One Last Fling - Chapter 2
Cam
Cam Fowler had driven at two hundred miles an hour with fire licking at his heels and still felt calmer than he did watching Lily Atkinson pretend he didn’t exist.
She walked past him in the paddock like he was a badly placed traffic cone—something to avoid, not acknowledge. Sunglasses on. Jaw set. Purposeful stride with long dark ponytail swishing like a whip. She still wanted nothing to do with him. Or she was scared. Or smart. Possibly all three.
When the marketing team paired them for the Zandvoort promo, Cam barely stopped himself from smiling. Lily, on the other hand, looked like she’d just been told her car’s power unit was toast. It was a lucky break for him that they ended up sharing a golf cart.
“Front seat or back?” He was trying to keep things light.
“I’ll walk,” she said without slowing. God, her British accent was adorable. Even when she was telling him to go away.
Cam waited. Counted in his head. She made it about twenty feet.
When she climbed in beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed, he grinned. “Welcome back.”
“Don’t start.”
“Starting implies I ever stopped.”
She ignored that, surprising since she was next-level at verbal sparring. He took that as a win.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the promo shoot, aka Professional Torture 101. Cameras. Executives. A photographer who kept chirping about their “natural chemistry.”
Cam leaned in. “If this gets any more romantic, I expect roses.”
“Touch me again and I’ll break your foot,” Lily muttered through her smile.
“There’s plenty I can do with my foot in a cast.”
That earned him a real look—sharp, flustered, very Lily. God, he’d missed this.
During a break for a lighting change, she escaped to the catering table. He followed, because if there was one thing he’d learned since he met her last season, it was that Lily didn’t do well when she was alone with her thoughts.
“How have you been? Since I last saw you?” he asked quietly.
“What do you want, Fowler?”
Ah. There it was. The last name. The wall. “You’re really committing to only using my last name,” he said lightly.
“It’s professional.”
“It’s distant.”
“Exactly.”
Something twisted in his chest. He hadn’t planned to tell her. Not today. Not like this. But the truth had been sitting in his throat for weeks, and suddenly it felt dishonest not to say it. “Well, not that you asked about me, but I have a bit of an uncomfortable situation.” He stared at the table instead of her. “About next season.”
“What about it?”
He exhaled. “I still don’t have a contract.”
“What? Really?” she asked, sharp and disbelieving.
“Everyone assumes. My dad. Minority owner.” He forced a shrug. “But it’s not done.” It was late. Really late. Almost every seat for next year was well and secured. He knew it. The other members of the team knew it. The fact that his wasn’t signed yet wasn’t merely unusual—it was a red flag.
“You could lose your seat?” Lily asked.
“I like to say that my job security is based on vibes,” he admitted, waiting for her to make the full calculation. Because there might only be room for one of them. If she won her championship, his seat would likely become hers.
The marketing rep waved them back over. “Final shots!”
Cam met Lily’s eyes. Something serious sliced through the air. “Guess we’re both driving for our lives.”
She didn’t walk away this time. And that, somehow, felt more dangerous than anything else. Because the woman he couldn’t get out of his system could pull the rug right out from under him at any time.