Page 108 of Full Throttle

Vance raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?”

“You had someone tail us?”

“No,” Vance said. “A source informed me that these pictures”—his voice curled around the word—“were going to be released in the Daily Mail tomorrow. I’ve spent all morning trying to kill the story.”

Dominic’s blood went cold. “They’re being printed?”

“Not anymore. Luckily, I know the editorial director. He’s agreed not to print them in exchange for a generous donation.”

Dominic exhaled. “Thank you.”

The relief was so abrupt that it felt like a gut punch. Dominic had the sudden desire to chuck the folder in the pool, or—better yet—to set it on fire. If anyone saw these photos…if the media got hold of them…

His heart raced. Juliette would be publicly ripped apart. His mother’s words came back to him, raw as a wound: You must never believe the things that men write about women. Only half of it is true, and none of it is kind. He’d wanted to go public, but not like this. He’d imagined a carefully worded interview, an exclusive with a trusted journalist who wrote positively about female athletes. Something where they were in control. But letting these photos leak would be akin to firing a burning arrow into the sky and just praying that it didn’t set anything important on fire when it landed.

Anyway, Juliette had been right, he realized, staring at the photos; he hadn’t wanted to admit it, but here it was, the gut-wrenching truth, staring him directly in the face: Her career just wasn’t there yet. If these photos got out, she’d be introduced to the world as Dominic Hastings’s girlfriend, and not as a championship-winning racer in her own right. She’d be forever sitting beside the racetrack. Not on it. And it was the one thing she would never forgive him for.

He’d been selfish. If his father hadn’t killed the story…her career ending would be your fault, a little voice whispered, and he deserved the guilt that came with it, deserved the sharp sting of regret.

“You were careless,” Vance observed.

Dominic’s throat burned. “I know.”

“A student.” Vance clicked his teeth. “Do you have any idea what sort of damage that could do to your career?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course,” Vance said evenly, “it would do more damage to the girl’s career. Should the photos be released.”

Dominic’s throat felt dry. He felt as if he’d been so busy staring down the lens of a camera that he’d missed the gigantic wave creeping up behind him. And now, Dominic thought, it was about to come crashing down.

“I thought you had all the copies,” he said dully, although he knew where this was going. He’d been foolish not to anticipate it from the start. And sure enough, Vance leaned forward, preparing for the final strike.

“I do.”

“What are you saying?”

His father folded his arms. “Break things off with the girl. Or I’ll release the photos.”

It was difficult, Dominic reflected, to look intimidating while wearing a small red Speedo, but his father was certainly pulling it off. “Why?”

Vance sighed. “I’ve told you, Dominic. If you’re going to be the best racer in the world, then sacrifices must be made. And it’s clear that this…relationship is affecting your ability to perform on track.”

“I’ve had a bad run.” He hated that his voice rose. “It has nothing to do with…” He couldn’t bring himself to say Juliette’s name; it felt like handing his father a severed heart. “Nothing to do with her.”

“End it,” Vance said. “Today.”

His voice was firm, but not unkind. Dominic’s heart rate accelerated. Nothing made him more nervous than when his father was gentle. It was like honey from a bee before it stung. “And if I refuse?”

Vance reached behind the bar. “I didn’t want to do this. Here.”

He produced a second folder. This time, Dominic only eyed it warily.

“What is this?”

Vance’s gaze was steady. “A list of every company sponsoring the girl. A cosmetics brand, clothing companies, a protein shake start-up…Do you know what they all have in common?” He pulled on loose trousers. “A zero-tolerance policy for misconduct. No company wants to be attached to a female racer who climbed the ladder by fucking her superiors.”

Heat surged. “She didn’t—”