Page 3 of On The Edge

“Thank you. I mean it. Sincerely.”

Lennox’s sigh is heavy, the soft spot I know she has for me weakening for the briefest moment. “Taking care of you and your future is my job. Just like keeping your ass in line is. And apparently, I’m not doing terribly well considering word has gotten around about the numerous bridges you’ve burned with some of your other brand deals—”

“I didn’t burn shit. I fulfilled my obligation to each and every one.”

“You did do your part. But you’ve also earned a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“That’s such bullsh—”

“Cold, hard truth, Cruz? Companies don’t want to touch you,” Lennox says, never one to beat around the bush. That’s great when it comes to negotiating on my behalf. Not so great when it’s being directed straight at me without a buffer. “Genesee has been wavering on this. You’re a liability to their squeaky-clean image. The partying. The drinking. The simply not giving a fuck when you’re one of twenty drivers in arguably the most revered sport on earth. They don’t know what’s going to be in the press from one day to the next and frankly, don’t want to have to fucking worry about it.”

“I’m no different than every other driver out there.”

She snorts.

Even I don’t buy my own lie. My father is Dominic Navarro. Son of Sergio Navarro, a motorsports legend. The former, a man who expects nothing less than perfection from me on the grid to make up for his shortcomings. Off the grid? That’s my own time. My own place. It’s where I can live on the edge. Where I can cut loose from the pressure that comes from being tethered to my fucking last name.

But this deal? This deal can give me something he never had. A name beyond our F1 motor racing bubble. A chance at global recognition and success.

And then when I win a championship, he’ll know I am better than he ever aspired to be.

“Like I said, word gets around.” She tsks out of habit. “You’ve already had a fair share of sponsorship deals not renewed because of the press, but I’ve gotten Genesee to overlook all that. I’ve gotten them to commit to something they’ve never considered offering before.”

“Can the lecture be over now?”

“Sure, once you hear me when I say that this company has far-reaching arms that hold many lucrative opportunities with other products and brands. If you mess this up, then everything under their umbrella will be off-limits to you in the future. Is that enough of an incentive for you to walk the straight and narrow?”

“Sure. Fine.” I say the words but am looking at the text on my phone from Heather and reliving certain parts of last night . . . and early this morning spent tangled in the sheets with her and her friend.

Me: Same time tonight?

I type the text referring to the nightclub we were at last night and send it to her, needing something to look forward to.

“You have exactly twenty-one minutes to sober the fuck up, to chew some gum so it doesn’t smell like last night’s gin is oozing out of your pores—”

“It was whiskey.”

“Do you think I care?” she snaps.

“I know how much you like your facts to be straight,” I counter and receive a frustrated sigh in return.

“Figure out how the fuck you’re going to charm them.”

“Relax.” She’s so goddamn uptight sometimes. “I’m here to sign the papers. Pretty sure the charming has already been done. The deal is essentially set in stone.”

“Exactly. It’s essentially set. You’re the only one who can fuck this up now, Cruz.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, sarcasm dripping in my tone.

She makes a noncommittal sound that says she’s far from convinced. “You know as well as I do that your life can change in a second in your sport. I prefer not to jinx it and go into the details regarding how. And we’re both aware of your family’s legacy in this industry. But wouldn’t it be liberating to know that no matter what, you are set for life outside of racing and free of the strings that legacy ties you to? That’s what this deal would do for you. Autonomy in every aspect of the word.”

“I make enough money. My family money is—”

“I know you do, but wouldn’t this obliterate any question about that when it comes to your father?”

Her question hangs on the line. She’s really the only one who has ever seen the true Dominic Navarro and who therefore, has the knowledge to make that statement.

“Hey, that’s them on the other line,” she says. “I have to take this, but I’ll see you in there.”