Driven to Protect, page 7
“When we first met, you left home with only a passport and a backpack of clothes. I always intended to spend some of this week helping you figure out your life now that you’ll be travelling with me all the time. Can you do some planning while I’m in today’s team meeting? Then we can head back to Austin and pack up your stuff or whatever you need.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I do. I plucked you out of your life for this job. I ought to help you settle in.”
Cohen nodded. It made sense, even if it was much more generous than Cohen expected from anyone. “Are you only offering to avoid your father and brother?”
Paulo laughed. “Of course. No. Yes. Fuck, I mean, it’s a side benefit but I do feel some responsibility for the way I uprooted your whole life.”
“You offered me my dream job. I get paid well, I get to travel, and I get to guard a celebrity.” Cohen was the one who was gaining here, between his signing bonus and the regular pay cheque he was going to get, and the benefits in his employment package, this job would allow him to set himself up for a tidy future. He’d even have plenty of money to support his preferred charities, including giving back to the places that had supported him when he’d needed help.
“Celebrity?” Paulo scoffed.
“Yes, a celebrity. Honestly, have you seen your fans? How many followers do you have on socials?”
“I’m not sure. Melati will know exactly. Less than a million. Not as many as the champions.” Paulo shrugged as if he hadn’t just mentioned a number the size of a whole city.
“You are a celebrity. People like watching you drive. Look at how Stanley responded to meeting you.”
“Okay?”
“I get to be the one who keeps you safe.” Cohen rolled his neck on his shoulders to ease some of the tension. “Trust me. This is a dream job for me.”
Paulo nodded. “Good. I’m still going to help you pack up or whatever you need. We’ll fly to Austin this afternoon.”
“Okay.” Cohen probably should cancel his lease at his share house. He didn’t care about his stuff, most of it was second-hand junk. He’d give it away to whoever took the room after him. There were a few things he wanted; clothes, photos, his favourite two sets of darts, and his collection of sex toys.
“Did you want to live in Monaco? I said I’d subsidise your rent, and I still owe you a car.”
Cohen shook his head. “You don’t owe me a car.”
“I do.”
“No, you owe me the cost of the car that you broke by driving too fast. Is that even a thing? How does that work?”
Paulo straightened in his seat. “Basically, I pushed the revs to the limit of the car’s capability, which increases the heat in the engine, and because I did that for almost thirty minutes, the engine overheated and that softens the aluminium head, which means the head gasket will fail.”
Cohen wasn’t disappointed that he’d asked because the passion for the subject made Paulo’s face glow. He grinned. “I didn’t expect so many technical details.”
“Let me buy you a car. Please.” Paulo brushed his fingers against Cohen’s shoulder, then snatched them away quickly. Cohen wasn’t going to say no to a gift like that. He wasn’t one of those people who had any qualms about getting gifts from people; especially from someone like Paulo who could easily afford it. Maybe it made him a bit of a gold digger, or whatever the masculine non-sexual partner version of that was. The redistribution of funds from the rich to the poor was a good thing and he wasn’t going to have an ethical breakdown over it.
“You can buy me a car and yes, I’ll live in Monaco.” Cohen had no idea what rent would cost there, but he earned decent money now and it would be almost in the same country as Lilly-Anne. They could spend time together in person, more than once a year when she visited Austin for Christmas.
“Excellent. I’ll flick a note to my real estate agent and he can sort something out for you.”
Cohen closed his gaping mouth. “You have a real estate agent?”
“Yes. Lawrence manages my property portfolio.”
“Okay.” Cohen had been fine with the idea that Paulo would replace his car, and he was going to make sure he didn’t buy him something ridiculous, but sometimes Paulo said shit that reminded him that he wasn’t just rich—he was super rich—and billionaires didn’t pay nearly enough taxes.
“Good. How long do you think we’ll need in Austin?”
“Couple of hours should do it.” Cohen really didn’t have that much stuff.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Paulo’s face twisted in disbelief for a second, but he quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression. “If you say so. What about friends? Do you need to talk to people, let them know where you’ve been for the last week, that kind of thing?”
“I’ve already told Lilly-Anne. She’s my sister.” Cohen paused; Paulo probably knew that already. “And I left a note for my housemates. Dean and Stanley know, since they were there.” There were a few others he should send a text to, but no one really close. Most of his friends lived on the internet and he’d been chatting in groups to a few people about his job change in the quiet moments of his job. People were very excited for him, especially after he’d cleared it with Paulo and was allowed to mention who his celebrity client was. His success had a positive impact on other trans people which really warmed his heart.
“Good. I’ll book everything and let’s do this.” Paulo’s excitement was nice, and Cohen let it wash over him. If Paulo could get excited about helping him, then Cohen would let him help. He just needed to find a way to pack his dicks without Paulo noticing. They were both ignoring the crackle of chemistry between them, and Cohen didn’t want to upset that delicate balance. At least not so early in this working relationship.
Chapter 8
Brazil
“This is my son, Series One driver, Paulo Sanchez.” Paulo’s father, Enzo Sanchez Senior, introduced Paulo to the table in one of São Paulo’s most expensive restaurants. Paulo’s brother Enzo sat directly to Senior’s right, while two grey-haired men—one balding, one not—filled two of the other three seats, leaving Paulo the empty space between Senior and one of his father’s random guests. Hopefully he wasn’t a complete clone of Senior’s temperament.
Senior turned to him with a little glare. “You are late, but I suppose that is forgivable since you are so famous.”
“Hello everyone.” Paulo ignored the jab about his lateness, pushing away the need to explain that he’d been working. He was only here to appease Senior, something that would help his team retain the valuable sponsorship money Sanchez Shipping provided. With FP1 three days away and with Brazil being one of the few sprint races on the calendar, there was additional planning and strategy to figure out.
He sat down, careful not to glance over at Cohen who presumably had found somewhere to stand and watch. Cohen was wearing his Gamble Racing uniform tonight, and the tight black shirt with the team’s logo on his chest looked amazing on him. Senior would be pleased to have him walk through the restaurant with Sanchez Shipping in big letters across the back of Cohen’s shoulders.
“Of course my eldest son has the honour of my name.” Senior nodded towards Paulo’s brother Enzo who preened. Enzo was more than ten years older than Paulo, the son of Senior’s first wife. Enzo was a politician who did all of Senior’s backroom deals for him. “We named Paulo after this city, but he’s not a saint. Ha, ha.” Senior’s forced laugh was an icy breeze and Paulo’s sense of dread deepened. Would Senior continue his jest to talk about what happened last year? Paulo’s palms were clammy.
Enzo sneered. “No, he thinks he’s a star instead.”
Paulo would’ve rolled his eyes at Enzo’s interruption, except that it stopped his biggest nightmare from happening. Paulo had no retort to Enzo’s nonsense, so he turned to the man seated beside him.
“Please excuse my brother’s jesting, Mr...”
“Antonio Fonte. Call me Tony.”
“Tony. How do you know my father?” Paulo relied on his British schooling to shift the conversation away from his brother’s backhanders.
“I am the CEO of the Santos Port.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise this was a working dinner.” Paulo knew his father would have invited everyone he wanted to impress, so it was no surprise to find the man who ran the local port here.
“It’s not. We socialise frequently.”
“Ah, I misunderstood.” He didn’t misunderstand at all but saying this would appease his father and brother who liked to keep him in his place as the sports guy without any aptitude for business. “I’m afraid the racing schedule doesn’t allow me much time with my family, so I’m unfamiliar with my father’s social circle.”
“All you do is sit in a car for a few hours every weekend. It’s hardly a stressful life.” Enzo said.
Paulo raised one eyebrow. “Yes, it’s so simple that only twenty people in the world are good enough to do it.” Talking back was a rush of blood to his head. Paulo really wanted to glance over at Cohen to communicate how proud he was of himself, but he didn’t dare. No one at this table would ever acknowledge their security staff, and there was no fucking way he could risk letting anyone realise he cared about Cohen. They wouldn’t see how he was fighting an undercurrent of lust whenever he was around Cohen because they were so straight, it would never occur to them. At worst, they’d make a snide remark about awkwardness; but he still wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks. He’d leave his risk taking for the racetrack.
“Boys.” Senior warned. “My guests didn’t come to dinner to listen to two brothers bickering.”
“Sir.” Paulo’s stomach churned at the scolding.
“Brothers!” The other man at the table spoke up. “I have a brother and I understand. He is always trying to one up himself over me; it is tiresome, but of course, that’s the way of it. He is a mere schoolteacher, so it is nonsense.” Everyone laughed with that meanness that Paulo hated. These men had everything; more money and power than any one person needed; and they still had to punch downwards. He benefited from some of that money and power, and it was a constant internal battle to play their game without losing himself to it.
“That is hardly worth the discussion of brotherly competition, Carlos.” Senior said. “My two sons are always going to fight for dominance, given how successful they each are in their chosen profession. Enzo’s career in politics will set him up well for his future as the CEO of Sanchez Shipping.”
Enzo sent Paulo a smug look and Paulo ignored him. He had no interest in working for the family business, and he certainly didn’t want to compete with Enzo for anything. Enzo’s slimy approach to life and business was suited to politics; running Sanchez Shipping was merely Senior’s way of dangling a carrot for Enzo, to get him to do what Senior wanted. Paulo almost laughed at the fleeting empathy for Enzo—they were both manipulated by Senior in their own way—Paulo with sponsorship funds and Enzo with the promise of CEO.
“Paulo has a different challenge. His star shines bright right now, but sports and fame are fleeting. He should be doing more to set up his future for when he retires.”
“My focus is exactly where it needs to be. On becoming World Champion.” Paulo earned every damned cent his father spent on sponsorship by telling Senior what he wanted to hear. Paulo might not believe that he had the necessary spark to be world champion. The technicality didn’t matter. Senior wanted to see a display of confidence that would allow Senior to boast about his famous son.
“That would certainly be an amazing achievement.” Tony said.
“Champion.” The gloating satisfaction on Senior’s face should guarantee funding. “What steps are you taking to get there? Is the team supporting you with the best car? A goal is no good without proper planning and commitment.” Senior’s comment stopped the breath of relief before it had time to escape. Fucking hell, he hadn’t come to dinner to be quizzed by his father. Still, at least he hadn’t said something snide about how much it would cost to be the best in the world in the world’s most expensive sport. Building an S1 car didn’t come cheap; the development costs each season alone were staggering, and that was without paying the wages of the six hundred strong team, or the logistical costs associated with racing all over the globe. Yes, there was a cost cap—which didn’t include the driver’s salaries and a few other key personnel—although many mid-field teams didn’t have the funds to get right to the edge of that. Sanchez Shipping wasn’t Gamble’s only sponsor; just the biggest one that topped their funding up to the full cost cap amount, and companies willing to stump up that type of cash each season weren’t easy to find.
“Consistency is the aim.” Paulo didn’t look at his brother. He didn’t need to see the way his top lip would be curled up. “As successful businessmen—” Paulo deliberately gave Senior and his two friends a pointed look each. “—you’ll all understand that a win, like I achieved at Spa...” Paulo saw the blank looks when he mentioned the track by its nickname. “...In Belgium this season, isn’t enough to build a long-term career, just as a singular success isn’t enough to build an entire business. The team is working hard to produce a car that can achieve consistent results. We aren’t there yet, but as you know, in a highly technical complex sport, the pursuit of perfection can take time.”
“A chip off the old block, Sanchez.” Carlos—the balding man who Paulo hadn’t been introduced to—raised his glass, and Paulo’s father nodded as if he’d done all the work behind Paulo’s victory.
“It must feel good to see your son on the world stage.”
“Yes. I keep pushing him for further success. It’s not great to rest on the minor victories along the way.” Fuck, Senior took Paulo’s sensible comment and turned it into an insult. His father couldn’t even give him one little compliment.
“What will we see this weekend? Not a repeat of last year, I hope?” Enzo asked.
Paulo gulped. There was a chance Enzo knew about the hotel issue. “I take it you are referring to both cars not finishing the race because the engines were sabotaged.”
“Sabotage?” Tony asked.
“Yes. It’s been well documented in the media, and the culprit is currently serving his sentence in an English jail.”
“Why England if it happened here? Our jails would teach him a lesson.”
“The sabotage was spread across several races, so it became a global issue. Gamble Racing is based in England, near Silverstone, so the case was taken through the English courts. It’s all in the media if you want the details.”
“Son, these are my friends. They will appreciate the full story.”
Paulo shrugged one shoulder. “There’s not a lot to tell from my perspective. Most of the problems happened in the logistics and engineering department. It was frustrating to have the car continue to fail under me, of course, but once the reason was discovered, it allowed the team to move on to this season with a renewed commitment to success.”
“And how is that going?” Enzo asked. Fuck, he just couldn’t help himself.
“Are you saying you don’t follow my races, dear brother?” Paulo smiled. Playing this mean game came too easily and when he arrived back in his hotel tonight, he was going to worry that he’d gone too far. Last time he’d had dinner with his father and brother, he’d lain awake most of the night replaying everything he’d said and being frustrated at his lack of kindness.
“No, I’m too busy.”
“Enzo, it’s only a few hours on a weekend. You could at least be across your little brother’s results.” Senior had a crack at Enzo, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he thought it might be. His father was an asshole to everyone; how he managed to find two friends to come to dinner with him was a mystery. Like everyone else, they must also want something from Senior. What a way to live life, with everything as a transaction.
“It’s fine.” Paulo gestured with his hands to communicate the truth—he didn’t give a flying fuck if Enzo watched his races or not. “S1 isn’t a sport for everyone. It’s highly technical and while I am absorbed by all the details, I don’t expect others to have the same level of understanding.”
“I think most men just like to imagine themselves driving that fast,” Carlos said.
“Isn’t that the appeal of being an S1 driver? The men want to be you and the women want to fuck you?” Senior continued to lower the level of the conversation, but his ‘friends’ thought this was the funniest thing anyone had said tonight. The mirth gave Paulo a moment to figure out how to respond. If he wanted to keep his father on side, he’d better give him more of the same toxic bullshit.
“Popularity can be a side benefit to success. It’s not why I do it. Racing is a passion that is hard to explain; it’s a thrill while also requiring technical ability and steady heart.” Given the way Carlos and Tony leaned forward, that was exactly the right thing to say. He chalked it up to fulfilling the obligations to his father and ignored the twist in his stomach.
“That’s my boy.” Senior clapped him on the back, and Paulo refused to flinch at the jolt which was just that bit too hard to be as friendly as Senior wanted it to look. Cohen shifted slightly at the whack and Paulo realised he’d been completely aware of Cohen’s presence without needing to look at him. Having his presence in the room had given Paulo the confidence to promote himself tonight.
“Will we see you with the championship trophy next season?” Tony asked.
