Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) (16 page)

“Alec?” I whisper, when the call goes through, “Could you
come pick me up?”

Chapter Fifteen

Minutes blur into hours, and hours into days. The moment
Alec rescues me from that lonely Manhattan hotel and all but carries me back to
our home in Brooklyn, I find myself falling into a state of bewildered
disorientation. I lose track of time completely, slumbering and waking at all
hours, forgetting to eat, wandering around our townhouse in my dad’s sweater
like a deranged sleepwalker. I’ve heard a post-breakup slump, but this
something else completely.

But then again, what happened between me and Enzo was not
some run-of-the-mill breakup. Our falling out was made infinitely worse by the
interference of the media and our team alike. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s
mad at me, or through with me, or hopelessly pining for me. Since he stormed
out of that hotel room, I haven’t heard a peep from him. Or Team Ferrelli. It’s
been radio silence since I arrived back in Brooklyn. And despite the saying
about no news being good news, that’s certainly not how it feels right about
now.

In fact, it feels like shit.

It’s Wednesday night before I feel myself coming to. The fog
of despair and doubt is lifting somewhat, at last. Waking up from a late
afternoon nap, I see that the sky outside my window is lit up with the pinks
and oranges of an autumn sunset over Prospect Park. This is my favorite time of
year, here in our little corner of Brooklyn. And despite everything that’s
going on, I feel my heart warming a couple of degrees every day I spend at home
with Alec.

Slipping into a pair of thick woolen socks, I pad downstairs
into the kitchen. Our fridge is blessedly stocked with beer, as usual, and I
grab a cold one before heading out into the backyard. As I step through the
sliding glass door, I see that Alec had the same idea—he’s already sitting at
our weathered patio table with a newspaper on his knee and a beer in his hand.
He glances up at me with a smile and pats the seat beside him.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” he says, taking a swig of his beer.
“Have you finally decided to join the world of the living?”

“I’m gonna take a crack at it, anyway,” I sigh.

As I take a sip of my beer, something catches my eye on the
sports page of Alec’s newspaper. It’s a picture of my old FullSpeed Racing
manager, Bruce. I snatch up the rag before my brother can stop me and read a
snippet of the article accompanying the picture.

Vaughn’s ex-manager, Bruce
Martinez, says that FullSpeed Racing was given no say in her sudden departure.
“We were blindsided, absolutely,” Martinez says of Vaughn’s flight to Team
Ferrelli. “But I guess that, as a woman, she felt she had to cash in on the
whole sexy-lady-driver thing before her looks went.”

I toss the newspaper across the yard, seething. Alec raises
an eyebrow at me as the pages flutter onto the patio.

“That fucker,” I grumble, taking a long swig of beer. “He
couldn’t give a shit about me while I was driving for FullSpeed. Now he wants
to piggy back off my bad press?”

“Of course he does,” Alec shrugs. “That’s how this goes.
People are going to pile on you until there’s a new story for them to exploit.”

The world certainly has been running wild with this “F1
Vixen” angle. I know you’re not supposed to read the comments or your own
reviews, but I haven’t been able to help but peek at what’s being written about
Enzo and me. The consensus seems to be that I’m not a real driver. That
Ferrelli only hired me as a publicity stunt. That I’ve been distracting Enzo
and keeping him from his job. That I’m Enzo’s kept woman, and my being on the
team is a personal favor he called in. One report even claimed that I’d
hypnotized the owners of Ferrelli with, and this is a direct quite, by
“bodacious ta-ta’s”.

I have to give them points for creativity on that one, at
least.

“How am I supposed to fix this?” I ask Alec, picking at the
label of my beer bottle. “Who’s going to take anything I say seriously now?”

“They probably won’t,” Alec says, looking up at the colorful
sky.

“Ouch,” I wince, “A little sugar coating wouldn’t kill you,
bro.”

“Sugar coating may taste sweeter, but it’ll still rot you in
the end. The truth hurts,” he says. “Right now, it’s your word against the world’s.
That’s not a fight you’re going to win. What you need to do is show them that
you’re not just a pretty face. That you deserve your place on Team Ferrelli.”

“How am I going to do that if I can’t get near a damned racecar?”
I ask.

“That...is a very good question,” Alec sighs, sipping on his
beer. “And not one that I have an answer to.”

“Ferrelli is talking about letting me and Enzo go,” I say
quietly.

“What?” Alec exclaims, “They can’t do that.”

“Sure they can,” I shrug, “I’m a new hire as it is. And Enzo’s
been inconsistent, professionally speaking, since his father passed away. We’re
both on the chopping block.”

“Jesus,” my brother breathes, “I didn’t realize things were
so dire. What does Enzo say about all of this?”

“Hell if I know,” I shrug, “He disappeared a few days ago,
and I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t even know where he is. Something’s
got to give, Alec. I have no idea how to move forward with all of this.”

Alec reaches for my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze.
“I know this thing seems insurmountable now,” he says softly, “But just wait. A
way forward is going to fall out of the sky when you least expect it.”

Both of our heads turn as we hear a knock at our front door.
I raise my eyebrows at Alec, amazed by the timing of the sudden interruption.

“You get it,” I tell him, sinking back into my chair, “I
look like something that belongs on the underside of a rock.”

“Probably UPS or something,” he mumbles, “I’ll be right
back.”

I reflect on Alec’s words as he goes to answer the door and
know in my heart that he’s right. But how am I going to do the work of
convincing the world that I’m more than a token chick in a man’s sport? How do
I present them with a new, gift-wrapped story to cover? My wonderings are
scattered as I hear two sets of heavy footprints crossing the kitchen. We don’t
usually invite the mailman in for a beer here in Brooklyn. So who’s...?

“What the hell...?” I breathe, leaping up from my chair as
Enzo appears at the sliding glass door. Alec stands behind him, his thick arms
crossed. I look back and forth between their faces, waiting for someone to
explain what’s happening.

“Hey Ace,” Enzo says, his voice gruff, “Are you gonna offer
me a beer or what?”

“That depends,” I say coolly, pulling my dad’s sweater
tightly around my body. “Are you going to stick around long enough to drink it,
or disappear in a cloud of smoke again?”

“I’ll let you two have a second...” Alec says, “You call me
if you need me, Ace. And no funny business from you, Mr. World Champion. I mean
it. Oh, and again, it’s such an honor to meet you.” My brother’s inner fan-boy
shining through momentarily.

My brother lumbers back into the living room as Enzo steps
down into the backyard, taking a look around at our humble abode.

“So...your brother’s a charmer,” he says flatly.

“He’s just being protective,” I shoot back.

“I understand,” Enzo nods, “I’m a big brother too, you know.
And this is your home.”

“It’s not exactly a villa,” I say defensively, “But it suits
us just fine.”

“I like it,” Enzo says, his smile strained and anxious.

“Did you really want that beer?” I ask crisply.

“God yes,” he admits, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I hurry past him into the kitchen and crack open another
beer. My hands are trembling like mad. What is Enzo doing here in Brooklyn?
Where the hell has he been? What, exactly, does he propose we do now? I take a
breath and calm myself. Best to let him do the talking for the moment. He’s the
one with all the explaining to do, after all.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting my proffered beer, “I’ve been
in a constant state of needing a drink since...You know.”

“Oh, do I ever,” I reply wryly.

“Will you let me explain myself?” Enzo presses, reaching for
my hand.

“That would be a great start,” I reply, snatching my fingers
out of his grasp. In truth, my body is aching for him to hold me. But my mind
won’t allow it just yet.

“OK,” Enzo sighs, shoving a hand through his jet black hair.
His scruff is more pronounced than ever, his dark eyes intense and brooding.
How can I still find him irresistible, even in the midst of all this? I suppose
the heart wants what it wants, international tabloid scandal or no. “I know I
could have handled this whole thing a lot better. I just want to put that out
there first. I shouldn’t have run off without telling you where I was going. I
shouldn’t have left you by yourself. I’m so sorry, Ainsley. These past few days
must have been horrible for you.”

“They were,” I inform him crisply.

“If it makes you feel any better, they were hell for me too.
Being away from you was the last thing I wanted, but I had to go into damage
control mode as soon as possible. My place on Team Ferrelli has always meant
everything to me, and it’s still damn important. But what I’ve realized through
all of this is that your place on the team, your future, your happiness...I
couldn’t have that ruined on my account. I had to figure out a way to get us
out of this.”

“I’m not your fucking damsel in distress, Enzo,” I cut him
off. “I didn’t need you to go riding off into the sunset on your own little
spirit quest. I needed for us to take this on together.”

“I know,” he says, shaking his head. “I was so stupid not to
realize that right off the bat. I can’t do this without you, Ace. We’re
teammates, after all.”

“Is that all we are?” I ask, my voice ragged with held-back
tears. “Just teammates?”

“You know it’s not,” Enzo says fiercely, setting down his
beer and opening his arms to me. “I care about you, Ainsley. I want to be with
you.”

“What about the rest of your doting admirers?” I ask,
folding my arms. “All the people who’ve called me a slut on the internet, going
on about how I’m not good enough for you? What about all the other women you’re
committed
to?”

“What other women?” Enzo asks, taken aback, “There’s no one
else, Ace.”

“I saw something on your phone. That night in Rome,” I tell
him. “Something about you being a wonderful, committed partner. But right. I
totally
believe that I’m
the only woman in your life, Enzo. You know what? That doesn’t even matter.
Forget about it.”

“It does matter,” he says stoically, “But not the way you
think.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“I...I don’t want to talk about that right now,” he mutters.
“Please.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about what happens now, instead,” I say,
throwing up my hands. “Am I supposed to forgive you? Kiss you? Let you save the
day?”

“No,” he says simply, “I wouldn’t expect that. I just want
you to hear me out.”

“Whatever,” I say, snatching up my beer and sitting down
hard, “Go on, then.”

He sits down across from me and takes a long sip of Brooklyn
Lager. “I spent the past few days back in Europe,” he tells me. “I was able to
get a meeting with the owners of Team Ferrelli and speak with them directly,
with Siena at my side.”

“She must hate me,” I whisper.

“No,” he says forcefully, “She just wants us both to get the
credit we deserve. And for us to do right by our team. Which is exactly what
I’m proposing we do.”

“How? I ask.

“By getting back to work,” Enzo says simply. “We have a race
this weekend, don’t we?”

“
You
have a race this weekend,” I grumble.

“Our
team
does,” he insists. “And we’re going to show up to it together. As teammates. As
friends. As two people who care about each other. And we’re going to show the
world that our personal lives have nothing to do with what we’re capable of as
drivers.”

I study Enzo’s earnest face, and realize something. “You’re
not telling me the whole story, are you?” I ask.

“Not much gets by you, huh?” he asks, amazed.

“I can always tell when someone’s lying to me,” I say
softly, “Or keeping something from me, rather.”

“It’s true,” Enzo allows. “There are a couple of things I
need to keep to myself until the day of the race. We need to spend the next
couple of days practicing hard before the race this weekend. I need you to be
focused, Ace.”

“Sure,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “No problem. I’m sure it
will be super easy to focus, knowing you’re keeping me out of the loop. And
where, exactly, are we even supposed to practice, Enzo? Huh?”

“At the FullSpeed track,” he says casually.

A bark of laughter escapes my throat. “Be serious,” I tell
him.