Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73568 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Posey Evans is looking to take her career as a romance author to the next level, shifting from historical love stories to writing about the high stakes world of formula racing. Wanting to immerse herself in the sport, Posey manages to secure full access to the Crown Velocity Racing team by faking credentials as a journalist. When she’s granted unlimited face-to-face time with one of the teams’ best drivers, Posey is equal parts elated and terrified because while she’s getting exactly what she wants, she can’t afford to have her secret exposed.
Lex Hamilton lives for the thrill of being one of the fastest and most decorated race car drivers in the sport. When he’s behind the wheel, he’s focused on one thing and one thing only—earning top spot on the podium. But off the track? Let’s just say his extracurricular activities have put him on a very short leash with the team management at Crown Velocity. He’s cocky, handsome, dripping with swagger, and not super happy to have what he considers a babysitter following his every move. Lex’s unwillingness to help doesn’t deter Posey but when he uncovers her secret, they strike a deal—he won’t reveal her truth if she helps him stay out of trouble and keep his job.
While many women would swoon at his feet, Posey isn’t interested in anything more than Lex’s racing knowledge. Mostly. As the season inches closer and passions ignite, time at the track leads to time in the bed. Having agreed there is an expiration date on their arrangement, what started as an assignment has the potential to go the distance as their physical relationship builds into something deeper. But when her secret is revealed, will Lex and Posey’s relationship hit a wall, or will this fling find its way to the checkered flag?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Lex
It sounds like a fire alarm is going off, the shrill ring pulling me into consciousness. My head’s banging like a drum and for a moment, I’m completely disoriented. Groaning, I roll over in bed as the noise continues and I blink against the blinding morning light pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room’s spinning and my mouth tastes like I licked a dog’s arse.
Somehow, it filters in that it’s my phone ringing on the bedside table. I grab it, answering with a croaking “Yeah?”
“You’ve really cocked it up this time.” The sharp, distinctive Scouse accent from Liverpool has me groaning as I recognize Rosalind Pierce. She’s the executive secretary for Crown Velocity Motorsports, and she’s all business and no warmth. “Ms. Patrick would like to see you in one hour.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub at my temple. Harley Patrick is the team principal, the person who hired me and the person who can force me out of formula racing all together. “Mind telling me why?”
“Clearly you haven’t seen the tabloid headlines this morning, have you?” Tabloids? Bollocks. “You’ve made a right bloody mess of things again, Lex. I suggest you make haste because I believe she said something to the effect if you were one minute late, you’re fired.”
“Fuck,” I mutter and don’t bother with a goodbye, merely disconnect the call. Rosalind wouldn’t expect niceties from me anyway.
A groan emits from beside me on the bed and I lift my head, frowning at the dark hair sprawled across the pillow, a naked body tangled in the sheets.
Who the bloody hell is she? I don’t remember much of anything last night other than starting at a pub, going to another pub, and then inviting perhaps five, maybe fifty, people back to my flat to continue the party.
Just brilliant.
I sit up—wincing at the pain in my noggin—and run a hand through my hair before looking at the woman again. I nudge her shoulder. “Hey.”
She tries to burrow under the pillow.
“Hey,” I say again, pulling the pillow away. Her head lifts and she stares at me with bleary eyes rimmed with smudged dark mascara. Red tint is smeared across the side of her face and chin, the remnants of lipstick that I’m betting are also on my dick. “You got to shove off.”
“What time is it?” she asks grouchily, flopping over with a huff.
“Time for you to go,” I answer, rolling out of bed and striding naked to my bathroom for a quick shower.
By the time I’m done and pulling on a fresh T-shirt, jeans and trainers, the woman’s gone. My flat’s an absolute tip—bottles everywhere, a cracked glass table, clothes flung around like we had a rave in here. A chair’s knocked over near the balcony. Yeah, must’ve been a belter of a night.