Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Read Free Page A

interest in a rival team? There are rumors she’s no longer…satisfied.”
    Was this guy fucking serious? Not even a language barrier did much to disguise the inference he was making.
    Reading straight from a script on his phone that Cal wanted to shove down the guy’s throat, Alphat delivered his next shot. “Drivers with benefits, I believe it’s called. And with Crepuscolo Racing stuck in second place, the greener grass, it calls to her. Yes?”
    The trifecta of headaches. Second place, greener grass and Senora Gianelli. Aww fuck. And she was the last person he wanted to be talking or thinking about. Better shut this bullshit down quick and get the hell out of the line of fire. In his current frame of mind, he was just as likely to go the hell off as he was to parrot the party line. That made him just as dangerous as this paparazzi dirtbag.
    “The Senora has…diverse interests,” he murmured silkily through a tight-lipped smile. “None, however, that involve landscaping.”
    Waiting for the creep to make his way through a series of translations until Cal’s meaning became clear drove him crazy. Jeez. He was so over this shit. Aaaaand—just like that, he’d had enough.
    Cal lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Crepuscolo thrives on challenge, Alphat. It’s better to see the prize and be hungry for it than to limp along carefully in an attempt to hang on.”
    There. The shithead had his fucking quote. Time to exit, stage right.
    Goddammit. Two seconds too late. Dumbass wanted the last word. Of course he did. Riling people up was the only thing the guy had in his bag of tricks. Dig for a reaction. Something he could manipulate for his own end.
    Leering at him with a smug expression, he challenged him with a hastily muttered, “And what about those driver benefits, hmmm? Chaucer Phillips seems to have a rather…spirited…interest lately in all things Italian, yes?”
    Really? That’s the way he wanted to play this? What a dick. Jesus, this was a headline that a fifth grader could come up with. Cal’s rivalry with, and personal dislike of the English driver was practically legend. Phillips was an asshole. To keep the attention on him, no matter the cost, he pushed too hard and put people in danger.
    Plus, he was a viral mega-star courtesy of a predilection for drunken excess. Using the word spirited, referred to Chaucer being completely hammered, stripped to his briefs, standing in Rome’s Triton Fountain with an equally drunk and out-of-control Senora Gianelli flung over his shoulder. Within minutes of their public theatrics, the Internet flooded with images of their bizarre romp courtesy of the tourists who witnessed the whole thing first hand. Apparently, there was also a video from a fountain webcam that may or may not include images suggesting the cougar-iffic Senora had a particular ‘taste’ for pasty Englishmen that night.
    Did he give a shit that Claudia Gianelli was a promiscuous succubus? Not in the least. Having experienced her unique ability to drain a man’s soul with her insatiable sexual demands, he was more than happy that she’d moved on. Let Chaucer deal with the woman’s greedy fuckery—not that Cal thought for a second he could.
    Time for this exchange to end. “Well, what do you expect from someone named Chaucer?”
    Okay, so the language barrier he’d just been griping about? Here’s one time when it worked to his advantage. By the time Alphat figured out what he had said, he’d be long gone.
    “Excuse me. I really must speak with security about the definition of a guest list.”
    Melting into the large crowd, Cal put his head down and made for the sanctuary of the house. He needed to sit down and give his back a rest. Maybe eat something that wasn’t being passed around by the wait staff. Another reminder of how much he’d come to hate this part of his life.
    “Hey, Ty!” he heard someone holler. “Can I get a picture, man?”
    Fuck. My. Life. Slowing his