Page 28 of Full Throttle

A heavy weight settled in her chest. That was just what she needed: to be her usual awkward, bumbling self in front of a room of reporters while Dominic charmed them with anecdotes of the Iranian alfalfa grass he was growing or whatever the hell he did with his spare time. Even if he wasn’t media trained, Dominic would have the upper hand; he might not like people, but he could turn on the polite charm as easily as turning keys in an ignition.

She, on the other hand, had the charm of a damp sock.

“You want us to put on a show?” she asked.

“No,” Ranya said shortly. “I want you to put on an Oscar-winning performance. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely.” Dominic threaded his fingers behind his head. “I’ve always fancied a go at the stage. And Marchmont comes from a long line of actors. I’m sure she’s got some talent buried somewhere.”

Juliette blinked. She wasn’t sure what was more surprising: that Dominic remembered what her parents did for a living, or that he’d almost paid her a compliment.

Ranya tapped a pen. “Juliette?”

“I…”

She stared at the poppy. The flower was wilting in the heat, stooping like a hunched old man. What if she just told Ranya the truth? The entire truth? Surely she wouldn’t make Juliette work with Dominic. No sane person would.

And yet…

She flexed her sweaty palms. Just the idea of broaching that subject made her want to jump from the third-story window. So maybe not.

“Understood,” she said.

“Good.” Ranya set the pen down. “You’re free to go.”

They rose. Juliette’s dress was sticky; she must have knocked over a beer in the commotion. Her phone gave a ding. One text from Cap: Waiting in the car. Baz found a change of clothes for you. She slipped her phone away.

“Not you, Marchmont,” Ranya called. “You’re staying.”

Juliette paused. Dominic gave her a questioning look but said nothing as he shut the door. Ranya rose. The fluorescent light caught at the purple smudges beneath her eyes, and Juliette swallowed. Had Ranya changed her mind? Had she decided that it was easiest to fire her? At least she’d spared her the mortification of doing it in front of Dominic. She’d never live that down.

“Do you know,” Ranya said quietly, “why I quit racing?”

Juliette’s eyes went to the cane. “You had an accident.”

“An accident.” Ranya gave the ghost of a smile. “That’s one way of putting it. Shattered patella, crushed femur, two slipped spinal disks…” A tube of lotion materialized in her hand, seemingly from nowhere. “I had a bloodbath. That’s what I had.”

Juliette recalled the Grand Prix. Monza, 1997. A driver had been injured and Ranya had gone in as the reserve. “You were brilliant that day.”

Ranya uncapped the lotion. Anti-inflammatory cream, she realized. “I got distracted. And you know why?”

Juliette shook her head.

No lotion came out. Ranya frowned at the tube. “There’d been an article about me that morning. You wouldn’t have seen it. The press pulled every copy they could get their hands on after the accident. Didn’t quite fit the tone.” She set down the cane. “Do you know what the headline was?”

Again, Juliette shook her head. Ranya’s smile was a private joke.

“ ‘Female Driver Caught in Compromising Position.’ There was a picture of me on my knees in a hotel room. The image was grainy, but you could tell that it was me. I lost all my sponsors that day. I wasn’t putting out the sort of image that they endorsed. My career ended before I even stepped foot in that car.”

Wilted petals littered the floor. Juliette’s fingers stung. She hadn’t realized she’d been gripping the back of the chair.

“They shouldn’t have printed that.”

“No,” Ranya agreed. “But they print what sells. They always will.”

“Was he…?”

Ranya waited patiently. Juliette looked away.