Page 5 of On The Edge

“And, Mr. Navarro?” I stop and turn back to look at him. “I’m a huge fan. Like you’re the one my whole family roots for. Every race day.” He shifts on his feet, his grin widening. Guess that blew my thought out of the water. “Um, just wanted to say, good luck the rest of the season. I feel a championship year coming. If not this year, then next.”

My smile is genuine when I flash it. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I’m not supposed to ask.” He looks over his shoulder. “But maybe on the way out, after your meeting, can we take a picture?”

“Of course. You’ll be here?”

He nods, his eyes wide. “Yes. Right here. Until tonight. Until you come back down.” He all but bounces on his feet. “My dad will lose his mind when he finds out that I met you.”

My phone alerts a text as I step into the elevator. Before I can even look at its screen, it sounds off several more times.

Ah, the Dominic Navarro love bomb texts, no doubt. Never one to be ignored for too long, he utilizes his favorite MO.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I murmur as I look at my texts only to be met with picture after picture of last night.

Images that don’t exactly paint me in the best light or that I even remember.

Clearly drunk. My lips on one woman one moment and a different one the next.

A half-filled glass in one hand and a bottle in the other.

A series of shots that clearly show me stumbling into a group of people before landing on my ass with a grin on my lips.

Fuck.

Can’t get away with shit these days with all the fucking phones everywhere.

One thing’s for sure, I was having a great time. And I don’t really give a flying fuck what my dear old papá thinks of this.

But the texts don’t stop coming. And when my phone rings shortly thereafter—just as the elevator hits the ninth floor—I know that I either have to answer the call or be prepared for him to track me down through Genesee’s phone lines and make a scene.

I wouldn’t put it past him to do it. Everyone answers when Dominic Navarro asks questions—the loving, doting father that he is to the public. He’s only looking out for my best interest, after all. Or at least that’s the shit he peddles.

“I’m surprised you could dial in between firing off all those texts,” I say by way of greeting.

“Do you actually think what is in those pictures is befitting of someone who has Navarro blood in their veins?” His deep baritone echoes through the line, my own lips mouthing each word as they come. Each word like a tiny cut laced onto my skin.

Just adding to the thousand other cuts he’s slashed in secret over the years.

“Hello to you too, Papá.”

“Cut the crap, Cruz. This isn’t funny. This isn’t a game. You stopping this behavior isn’t up for discussion. You are a Navarro. Our family is the oldest and most successful legacy in this sport.”

“Some of us, anyway.” I’ll take a jab any way I can make one.

He clears his throat, and I can all but hear him grit his teeth. “It’s just like you to screw up before you even sign the papers. Genesee’s going to walk from the deal because you’re a liability. You always have been. Apparently, you always will be.”

Fuck you.

The words are on my tongue, but my sick sense of respect for a man who has none for me holds it back.

“The deal isn’t in jeopardy at all. But then again, you think my business is your business even when it isn’t.”

“You’re a Navarro. Everything is my business.”

“You keep thinking that and I’ll keep disappointing you. Or is that what you want? The disappointment? The screwing up? That way you have something to hold over my head, right?” I ask. Anything to use against your son as a justification as to why he’s twice the driver you ever were and the only Navarro to ever come close to el patriarca’s reign in Formula 1.

“When are you going to stop tarnishing our name?”