CHAPTER THREE

      ABBY DIDN’T SLEEP WELL.

      Yes, their conversation last night about money should have reassured her but Abby knew that she’d lied to Matteo.

      They didn’t really have a hope of making fifth place.

      But they had to though.

      Not just for the chance of Matteo investing in them.

      Her breakfast was delivered and Abby decided to eat it in bed and, as she did, she took out her laptop and read the news.

      The sports news, of course.

      The Boucher team barely got a mention.

      The Carter team were on form, she read, and the Lachance team got plenty of mentions too.

      Or rather Hunter did.

      She looked at him, dressed in his familiar yellow leather and wearing that cocky, arrogant smile, and if there was such a thing as pure hate, then Abby felt that now.

      She wasn’t scared of him any more.

      It had been nine years since that terrible night and now, instead of scared, she was angry.

      And it was such an undiluted, white-hot anger that ravaged her that it required revenge.

      Hunter was thirty-four now and, to date, the Henley cup had been his for nine of the past ten years.

      The one year that he had lost it had been the night that Abby had chosen to end their brief relationship.

      Foolish timing perhaps but she had arrived in Monte Carlo and had sat in a hotel room, knowing their time together had ended.

      They had only been going out for four weeks but Hunter wanted to move things along.

      He’d invited her to Monte Carlo.

      There would be separate hotel rooms, Hunter had assured her, given he needed his space before a race, but Abby knew very well what was going to come after.

      She had gone on the pill but even as she had flown there, Abby had known that the nerves she felt weren’t the ones you should be feeling when you were about to lose your virginity.

      Hunter made her feel nervous, in a way that she couldn’t quite define.

      It had been cars that that had drawn them together at first but it hadn’t taken long to realise he didn’t want a discussion.

      Hunter talked and she was supposed to listen.

      Everything she had said about cars he had dismissed.

      Oh, at eighteen, who wouldn’t be flattered to be going out with a star and to be picked up and whisked off to Monte Carlo in his private jet?

      Only the gloss had already worn off by then.

      Abby hadn’t wanted to go but her father had been appalled when she’d suggested cancelling.

      Hunter’s jet was already on the way!

      And so, Abby had gone. She had had a few drinks for courage during the race and then back at the hotel, as Hunter had faced the press after his surprise loss, Abby had had a couple more.

      He had phoned and said that he was back at the hotel and Abby had taken the elevator up to Hunter’s room to tell him that no, she didn’t want to go out tonight and neither did she want to stay in.

      In fact, Abby had already booked a ticket and was flying home to New York that night.

      As her father had later pointed out—you don’t tell a man who has just lost a cup that you’re breaking up with him.

      So what? Abby had thought at the time.

      She hadn’t wanted to sleep with him and if she’d stayed, then she knew how the night was expected to end. Abby didn’t want her first to be Hunter; it had been as simple as that.

      And, her father had also added, Hunter’s lawyers would make mincemeat out of her, given that she’d gone to his hotel room after all.

      Drunk.

      ‘Not drunk, Dad, I was just...’ But then she had stopped trying to describe how she had felt that night as she’d knocked on his hotel door.

      Abby couldn’t really remember how she had felt before it happened.

      She simply couldn’t remember who the woman was that had stepped into a man’s hotel suite and expected to be able to speak her mind.

      Which she had.

      They were over, Abby had told him.

      ‘Not quite,’ Hunter said.

      She hadn’t fought enough, according to her father.

      There wasn’t a scratch on Hunter after all.

      Abby had frozen when first he had grabbed her and then she had tried to run but had only made it a few steps across his suite and he had pushed her into the bathroom.

      And when it was over, when she lay on a cold bathroom floor and thought she could not be more broken both inside or out, Hunter had stood and then urinated over her.

      Just to be sure.

      Absolutely he had broken her.

      Not now.

      ‘I’ll take that cup from you,’ Abby vowed and spoke to the screen. ‘You’ll go out the loser you really are.’

      Matteo was right: it was all about mind games.

      Today Hunter and the other teams would find out that Matteo Di Sione was considering coming on board.

      And that would rattle them.

      The Di Sione empire was amazing—from shipping, to apps, to computers, they had their hand in everything and had money everywhere.

      Matteo was right again: she needed to ooze confidence, not dread.

      Maybe now was not the time to be spending money on clothes when she was worried about the hotel bill but there were slim pickings in her wardrobe.

      There was a dress that might have been handy for dinner yesterday but wasn’t suitable for a gala event.

      And then there was the dress that Abby had sworn she would wear if they ever made it to the podium.

      It was sexy; it was the colour of tarnished silver with a slight green hue and just way too much for today.

      Truth be known, Abby could never see herself having the confidence to wear it—wherever they placed.

      She knew that she would have to buy something for today.

      Abby signed into her bank account and blinked