Page 93 of Drive Me Wild
“No balls inside, Champ,” Ella says in a tone that’s hardly reprimanding. Surprisingly, Blake’s worse at disciplining than she is. He can make reporters and engineers cry with a single look, but saying no to Champ is nearly impossible for him. Ella nudges a plush cupcake toward him as an alternative. “Play with one of your other toys.”
“What’s the little man doing here? I thought he lost his privileges.”
Champ may be adorable, but he’s an absolute rascal. Ella’s recording studio is right next to her office, and the multi-colored patch cords snaking around and connecting the many consoles, mixers, and interfaces are all things for him to chew or piss on.
“Figured you could use some fluffy love,” Ella informs me with a grin. “And Blake has meetings all day, anyway, so I’m on doggie duty.”
“Meetings with McAllister?” I ask, not bothering to be coy.
“Mm-hmm.”
I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of Blake’s angry rants, but I’ve witnessed enough of them to know that William McAllister had better prepare for war. He deserves every bit of venom Blake sends his way. How could he let Avery manipulate Theo’s contract? I thought the social media clause was bad… but this? What was revealed during that press conference was just the tip of the iceberg of how they tried to manipulate Theo. It makes my stomach sink thinking about how they used his love for McAllister to convince him he should sign a contract that took away his talent.
Ella leans back in her chair and teasingly rolls her eyes. “He tried deleting his Instagram yesterday because he was annoyedby all the comments he was getting. Couldn’t figure out how to do it, so he just turned his phone off instead.”
Wes texted me that I should be glad I left before this happened because it’s a madhouse. All of McAllister’s marketing efforts have shifted to crisis mode. It’s probably for the best that I no longer work for them; there’s no telling if I’d accidentally change an Instagram caption from“Red suit, red car, red helmet, ready to win”to“Red everything. Ready for revenge.”
Ella takes a sip of her coffee, and I say coffee very loosely. It’s essentially almond milk with a splash of coffee. “Have you talked to Theo?”
I shake my head. Theo’s been completely ignoring my calls and texts, not even responding with a brief “we’ll chat soon” or “ttyl.” Guilt eats away at me, knowing that I left him to deal with this on his own.
Leaning back in the chair, I take an aggressive bite of my doughnut. “Why didn’t he tell me what was going on?Doesn’t he trust me? I’m his…washis girlfriend.”
Glancing down, I find Champ innocently chewing on my shoelaces.Lovely.
“It has nothing to do with trust, Jos.” Ella picks Champ up and places him in my lap. I really did need some puppy love. “He knew what you’d say if he told you. That he’d be an idiot to sign it, and he should drive for another team. Think about it. If Theo reacted poorly toyouleaving McAllister, God only knows how he’d react if you toldhimto leave.”
“But I could’ve been someone to talk to,” I argue. “I know how to be objective.”
Ella laughs and shakes her head. “No, you don’t, Jos. And Theo loves you for it. You’ve always been his biggest fan. He’s an amazing driver?—”
“He’s aphenomenaldriver.”
Okay, now I see her point about not being objective.
“Yes, he is. But Blake’s like Tiger Woods or Steph Curry.”
She looks at me expectantly, but I just shrug. “Who?”
“Are you kidding?” Ella rubs her hands against her face. “Tiger Woods is undoubtedly the best golfer! He’s won eighty-two PGA Tour events and has the lowest career scoring average ever. And Steph Curry may be one of the greatest point guardsever. He’s the reason teams now routinely utilize the three-point shot. And his wife Ayesha?—”
“Sorry, babes, but you lost me at ‘are you kidding?’” Sometimes I forget that Ella’s background is sports journalism. Her knowledge extends far beyond Formula 1, and she can easily chat with anyone about obscure stats that no human should have memorized.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Let’s go with David Beckham. He’s British and plays soccer. Does that work?”
“Unfamiliar with soccer,” I tease. “What’s that?”
“Football,” Ella huffs. “All I’m saying is that every sport has an all-star. You could know nothing about the actual sport, but you know thatonename. That’s Blake for Formula 1. His talent is once-in-a-lifetime legendary. And yes, I’m his girlfriend, so I’m also a bit biased, but you’ve seen him drive. He’s?—”
“Bloody impressive.”
There’s no denying Blake is Formula 1’s favorite. And not just because he’s handsome and elusive; he’s genuinely that good. He consistently delivers in all areas: defending and overtaking, tire management, attack strategy.
“Exactly,” Ella agrees. “But Theo’s always beenyourall-star. Since day one, he’s been your favorite. He’s never had to compete with Blake for your attention or affection.”
I finish my doughnut before nuzzling into Champ’s soft coat. “They took the clauses out, though, right? He can do his own social media? And not be Blake’s bitch?”
Ella raises a brow but lets the comment slide. “They did, but as far as I know, he still hasn’t signed.”
