Shut Up and Talk

Chapter 16

Back where it all began, sunny and hot Melbourne, Australia. Like my first visit, the heat engulfed me like a lava flow and most of my time was spent following Ian, this time making sure he behaved himself. The previous year had been one of his most successful ever. He'd made more money than he'd ever made before and he'd finished fifth in the driver's standings, despite Fast Magazine's prediction that he'd place no better than eighth. What did those blowhards know anyway?

Other teams had taken notice, most notably Benton. They wanted someone with charisma and they quietly courted Ian, but he preferred to stay with Donato. Benton gave him only one advantage and that was equal pegging with his teammate. Donato gave him Italy, more money and exotic, olive-skinned Italian women.

After two days of tolerating sponsors, we assembled in the hotel lounge before a rare afternoon off. Max looked at his watch and waited for us to adjourn. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and he wiped them away with the back of his blubbery hand. Manmade materials didn't breathe well.

"I have to go," he said hastily. "No time to waste. I've work to do."

"What work?" I asked innocently.

"You know, this and that."

Paul and I exchanged sceptical looks. Max had no appointments but I'd learned from a reliable source that he had a girlfriend. Yes, even Max had luck with the ladies. Eventually Ian had to realise what a waste of money Max had become, right? His ineptitude caused him to schedule two public appearances at the same time in two different corners of the world. I'd noticed the mistake and begged Tangerine not to fault Ian for the oversight, promising that he'd make it up at his next scheduled appearance. Max hadn't even thanked me for rectifying his blunder.

We went to our rooms to prepare for a Donato dinner for sponsors and guests. It was a formal affair in an upscale Italian restaurant complete with a small orchestra and free-flowing red wine. Everyone mingled in their high-priced threads and hoped for a good season.

There was talk, although with guarded optimism, that Winters might contend for top spot.

Funny, that talk never came from Ian.

If all went well the team could possibly dethrone Masi and Neinhuis.

Ian had never made those predictions.

It would take a miracle for Winters to be champion again and it would also take a lot of help from Ian in his subservient role, something Ian talked about, predicted and believed.

"Bella, I've missed you," Antonio said, sliding his arm around my waist. His bony hands and snake-like fingers were slithering towards the small of my back. I shuddered.

"But Antonio, I saw you only days ago."

"If I saw you every day that wouldn't be enough."

"I know how you could make me happy. I'd be extremely appreciative if you paid Ian more money next year."

He gave his slippery smile. "I know it was a good year for him, but I don't see why we need to pay him more. He's well paid, Leda."

"He loves Donato and you know he doesn't want to leave . . ."

"But what?" Antonio asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Other teams have expressed interest."

Antonio's dark eyes narrowed. "Benton? He'd never go there."

"Like I said, he doesn't want to but they have been wooing him."

"What does Ian want?"

"A chance to win a race. Perhaps a more equal partnership with his teammate. More money."

"I'll consider more money."

"You think about it. In the next few weeks I'd love to sit and talk to you."

He smiled. "So would I."

#

Friday morning I made my grand entrance into the paddock, sporting a new tan, a white plunging tank top and tight black Capri pants that said sexy and classy at the same time. Surely Racing Insider would consider this a smart outfit. I slid on a pair of cool Bentall sunglasses as I made my way to the Donato cabin. The men took notice. I strutted to a few whistles and murmurs, but nothing offensive. Paul did a double take when he saw me and, strangely, I liked the attention from him. In the past few months he'd seen me in sweaters and jeans, trying to beat the numbing European cold that entrenched itself in my bones.

"You look ravishing," Paul said. "When'd you lose all that weight?"

"It's been a gradual process."

"Well done."

"It all began when your brother called me chubby."

"Chubby? You were never chubby!"

"That's not what Ian thought."

"You did this to impress him?"

"I did it for myself. I couldn't care less what Ian thinks."

Ian joined us munching a banana. "Nice tan," he said.

"That's all you're going to say?" Paul said with disbelief. "Doesn't she look great?"

"She looks fine."

"Fine? That's all?"

"When you see her every day that's all you'll say too."

Later that night after a quick workout and shower, I pulled out my best friend and checked Ian's status. There, on Instagram, was a picture of me and I knew instantly that Ian had posted it. He'd taken it that day while I was enjoying down time. I wasn't staring directly at the camera, but pretty close. The wind had caught my hair, blowing it from my face. I had on stylish sunglasses and my expression was serine but sensual. I looked amazing, like a model on a shoot. Little 'ol me.

I have the hottest solicitor in the whole world! I'm a lucky man.

Many comments were complimentary and some crude, but that didn't offend me. More than anything I was flattered by the picture, and that Ian had even cared to post it. I then went to Twitter and Facebook. There he'd posted a picture of the two of us together, a side profile. We were in deep discussion, looking serious. It took me a second, but I remembered the moment. We were talking about peanuts. Ian wanted me to find out why they had been banned from the garage. I explained that someone new had a peanut allergy. Ian wanted to know who so that he could have them fired. This ridiculous conversation went on for ten minutes all because Ian was told he couldn't have peanut butter added to his protein shakes anymore.

Me and my better half. What would I do without her?

My bottom lip quivered. Was I PMSing? Why did this picture make me emotional? I pulled out my phone.

Great pictures. Thanks. Who took the second one?

Moments later Ian replied.

One of the pit crew. I told him to take pics. I took the first one. You look totally fuckable.

Thanks. Can you send it to me?

He did and I made that picture my profile on my personal pages. I put my iPad away and crawled into bed with a huge smile on my face.