Page 99 of Full Throttle

“Straight to the top. Lifts are on the left.”

“And the stairs?” Juliette asked.

He hesitated. “I wouldn’t recommend them in those shoes.”

Juliette bit back a smile. She’d once driven a combine in six-inch heels, and that was after two glasses of wine. “Can I take them?”

“It’s two hundred and fifty-six steps to the top.” Her face must have shown her resolve because the man sighed. “To the right.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped inside. The air was cooler, smelling heavily of dust and stone. Her footsteps echoed off the spiral stairs. Strange, she thought, how the burn in her legs could feel so satisfying; it distracted from everything that was happening in her head.

Her heated conversation with Cap before the race. The strangeness with Hastings. Her race strategist’s deliberate sabotage.

And now Anthony sodding Sinclair.

“Juliette!” a male voice called.

Speak of the devil.

As if he’d sprung from her thoughts, Anthony Sinclair raced up the steps. He wore a black velvet jacket, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. She slowed, her heart pounding. She hadn’t imagined confronting him like this, but sod it. Who was she to throw away an opportunity?

“Sinclair,” she said.

Anthony’s smile was slightly puzzled, and it was only then that she realized she’d used Dominic’s name for him. “You look nice.”

She ignored this. “Did you need something?”

Anthony gave an elegant shrug. “Just fancied the stairs.”

“I see.”

“And,” Anthony said, falling into step, “I wanted to say congratulations. Your win was well deserved. You’re an exceptional talent, you know.”

“For a woman.”

She didn’t bother to hide the scorn in her voice. Anthony slowed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what you said in the article,” Juliette said. “That I’m not bad for a woman. Among other things.”

Something flickered across Anthony’s face. “Who sent you that?”

“I have a press team.”

A muscle jumped in Anthony’s jaw. “Vance said—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. I want you to know those remarks were taken out of context. I’m sorry for the way they came across.”

The oddest urge to laugh filled her. “And the bit about Hastings? Was that taken out of context too?”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Your PR team really showed you all of this?”

“Answer the question,” Juliette countered.

They surveyed each other. Dust motes settled in Anthony’s blond hair like a crown. When he spoke, his voice was measured. “I’m not proud of what I said. Hastings had just beat me in a race, and I was drunk. It was a private conversation with my mates.”

Something sour filled Juliette’s mouth. “What you said about him…” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. “It’s disgusting.”