Driven to Protect, page 3
“It’s sorbet.” Paulo sounded surprised. Cohen kept the radio on low as he drove. Paulo didn’t speak, just ate the water ice with little flicks of his tongue which made it hard for Cohen to focus on the road. Once he’d finished eating, Paulo pulled out his phone and called someone.
“Jaxxon. ... Yes, I’m fine. I need a favour.”
Cohen heard a faint growl through Paulo’s phone; whoever this Jaxxon was didn’t like being asked for a favour at one in the morning. Fair enough.
“Nothing like that. Can you email me a copy of the standard Gamble Racing employee contract?” Paulo chuckled low under his breath. The sound caressed Cohen. Shit, if Paulo was going to be his boss, he really needed to suppress that response.
“Yes. I know the time, but I figured you’d still be celebrating with Ondrej. ... No, it can’t wait until the team meeting. I want this sorted before then. ... Thanks.”
After Paulo hung up, Cohen waited. It was still another forty minutes to his place. Normally Cohen drove with the windows open, eating his ice, and listening to loud music to keep himself awake after a night at work. A soft snore filled the quiet space. His new boss was fast asleep, and fuck, he looked so young and peaceful. He hadn’t even signed a contract yet, but Cohen would protect him with his life.
***
The morning sun beat against the flimsy curtain of his room, and Cohen stood up to stretch after an uncomfortable few hours snooze on the chair beside his bed. Last night, Cohen had carried Paulo inside and put him in bed, carefully removing that giant heavy coat, and making sure everything was locked up tight. Lifting someone bigger than him without waking him had been a challenge, and there’d been a few moments when Paulo had grumbled but hadn’t woken.
“What’s the time?” Paulo’s voice was husky.
Cohen checked his phone. “Nine-fifteen.”
“Fuck. Team meeting at ten.” Paulo leaped out of bed in a surprisingly athletic move for someone who’d just woken up. He grimaced slightly, then stretched out his shoulders. “Okay. Did you pack? You’ll need enough clothes for a few days, and a passport. We’ll sort the rest after Mexico.” He grabbed his phone and flicked his thumb over the screen. “What’s your email? I’ll forward you this contract and we can use it as a base for the one we both sign. You’ll be my personal employee, not the team, but this will be a good template. And text me your bank details and I’ll sort out the signing bonus.”
Cohen blinked at him. He hadn’t had enough sleep for all this uncontained energy.
“Move. It’s an hour’s drive to the hotel, according to the internet, but I can make it in half that.”
“What?” Cohen shook off the sense that he’d been left behind and grabbed his rucksack. He threw in some clothes, his meds, and hunted around his bedside table for his passport.
“I’ll drive. You deal with the press when we get there. Read the contract on the way.”
“Okay.” Apparently, his life was going to operate at this speed now. He’d better get used to it.
“Give me your phone,” Cohen said, and Paulo handed it over. “You’ll need to unlock it. I’ll add my contact details and you can email and text me what you need to get this sorted.” Cohen added his information, then bolted from the room to brush his teeth. He’d need to leave a message for his house mates, not that they’d care if he wasn’t around for a while as long as he kept paying the rent for his room. This morning, Paulo was so different to the man who’d walked into Horny’s; suddenly more confident and determined. It was a good look on him. Fuck; Cohen really needed to NOT ogle his new boss. He returned to his room to finish packing, even though he had no clue what he was packing for; something about Mexico and international travel. He wasn’t even sure exactly what Paulo did for a job—not really—or what his actual job would be in relation to Paulo’s job, because he’d fallen asleep last night before he’d had a chance to do any research. A few minutes later, they locked Cohen’s bedroom and walked out of the front door.
“Keys.” Paulo held out his hand and Cohen tossed them to him.
“It’s the grey Ford sedan.” Cohen probably didn’t need to say that, since they’d driven here last night in it. His car wasn’t much to look at—old and cheap—but it was reliable and didn’t chew through gas.
“This should be interesting. Buckle up tight.” Paulo slid into the driver’s seat, made a few adjustments, and turned on the engine. “Fuck. This thing has done over three hundred thousand miles.”
Cohen threw his bag onto the backseat, sat down, clicked his seatbelt and pulled it tight across his chest. “It was cheap.” He barely had time to close the door when Paulo slid the car into reverse and drove out onto the road.
“You’ll have to direct me. Fastest way to the Austin Towers Hotel.”
Cohen looked it up on his phone. “Turn right at the end of the street and then left, then you’ll get on the freeway.”
The car’s tyres squealed on the road as Paulo hit the gas and Cohen grabbed the edge of his seat. He was pretty sure he’d yelped but he could pretend that hadn’t happened. The car slid around the corner at the end of the road, and by the time they hit the freeway, Paulo had to have been going twice the speed limit. What the fuck. Cohen forced his fingers to release from where he’d been gripping the seat. He looked over at Paulo, who didn’t seem stressed at all. His mouth was curled up slightly at the corners as if he was enjoying himself. How?
“This car has been in a crash. The chassis isn’t straight, and the front left is slightly flat.”
“Probably. I got it second hand, cheap, well, maybe third or fourth hand. Ha.” Cohen babbled as they passed cars like they were standing still. He tried not to scream as they changed lanes and flew around a couple of cars. He was going to die.
“Which exit?” Paulo asked. How the hell was he so calm? And smiling...
“Um...”
“Well?”
Cohen grabbed his phone and immediately dropped it on the floor. His hands were slippery, and he wiped them down his jeans. As soon as he ducked his head down to grab his phone, he could pretend they weren’t racing to their doom. A siren echoed. Cops?
“Ah, about ten miles to the exit.” If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend he wasn’t in a car threading through traffic at speeds no one should go. Seriously, this was inhumanely fast. He opened one eye to check the map on his phone and gave directions without looking out the window.
Somehow they managed to get to the hotel without dying. Several cop cars had joined in a chase from various freeway entrances, but they’d left them all behind. If Cohen hadn’t been so stressed that he was about to be killed in a dramatic car crash, he would’ve been impressed that his crappy old piece of shit car could speed away from the cops. Paulo eased the car slowly into the hotel driveway. Six people stood beside the front door under the awning with three of them holding very big cameras.
“Get me through the media. Ignore Freddy’s questions. I’ll answer one from Alicia Blasi.”
Cohen nodded. Presumably the woman wearing jeans and a beautiful light green blouse was Alicia Blasi. He was good at his job—even if they hadn’t exactly confirmed what that would be—so he could focus on the people waiting for them.
“Oh and don’t worry about the fines. I’ll pay them and get you a new car. The engine is cooked.”
“Okay.” What else could Cohen say? Fines? Cooked engine? It was a lot of information to take in, and his heart wasn’t going to recover to a normal rate for months. He was just glad to be alive after hurtling down the freeway so fast. How could Paulo manage to think about all those details? It’d be a while before he could even think about reacting to the news that Paulo had ruined his car. Was he angry? Impressed? He shook out his hands. Work had to come first.
He stepped out of the car and immediately had to move as the six people were swamping Paulo, who emerged from the driver’s seat looking unreasonably calm.
“Stop. Paulo will answer one question.” Cohen used his body position to guard Paulo and prevent them from getting in his face.
“Blasi,” Paulo said.
The woman grinned. “How are you after that crash?”
“Fine.”
“And where were you?”
Cohen held up his hand. “He said one question. Thank you, that will be all.” Cohen got Paulo past the six people, ignoring their loud questions and the constant flashes from their cameras, and they walked into the hotel. A wave of cool airconditioned air hit Cohen in the face, freezing the sweat still sliding down his temples.
“Who were they?”
“Media.”
Of course. No wonder Paulo felt like he needed a bodyguard if he had a throng of media waiting for him at his hotel. From there it was a matter of following Paulo as he talked to the concierge, then they followed a staff member through the hotel until Cohen found himself walking into a meeting room, with his heart still racing as fast as his car had gone. A large Black man pulled Paulo into a hug, and Cohen automatically grabbed the man’s hands and tore them from Paulo’s body.
“It’s fine. This is Jaxxon, the Team Principal.” Paulo’s relaxed frame should’ve told Cohen that he didn’t need to intervene. He blamed the wild ride here. He’d never been so fast in a car in his life, and he really didn’t like the danger implied by travelling so quickly.
“Jaxxon, this is Cohen. He’s my personal bodyguard.”
The room exploded with noise and Paulo held up his hand. “Quiet. It’s no big deal. Let’s get on with the meeting.”
“He can’t stay.”
“Fine. Cohen. Sit outside the door. I’m safe in here with my team.”
Cohen glanced around the room at the group of people seated around a long table, nodded, and left the room. At least he’d have time to calm the fuck down and figure out what the hell he’d agreed to.
Chapter 4
“Watch Sanchez’s wild ride. Exclusive police footage here.”
“Series One’s new bad boy.”
Paulo really didn’t want the press to think of him as a bad boy. He didn’t really want them thinking about him at all, but that was pure fantasy. All he’d wanted was an evening to remove some frustrations after crashing out at Austin, and he’d snuck out of the hospital to get away. Now he was all over the press, thanks to a fun drive to get to the team meeting on time. He had a new bodyguard, but still hadn’t scratched that persistent itch to get pegged. If only he could combine the two. Hell no. He needed to maintain that separation. It was one thing to employ someone competent and get them out of a crappy situation; and quite another to take advantage by asking for a closer relationship. Or just sex. It was a misuse of his money and power. Speaking of that, he ignored the series of new texts from his father and tucked his phone into the pocket of his seat.
“What happens when we get to Mexico?” Cohen didn’t look comfortable in the first-class seat of the commercial plane they were taking from Austin to Mexico. It was only a short flight, a couple of hours, and while some of the teams took private jets between races, Paulo felt that commercial first class gave him enough privacy, besides Gamble had a risk-avoidance policy of always sending their two drivers on different planes when they travelled, so he was used to travelling alone or with a few of the crew.
“I’ll get Melati to email you the press and fan schedule for the Mexico race. She does all my social media and general PA stuff. Otherwise, I’ll be training and setting up for FP1 on Friday.”
“Okay.”
“Brazil is going to be more intense.” Paulo probably ought to get this out of the way now. He’d rather avoid talking about it, but now that Cohen had signed the contract to be his personal security, he needed the whole story.
“I like to be prepared.” It was true. When they’d met after the team meeting to go over Cohen’s employment contract, Cohen had shown that he’d spent the time waiting in the hallway doing a lot of research. He understood the season schedule and had asked plenty of logistical questions about how Paulo moved between countries and races. He wanted to know how each hotel dealt with media, and how they kept his location secret from overly keen fans. He’d obviously spoken to the team’s general security manager too. Cohen’s competency eased the swirling tension created by all the headlines over today’s little freeway drive. People needed to calm down. He was one of the best drivers in the world. The cops and the press had easily tracked him via Cohen’s number plate and the hotel, and he'd been able to pay all the speeding fines before they’d left for the airport. If only dealing with the headlines, and the implication that he wasn’t the perfect obedient son, was so simple...
“Paulo?”
He glanced around the first-class section of the commercial plane and held back a sigh. “Fine. Brazil is going to be a complete fucking circus. If you think the media has gone overboard after today’s little drive, they are going to be overwhelming in Brazil.”
“I assume that’s because you were born there?”
“You’ve done your research.”
“Of course.”
Paulo breathed out slowly. Excellent. “Obviously, there is the hometown hero crap, and I DNF’d last year in my rookie season in kind of sensational circumstances.”
“I read about the sabotage scandal.”
The relief at not having to explain things to Cohen reinforced that Paulo had made the correct choice. “Yeah, and my father and brother will want to show me off around town too.”
“That’d be Enzo Sanchez, billionaire shipping magnate, and Enzo Junior, politician?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean; show you off around town?”
Paulo sighed. “Dinners with business acquaintances and lunches with politicians, that sort of thing. Nothing like having a famous sports star as a son to show everyone important how great you are. Plus with a two week break between Mexico and Brazil, there is no excuse to say no.” Paulo paused. He didn’t want to explain his distant relationship with his parents; they weren’t exactly hands on parents. He’d had nannies until he left for England and boarding school. Everything was transactional between them and him. Paulo got his trust fund and a seat in an S1 team, and in return, he showed up whenever his father needed to live vicariously through his famous son’s sporting achievements. It was all a performance, and he had to play his father’s game to keep his seat in S1. He wasn’t good enough on his own merits to stay without his father’s money. The expectations were huge because his life was a great marketing opportunity for his father. Luckily Cohen didn’t push for more details. He simply waited.
“You’ll need a tuxedo. Did we include uniforms in the contract?” Paulo asked, even though he knew the answer. Jaxxon wanted Cohen to wear a Gamble uniform, but since Paulo was paying him directly, well... they were still negotiating. Jaxxon would likely get his way—at a cost—and until then, Cohen would wear plain black.
“Yes.”
“Good. I think we’ll fly back to Austin after Mexico to finalise your things and we can get you set up with the right clothing then.”
“Okay.”
Paulo gulped. “Um, there’s one other thing that you should probably know.” He’d met Cohen in a gay bar; he was unlikely to judge him for the mess after Brazil last year.
“I can only protect you if I know everything.” Cohen paused. “You are putting a lot of trust in me, and I promise to do my best to serve you and keep you safe.”
Paulo nodded. “You stopped me from being robbed and you stopped Stanley from being stabbed. I can tell that you are diligent and observant and that’s enough for me.”
A soft blush painted Cohen’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
“After the race last year, I was upset and made some bad choices. My father paid off the hotel and kept it a secret.” His father thought he’d been caught with some female prostitutes, and Paulo wasn’t going to change that perception. Ever. His father had clapped him on the back and said a bunch of toxic masculine rubbish, going as far as offering to introduce Paulo to the escort service he used. The double standard between his father’s behaviour and the expectations on his mother and sisters had Paulo wishing he could say something without losing all the Sanchez sponsorship money for Gamble Racing and his seat as an S1 driver.
“Oh? Do you think there’s a chance the media will find out?”
Paulo shuddered. “I fucking hope not.” He had a reputation of being a boring mid-field driver—just another rich kid who’d bought his seat, whose social media was filled with racing images and the occasional fashion photo shoot with gorgeous women models—and he needed that reputation to be able to keep his dream alive. The drive this morning had been ill-advised because it’d drawn too much attention to him; to the real him. If the press got any hint of last year’s drunken night... He pushed away the rising panic. At least, the stewards at S1 weren’t going to fine him for this morning. There was too much precedence with other drivers; S1 tended to ignore external speeding fines provided the drivers in question paid whichever authority without fuss.
“Do you want me to stop you making a similar choice?”
“I suppose so.”
Cohen chuckled and elbowed Paulo. “I’m not the fun police. My job is to keep you safe. I’m not going to interfere with your private life.”
“It was only once. Twice if you count last night which I don’t really.”
“You wanted someone like St..”
Paulo covered Cohen’s mouth with his hand before he could finish that sentence. He shook his head. “You can’t say that out loud. No one knows and there’s too much at stake.”
“I won’t judge you. People visit my former place of employment to find what they need. I’ve seen it a lot. Now tell me what happened last year?”
Paulo shrugged, pretending to be casual about it while his stomach twisted into knots. “I don’t remember everything. I was upset after the race... The fucking engine caught fire and my rookie season hadn’t been great. There was a lot of pressure on me to perform, and the media were obsessed with whether I’d keep my seat for this season.”
