Page 30 of Over the Limit

“So are you leaving with me or what?”

“Rossi. You’re not hearing me. I can’t just up and leave. I have to finish my job—the debriefing meeting, seeing my ten families out, a quick meetup for the masquerade ball—”

“Right. How could I forget? You’re Miss Important now.” He waves a hand in dismissal at me and takes a few steps back. “It can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” I say as he starts to walk away.

He stops and stares at me. “What?”

“This is my job. My promotion, in case you forgot.” There’s a bite to my words, my anger evident.

He nods, lips tight and impatience emanating off him. “Right. I did. Congrats.” His smile is forced. “So . . . now can we go?”

He doesn’t get it, does he?

“No. We can’t. I . . .” All I’ve wanted for months is for him to see me, to take time out for me, and now that he is, it’s hitting different. It doesn’t help that the way he’s demanding isn’t exactly welcoming. “Just like your job comes first for you, mine comes first for me.”

“And what if I need to come first for you?”

“You can’t pick and choose when you need me. I’m not at your beck and call. This is my job.”

“I’m well aware.” He snorts derisively. “But let’s face it. We both know whose job comes first here. But sure, convince yourself into thinking that yours is more important than mine. I’ll enjoy the mindfuckery you need to do to convince yourself otherwise.”

“Oliver,” I say in a rare use of his first name as I stare at him stunned. There is no way he just said that. “It’s probably best if you walk away right now and don’t finish whatever else you were going to say.”

It’s my attempt to keep the peace and hold on to my dignity while allowing him—a huge competitor—the grace to not say something he’ll regret because he’s upset over his finish.

“That’s convenient for you, isn’t it?”

“Convenient?” Once again, I feel like we’re not having the same conversation.

“Forget I said anything. I have shit to do.”

I watch him walk away, his square shoulders and PR handler jogging up beside him to protect him from the people milling about. But he gravitates toward them and flashes that trademark Rossi smile. One he clearly couldn’t afford for me.

When was the last time he said something nice to me? Or even took a moment out of his busy schedule to let me know I was on his mind? I don’t expect flowers or grand gestures but knowing I matter goes a long way. It holds me over for those in-between times.

Instead, I’m left with the nastiness of what he just said.

“We both know whose job comes first here. But sure, convince yourself into thinking that yours is more important than mine. I’ll enjoy the mindfuckery you need to do to convince yourself otherwise.”

Is that how he really feels about me? Is that how he sees me?

In my head I perform mental gymnastics to try and justify my way around it. Stop. Just stop. He spoke the words. He’s responsible for them.

A small pang of something hits me hard.

When will I learn?

Learn what? To stay away from him after a bad race or to stop making excuses for his shitty behavior?

Both seem pretty apropos right now.

At least next week is an off week. An off week that Rossi had asked me to stay at his place for the duration. While it’s the last thing I want to do right now, maybe it’s what we need. Some time with each other. To be together without the outside world dictating how our time should be spent. I can work during the day while he’s doing his physical training and simulator time and then we can hang out in the evening.

Reconnect.

I shake my head. Just when I thought it was going to be a good race for Apex, for the guys, they were hit with a one-two punch. Rossi touched tires with Riggs and came out on the wrong end of it with his car in the gravel. And Lachlan pushed hard, challenging other drivers when he could, but never really had the power needed to overtake anyone. He only moved up in position when other cars crashed, finishing a disappointing twelfth place when Apex should be in the top six at all times.