Page 2 of On The Edge

“Who else do you think sent a nurse with a saline IV to sober you up for this meeting?”

“I didn’t need sobering up.” Yes, I did.

“Then call it a simple precaution based on your previous non-saint-like behavior,” she says wryly. Clearly, she’s lost her sense of humor this morning.

“Give me a break, Lennox. It was the summer recess,” I say of FIA’s mandatory two-week break period. “You sent me to Austin for these meetings. Nowhere in the itinerary did it say I couldn’t enjoy my time here in the States.”

“You’re free to do as you please, but I’m also fully aware we’re in the midst of the Cruz Navarro downward spiral we lapse into every three months or so.”

“You’re full of shit, Kincade. There is no spiral. No cycle.”

“And yet I knew to send the saline to flush your system this morning,” she says sarcastically.

“It’s not a crime to meet up with old friends. To make new ones. God forbid I had a little fun. You should try it sometime.”

“Summer break is over as of midnight last night, and you’re about thirty minutes away from one of the biggest meetings of your life.” She pauses. “Wait. You are at the offices, right?”

I look up at the office building for Genesee Capital in front of me. It’s about ten stories tall with walls of windows for its employees to look out at . . . what? A lot of flat land and odd-shaped water towers dotting the horizon? Who knows. Who cares. Because all I can focus on is how I’m going to muddle through these meetings with a clear head.

That last bottle was definitely a mistake.

And that’s on me.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I murmur as a curvy brunette with big hair and an even bigger ass walks in front of my rental car. She sways her hips like it’s her sole purpose in life. No complaints on my end.

“I need you on your best behavior in there,” she warns.

“I’m always on my best behavior.”

“I’m fucking serious, Cruz. You made demands—”

“Your point?”

“You wanted a deal bigger than any your father was ever offered. You wanted a brand partnership that goes beyond the sport and your time actively being involved in the sport—a brand partnership that would set you up for life with an income stream—and I’ve delivered on both in a big way.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to kiss your ass for doing your job?”

“No. This is the part where you knock that fucking chip off your shoulder. I’m not your dad. I don’t set impossible expectations for you to meet. I just try and deliver on whichever ones you throw at me. Now, can we get back to what’s important? You know, the meeting?”

“Ah, yes. The meeting,” I parrot.

“Genesee Capital is the private equity firm you want to be in business with. Its holding company owns some of the largest brands out there. That holding company is willing to give you a lifetime contract that includes five percent of earnings on every product sold. We’re talking a Michael Jordan with Nike type of deal.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the Motrin to kick in, and nod to my empty car. “They’re really banking on that Navarro legacy shit, aren’t they?”

“They’re signing you, not Dominic. So no, they’re banking on the Cruz Navarro legacy shit. Your skills. Your looks. Your charisma. Your reputation. They want you to be the face of Body Strong’s new sports drink, Revive, among other products.”

“Let’s not forget they’re also using my capital to invest in this drink.”

“Exactly. That’s why they need to know their new partner is exactly who and what they think he is. Cruz Navarro, F1 driver. Not Cruz Navarro, Nightclub Playboy, who’s so hungover he can’t take off his sunglasses and meet their eyes during the meeting.”

Guess that throws that plan out the window.

I grunt in response. Is this the deal that I asked for? Yes. Do I like when things are shoved down my throat? Nope. That’s the quickest way to turn me off.

“This is momentous, Cruz. There’s not another driver on the grid—past or present—who has a deal like this.”

Fuck. Credit’s due where it’s due.