Page 68 of Until The Lights Go Out

I leaned back slightly against the table, crossing my arms like that would somehow put me on equal footing. “Miss me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not even a little.”

“Shame.”

“Sit. Down.” There was something about the way she said it—like she fully expected me to argue, but also fully intended to win—that made something in my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.

I didn’t move.

“Or what?” I asked, lifting a brow. Her mouth curved—not into a smile, but something close. Dangerous.

“Or I will make your life very, very difficult for the rest of this weekend,” she said sweetly. “And trust me, Theo, I have a lot more control over that than you think.” A few people nearby slowed their steps, trying to overhear us and see why the usually-cheery Maisey was pissed as hell instead.

I huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You threatening me now?”

“I’m managing you,” she shot back, “something someone clearly forgot to do.”

I pushed off the table, taking a step closer before I could stop myself. “Careful, Red.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “Or what?”

God. There it was. That spark, the edge, her snapping back. The thing that used to exist between us before everything got complicated and messy and real. I craved it. For a second, it almost felt like we were back there—trading shots on that hill, neither of us willing to back down.

“You might hurt my feelings.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “Tough shit.” She stepped past me and grabbed the clipboard I’d ignored earlier from the table. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, flipping pages over and pressing it into my chest hard enough that I had to take it. “You’re going to sit down. You’re going to follow this. And you’re going to stop acting like a nightmare for the people who are just trying to do their jobs.”

I looked down at the clipboard, then back at her.

“And if I don’t?”

Her expression didn’t change.

“I will personally make sure every single interview you have for the rest of this season is scheduled back-to-back with no breaks, no buffer, and no mercy, with millions of those silly little games you love so much,” she said calmly. “And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Damn,” I muttered, shaking my head. She was sort of scary with her eyes glaring at me like that. It was hot.

“Sit down, Theo.”

There it was again. That fire. I dropped into the chair, leaning back like I wasn’t affected, like this was all still a game I was choosing to play. Maisey didn’t look satisfied. But she did look…steadier. Like this mattered more than she wanted it to.

“Good,” she said, adjusting her headset again. “Now try not to make me regret fighting for your slot.” My gaze snapped back to her. She paused, just for a second, like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Then she shrugged it off. “Don’t read into it.”

Something in my chest shifted. I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice. “You care about me, Andrews?”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “I care about doing my job,” she said.

“Then let’s not screw it up,” I said lightly, tapping the clipboard.

“So, want to enlighten the people why you haven’t been scoring your regular number of points?” she asked with a sickly sweet smile.

“Well Maisey, that’s because the car fucking sucks,” I replied, crossing my arms. She glared, paused the producer from filming, and told me I wasn’t allowed to curse. So instead, I answered with a nicer PR-approved version of “The car fucking sucks.”

Maisey was good, it wasn’t hard to admit that. She asked good questions, everyone loved her around the garage, and the PitSpark Paddock Report was gaining a following rather quickly. All in all, she was doing quite well being back in the racing world. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I cared a hell of a lot. Maybe I wouldn’t miss any more Maisey interviews. But the rest could get fucked.

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MAISEY | PRESENT