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His eyes darkened and he seemed to shut off. Watching him, Sasha was fascinated by the impenetrable mask that descended over his face.
‘Because racing is in our blood. It’s what we do. My father never got the chance to become a racer. I raced for him, but because I had the talent. So does Rafael. There was never any question that racing was our future. But it’s also my job to take care of my brother. To save him from himself. To make him see beyond his immediate desires.’
‘Have you thought that perhaps if you let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to manage his life he’ll wise up eventually?’
‘So far, no.’
‘He’s a grown man. When are you going to cut the apron strings?’
‘When he’s proved to me that he won’t kill himself without them.’
‘And are you so certain you can save him every single time?’
‘I can put safety measures in place.’
She laughed at his sheer arrogance. ‘You’re not omnipotent. You can’t control what happens in life. Even if you could, Rafael will eventually resent you for controlling his life.’
Marco’s lips firmed, his eyelids descending to veil his eyes.
She gave another laugh. ‘He already does, doesn’t he? Did you two fight? Was that why you weren’t at the track this weekend?’
He ignored her questions. ‘What I do, I do for his own good. And you’re not good for him. My offer still stands.’
Just like that they were back to his sleazy offer of a buy-off. Distaste filled her.
She looked around the sleekly opulent room at the highly polished surfaces, the velvet walls, the bespoke furniture and elegant, sweeping staircases that belonged more in a stately home than in a hotel. Luxurious decadence only people like Marco de Cervantes could afford. The stamp of power and authority told her she wouldn’t find even the smallest chink in the de Cervantes armour.
The man was as impenetrable as his wealth was immeasurable.
In the end, all she could rely on was her firm belief in right and wrong.
‘You can’t fire me simply to keep me out of Rafael’s way. It’s unethical. I think somewhere deep down you know it too.’
‘I don’t need moral guidance from someone like you.’
‘I disagree. I think you need a big-ass, humongous compass. Because you’re making a big mistake if you think I’m going to go quietly.’
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Rafael told me you were feisty.’
What else had Rafael told him? Decidedly uncomfortable at the thought of being the subject of discussion, she shrugged. ‘I haven’t reached where I am today without a fight or three. I won’t go quietly,’ she stressed again.
Several minutes of silence stretched. Her nerves stretched along with them. Just when she thought she’d break, that she’d have to resort to plain, old-fashioned, humiliating begging, he hitched one taut-muscled thigh over the side of the desk and indicated the chair in front of it.
‘Sit down. I think a discussion is in order.’
Marco watched relief wash over her face and hid a triumphant smile.
He’d never had any intention of firing Sasha Fleming. Not immediately, anyway. He’d wanted her rattled, on a knife-edge at the possibility of losing what was evidently so precious to her.
The bloodthirsty, vengeance-seeking beast inside him felt a little appeased at seeing her shaken. He also wanted to test her, to see how far she would go to fight for what she wanted. After all, the higher the value she placed on her career, the sweeter it would be to snatch it away from her. Just as he’d had everything wrenched from him ten years ago.
He ruthlessly brushed aside the reminder of Angelique’s betrayal and focused on Sasha as she walked towards him.
Again his senses reacted to her in ways that made his jaw clench. The attraction—and, yes, he was man enough to admit to it—was unwelcome as much as it was abhorrent. Rafael was in a coma, fighting for his life. The last thing Marco wanted to acknowledge was a chemical reaction to the woman in the middle of all this chaos. To acknowledge how the flare of her hips made his palms itch to shape them. How the soft lushness of her lower lip made him want to caress his finger over it.
‘Regardless of the state of the team, I have a responsibility towards the sponsors.’
His office had already received several calls, ostensibly expressing concern for his brother’s welfare. In truth the sponsors were sniffing around, desperate to find out what Marco’s next move would be—specifically, who he would put in Rafael’s place and how it would affect their bottom line.
She nodded. ‘Rafael was scheduled to appear at several sponsored engagements during the August hiatus. They’ll want to know what’s happening.’
Once again Marco was struck by the calm calculation in her voice. This wasn’t the tone of a concerned lover or a distraught team mate. Her mind was firmly focused on Team Espiritu. In other circumstances, her single-mindedness would have been admirable. But he knew first-hand the devastation ambition like hers could wreak.
Before he could answer a knock sounded on his door. One of his two butlers materialised from wherever he’d been stationed and opened the door.
Russell Latchford, his second-in-command, and Luke Green, the team’s chief engineer, entered.
Russell approached. ‘I’ve just been to see Rafael—’ He stopped when he saw Sasha. ‘Sasha. I didn’t know you were here.’ His tone echoed the question in his eyes.
Sasha returned his gaze calmly. Nothing ruffled her. Nothing except the threatened loss of her job. The urge to see her lose that cool once again attacked Marco’s senses.
‘Miss Fleming’s here to discuss future possibilities in light of Rafael’s accident.’
As team principal, it was Russell’s job to source the best drivers for the team, with Marco giving final approval. Marco saw his disgruntlement, but to his credit Russell said nothing.
‘Have you brought the shortlist I asked for?’ Marco asked Russell.
Sasha inhaled sharply, and he saw her hands clench in her lap as Russell handed over a piece of paper.
‘I’ve already been discreetly approached by the top five, but every driver in the sport wants to drive for us. It’ll cost you to buy out their contracts, of course. If you go for someone from the lower ranking teams it’ll still cost you, but the fallout won’t be as damaging as poaching someone from the top teams.’
Marco shook his head. ‘Our sponsors signed up for the package—Rafael and the car. I don’t want a second-class driver. I need someone equally talented and charismatic or the sponsors will throw hissy fits.’
Luke spoke up. ‘There’s also the problem of limited in-season testing. We can’t just throw in a brand-new driver mid-season and expect him to handle the car anywhere near the way Rafael did.’
Marco glanced down at the list. ‘No. Rafael is irreplaceable. I accept that the Drivers’ Championship is no longer an option, but I want to win the Constructors’ Championship. The team deserves it. All of these drivers would ditch their contract to drive for me, but I’d rather not deal with a messy court battle. Where do we stand on the former champion who retired last year? Have you contacted him?’
Russell shook his head. ‘Even with the August break he won’t be in good enough shape when the season resumes in September.’
‘So my only option is to take on a driver from another team?’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Sasha’s voice was low, but intensely powerful, and husky enough to command attention.
Marco’s eyes slid to her. Her stance remained relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but in her eyes he saw ferocious purpose.
‘You have something to add?’
Fierce blue eyes snapped at him as she rolled her shoulders. As last time, he couldn’t help but follow the movement. Then his eyes travelled lower, to the breasts covered by her nondescript T-shirt. Again the pull of desire was strong and sharp, unlike anything he’d experienced before. Again he pushed it away and forced his gaze back to her face.
A faint flush covered her cheeks. ‘You know I do. I know the car inside out. I’ve driven it at every Friday Practice since last season. The way I see it, I’m the only way you can win the Constructors’ Championship. Plus you’d save a lot of money and the unnecessary litigation of trying to tempt away a driver mid-season from another team. In the last few practices my runtimes have nearly equalled Rafael’s.’
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