Page 42 of Full Throttle

Her stomach tightened.

That sent a certain message. And not a good one.

But there was her career to think about.

It only took one moment to be labeled difficult to work with. And that was it. Poof. Sponsorships gone, career torched. A wave of wariness filled her. God, what did it matter? It was only one question. So Juliette smiled at the cameras and said, “The hotel shampoo. Whatever that is.”

A few people laughed. The interviewer wrapped up with a few closing remarks. Dominic shifted in his chair; he’d been oddly still for the last two minutes, but there was tension in his body, as if he were a coil about to spring.

“You didn’t ask me,” Dominic said.

His voice was quiet. Even so, it held the sort of cold authority that people listened to, and the interviewer paused. The cameraman hesitated, a boom half-lowered in his hand. Evidently, nobody had been expecting this part.

The interviewer blinked. “What?”

“About my hair,” Dominic said, his eyes on the interviewer. “I assume you’re asking all the drivers.”

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes flicked to the clock. “Well, we wouldn’t want to run over—”

“I like a hydrating conditioner,” Dominic said. “Followed by a bit of pomade. What about you, Capulet?”

Her brother was clearly fighting a smile. “I like a deep conditioning treatment.”

Dominic looked past him. “Liêm?”

“Just shampoo for me.” Liêm shrugged. “Twice a week.”

Dominic leaned back. “There you go. Any more questions?” The interviewer shook her head. She was red-cheeked but smiling, and Dominic winked, stretching his arms. “Good. Thank you for your time. I look forward to seeing you all at the race tomorrow.”

He exited the stage, leaving her staring after him.

He’d stood up for her.

But why?

Chapter 15

Allies

Juliette wove through the crowded paddock. Everything was the click of cameras, accompanied by the low buzz of the crowd. Bahrain wasn’t the glitziest track, but you got a few celebrities for the big Sunday race; she could see two women from a basket-weaving competition show posing in matching white sundresses, tinged orange by the dying sunlight.

“You know,” Baz said, “I’ve seen satellites smaller than that thing.”

His eyes were on Capulet’s wrist, who held up the watch obligingly. “Sponsored, thank you very much.”

“By who?” Baz asked dryly. “NASA?”

“Montessori.”

Baz let out a low whistle. “Mierda. Most people would sell a kidney for one of those.”

He rubbed his eyes. Red paint splattered his wrist like winter poppies, and Juliette’s stomach twisted. Baz must have been up late painting, which was never a good sign. She could recall summer nights in Cornwall when Baz’s midnight screams had woken the whole cottage. After his parents’ accident, Baz had suffered debilitating nightmares, although he refused to discuss them. Not that the Marchmont family hadn’t tried. An extra cup of tea in the morning. A few gentle questions. After a particularly bad nightmare, Rosaline had moved all her stuffed teddy bears into Baz’s bedroom. Deer Baz, her younger sister had written. I’m sarry about your Mum and Dad. Pleas feel better soon. Roz.

She’d talk to him about it later. Not that it would do any good. Baz only opened up when he was ready, and as far as she could tell, that was never.

Cap lowered his wrist. “Clyde tried to eat it the other day.” His voice was cheerful, either oblivious to Baz’s mood or giving him space. “That dog has exceptional taste. Although I’ve had to start keeping the watch in a shoebox in the closet.”

“Say the word,” Baz said. “I’ll look after it for you.”