying to turn this lovely little chat into something different? Are we back on the grovel aspect? Should I get on my knees right here?” I point to the floor and pretend I’m lowering myself.

  “Don’t you dare,” she shrieks.

  “Then why? It’s because you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to control yourself around me, isn’t it? The looks. The body. The sense of humor. I’m fucking irresistible. I’m thinking nice guys finish last in your book, right? So that means you don’t want to like me because of that.”

  I put the words out there, but I’m not thrilled with her dig. Then again, I deserve that and a fuckton more.

  “No. It means we need wins. It’s imperative.”

  “And?” I bait her.

  “And I don’t think you have the experience to get them for us.”

  “You’re an expert on this, I take it? Much like you’re an expert on how incredible I kiss, right?”