After my workout I showered and changed in the locker room. Even though it was summer it was cool inside the building, so I wore my Braun-Evans approved white Oxford shirt with a black crewneck sweater over top. My slacks were black and my sensible one-inch heels were also . . . black. The lone pop of color came from my Braun-Evans red lanyard from which my badge hung. Today I was opting for my black-rimmed glasses. I used to hate wearing glasses but this pair made me feel pretty. They fit my face just right, like an accessory instead of a necessity. And trust me, corrective lenses were a necessity. I could see about two inches without them.

The stylist I was assigned to (Diane) actually liked my hair and makeup so it wasn’t much different from my usual routine. I blew it dry, ran a straightener over it to tame it, then pulled two pieces back from my face, securing it with bobby pins. Clean, flawless, and striking were the words Diane used to describe what she wanted from my makeup. My brows were to be waxed regularly and she recommended light liner and mascara, a blush, and neutral lipstick for workdays. I also had a palate for races, not that I planned on attending any.

The public relations office was one floor up. All the offices at the factory had wall-to-wall windows that let in tons of light. Yes, I still had to work in a cubicle, but at least it was in a cheery room filled with the very latest in technology. That was one of the cool things about racing. It was super technical and science was as important as the drivers.

“Glad you made it to work. I heard you were molested by an elliptical,” Richard Jones quipped as I logged into my computer.

“News of my death has been greatly exaggerated.” I liked Richard. He was one of the few managers who wasn’t a moron. Plus he was funny and had this quirky nerd look. He also spoke to me like I was smart instead of a “young, pretty thing.”

Those were the actual words used to describe both Jess and me by one of the department heads.

Ass.

“Welp, get to work. I need you in a meeting at ten.” He tapped my desk with the rolled up papers he held in his hand.

“A meeting?” I was usually handed a list of tasks to complete that day. Boring stuff like monitoring social media clicks and checking keyword searches.

“You are my resident consumer expert, aren’t you? It’s why we pay you the big bucks?”

Big bucks. Ha. As far as internships went it was actually pretty lucrative, but it was still an internship. It covered my food and travels expenses and not a whole lot else.

“I suppose—”

“No supposing,” he cut me off. “What was the first thing I taught you?”

“I’m an expert.” I said that like it hurt because it did. In his experience everything was bravado and faking it until you made it, whereas I was an academic. We didn’t fake things. We dealt in measurable results. Claiming to be something I wasn’t went against my DNA.

“Now say it like you actually mean it.” He sat on the edge of my desk, crossing his long legs.

“I . . . am . . . an . . . expert.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, we hired you on for a reason, whether you believe it or not. Marcy is right. We are falling behind and we don’t have the expertise on our team that exists in your brain. So I don’t particularly care if you have a background in public relations. I am unimpressed with ordinary. You, Isa, are not ordinary. Today, more than ever, I need you. I just want you to listen. You don’t have to say a thing. Just . . . see what I’m working with. After the meeting if you have any thoughts that might be helpful, I’ll listen.” Then he popped me on the top of my head with the papers and walked away. “Ten o’clock Dr. Evil!”

Jess suddenly appeared from the other side of the cubicle. “Who’s having the best day ever? Isabel Yates!”

I groaned. It didn’t feel like the best day ever. It felt like one accident after another. A snowball rolling down the side of a mountain, picking up speed and size, and I was the poor sap standing at the bottom about to be unknowingly squished like a bug. “Do you ever feel like you must be asleep in your bed still dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“But how do you know? If I were dreaming then my subconscious wouldn’t admit that it was dreaming. Ouch!” A large ball of paper hit me between the eyes.

“See? You aren’t dreaming, Dr. Evil.”

Richard nicknamed everyone. Jess was Purple People Eater because she loved to wear purple and told everyone exactly what she thought of them. I was Dr. Evil because he’d decided I was his secret weapon and I was working on my graduate degree in anthropology with dreams of completing my PhD in record time.

I picked the paper up and threw it back at her. “What’s the meeting about anyway?”

“I heard they’re reworking their social media presence and want to give the brand a little facelift.”

“Mid season?” Further proof the management was incompetent. They should have started the season with set goals and a message they continuously pushed to their fans. Instead their Twitter and Instagram account managers consistently made irrelevant posts. In short, Braun-Evans was getting its ass whooped. To be successful in racing you needed two excellent drivers, a factory filled with brilliant engineers, and for fans to love you.

Fans don’t love you if they don’t know what they’re loving.

“There’s a rumor Halifax is getting sacked.”

Now that was news. Halifax had been with the team since before Braun Racing became Braun-Evans Racing. He was in charge of managing King’s publicity—something he wasn’t happy about and had no problems telling you why. For one, King was the second driver, meaning he was second fiddle. His job was to support the team and make sure Yedlin won. Halifax did not like working with a second driver. And for two, he didn’t like King.

Actually, a lot of people didn’t like King. Most of these people were either older or part of families that had been in racing for three or four generations. King was a newcomer. He had zero ties to racing. He was poor and came up through a charity league. Seeing his potential, Evans (yes, the Evans of Braun-Evans) sponsored him. In addition to being one of the tallest and heaviest drivers, he was also one of the youngest at twenty-one.

Basically Halifax hated everything about King and instead of doing his damn job (excuse the language) he was sabotaging him in hopes the team would drop him. If Jess was right, it looked like it was Halifax who was getting the boot instead.

“Remind me to cry.” Did I mention Halifax was the one who called us “young pretty things?” Yeah, total loser.

“I’ll bring the tissues. And by tissues I clearly mean tequila.” She made cheering gestures, then disappeared back into her cubicle.

An hour later I grabbed my favorite notebook and made my way to the conference room. It was still empty so I chose a nice quiet seat in the back corner. I was excited to be included in something for a change but also nervous. I felt out of my depth here. At school I was a beast. It was my world and I was confident in my abilities. But here . . . nothing made sense. Not the perfect people, not the gobs of money, and definitely not the emphasis on said money. I’d prefer to fade into the background until I found my sea legs or my job was over, whichever came first.

The public relations team came in all at once. Halifax, Leslie, Arthur, and the head of the department, Jeremy. Last into the room was Richard. He closed the door, giving me a kind smile and a nod before he took his seat at the table. It wasn’t a huge group but everyone in the room was super important.

“Let’s get on with it,” Jeremy said, looking around the table. “What’s the plan?”

Halifax droned on for fifteen minutes about King’s performance over the first races of the season. Honestly, I still had zero clue what the meeting was about.

Richard made a face at me once, clueing me in that he was equally bored.

“Well, that was . . . enlightening,” Jeremy practically rolled his eyes. “Richard, what are your thoughts?”

My heart beat faster when his eyes slid my way. “I’d like to make a point, if I can.”

“By all means.”

“Isa?”

Every head swiveled my way. I cleared my throat. “Yes?”

“What do you think today’s meeting is in reference to?”

I was going to kill Richard. Sit and listen my ass. “Uh, well, it sounds like we’re reviewing King’s performance statistics.”

Richard grinned. I’d clearly given the correct answer. Then he turned back to Jeremy. “King is never going to have the fan support he’s capable of commanding if the team in charge of delivering that result can’t articulate a simple plan of action. As Isa has just pointed out, the only information Halifax has communicated so far is meaningless.”

Halifax turned beet red.

I wanted to slide under the table.

Jeremy burned a hole in Halifax’s bright red forehead. “I’m going to ask one more time. It will be the last time. What is your plan of action for branding King Reynolds?”

Halifax cleared his throat rather nervously for a man who usually carried himself with such self-importance. Before he could answer the door opened and King strode in. And I do mean strode. As in, confident, sure, and unwilling to be bothered unless something was of value. He didn’t glance my way. Instead he directed his attention to Jeremy as he sat in the seat beside Richard.

“I apologize for being late,” he said. “Adam wanted to run a change to my Austria set-up by me and it took longer than expected.”

Adam Callaway was King’s head of strategy.

“It’s not a problem,” Jeremy nodded. “You haven’t missed anything yet, unfortunately. Halifax here was just about to explain his branding plan for you.”

Any doubts I had about King’s attitude toward Halifax were obliterated by the fiery glare he fixed on the older man. “Please continue,” he bit out.

Halifax had no notes, computer, or tablet. He was the only one at the table with nothing in front of him. Was he really so confident that he was more important than King that he could walk into a meeting like this and walk out alive? If I wasn’t so disgusted by the jerk I’d be impressed with his confidence.

He cleared his throat again. “Yes. Well. Given that Yedlin is the senior driver and has a significant fan base we should focus our energy and money there. The more King appears to be friendly with Yedlin, the more fans he’ll accumulate.” Then Halifax sat back with a smile.

That was it.

That was his entire plan.

I was shocked and it appeared everyone else was too. King rolled his shoulders several times and seemed to be grinding his teeth. Richard shook his head. “That’s not a plan and it’s certainly not a brand which is the entire point of this meeting.”

“The only brand that matters is Braun-Evans,” Halifax shot back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Whoever muttered that sentence was fed up and ballsy. I doodled several thoughts into my notebook before I realized the room had fallen completely silent. And when I glanced up, every pair of eyes was on me.

And that’s when I realized I was the fed up and ballsy person who’d just uttered that sentence.

Fuck. Me.

Then my breath caught because of all the stares it was King’s that shook me to my core. He blinked with confusion as if he wasn’t sure how or why I’d appeared, then heated to what I can only describe as a smolder.

“Do you have something to contribute, Miss Yates?” Jeremy was terse but not angry.

I sat up straighter and I was pretty sure I was the same shade of red as my Braun-Evans lanyard. “I apologize. I was meant to listen, not participate.”

“Well you’re participating now,” King murmured, his eyes narrowed and laser focused on me. The attention made me want to squirm because it was utterly intense to be studied so openly by a man I had the hots for. Could he see I was attracted to him? Was there a secret signal women gave off that Greek gods could detect with their superhuman abilities? Or was he simply wondering if I might fall off my seat the same way I came off the elliptical this morning?

“I’d love to hear your thoughts, Isa,” Richard said, sitting back in his seat. “This is exactly why you’re here.”

“This is ridiculous,” Halifax blathered. “She’s an intern. She knows nothing.”

“Oh contraire, my friend,” Richard quipped. “She graduated summa cum laude in anthropology and is currently completing a master’s degree that focuses on symbolism and branding in contemporary culture. We brought her in for the summer to test out the idea of having an anthropologist on the PR team. Things you’d know if you were paying any attention.”

The smolder was back. It was so intense I couldn’t look at King so I focused just past him on Richard. “Thank you for that glowing recommendation, Richard. As he just pointed out I’ve been studying how symbols affect communication and in the case of the Braun-Evans Racing Team, yes the overall brand is important, but it is also well established. What Yedlin has proven is that having an individual brand within the team creates a sense of closeness with the fans. It allows them to root not only for Braun-Evans, but more specifically, for Yedlin. It gives them a sense of being on the journey with him. When he wins, they feel that victory. His bright blue color scheme instantly signals to them a sense of belonging. Yedlin can’t share that with anyone else or it destroys the connection with the fans.”

Richard grinned. “This is my point. King is a personality unto himself. We’re missing out by not branding him as an individual driver, growing his presence online. His presence is our presence.”

I wasn’t so sure branding King as Thor was what they had in mind, but I’d be all for it. God of Racing. Maybe we could get him a hammer. And he could do photo shoots shirtless.

“And what happens when he leaves the team?” Halifax sneered.

Yep. Sneered. I’m not being dramatic.

Richard shrugged. “If King leaves the team he takes his brand with him. Whoever takes his place will either come to us with a brand or we’ll do the same thing all over again.”

“Such a waste,” Halifax muttered.

“It’s not a waste.” Why was I talking? I didn’t want to talk. And yet . . . I worried if I didn’t Halifax might get his way. And his way was the wrong way. “This is the way the world works now. Everyone is connected online. They can love you or hate you, but the absolute worst is if they feel nothing at all. Right now King has a limited but passionate group of followers. To everyone else he’s simply the kid who showed up to race. If you don’t control that narrative the fans will write it for you.”

No one said anything and I once again wanted to crawl under the table. If I were back at school we’d launch into a lively debate on the merits of a controlled narrative. I’d have a great time. But here and now, even though I knew I was right, I was also embarrassed.

It was King who finally broke the silence. “What would you do?”

“Do?”

For the first time since he walked into the room he smiled. “Yeah, if you were in charge of developing my brand, what would you do?”

Oh, God. Was I really about to do this? Put my nerdy, researched options on the table for a group that would rather I disappeared?

But the thing was, what did I have to lose? I was uncomfortable here. The worst that could happen would be that I’d get fired. So what? Sure I’d be out of several weeks of research but I could salvage the rest of my summer. I’d hop on one of the other projects and at least get some baseline data. It wouldn’t delay my degree . . . by much.

So I did it. I opened my big, fat mouth. “Well, your brand should be authentic. It should reflect who you are. You’re known as The King of Wands, right?”

He nodded. “It’s just a nickname they gave me.”

“Right. See? That’s why it would be a great place to start. I looked it up. You were a driver for Lee Racing, a team that uses cards and the family’s Gypsy ancestry as part of their brand. The King of Wands is a tarot card, a very specific tarot card. You’re a natural leader. You’re incredibly focused when you race.”

King got a cocky glint in his eyes. “That’s not how I got the nickname, Isabel.”

My name rolling off his tongue made my heart skip a beat and the hair on my arm rose up. “Yes, I know. It came about after a race when you intentionally wrecked the car of a driver who blocked you.”

“He didn’t just block me.”

“I know,” I assured him. “But your quick and ruthless response is the epitome of the tarot card in reverse. It’s very fitting really. And even though the nickname has been a bit of a play on your name and temperament, I think it’s the perfect foundation for your brand. The King of Wands card is drawn with a lion. We’ll make the lion the center of your visual brand. The card represents fire energy so we’ll make your color a shade of red or orange. We’ll get a logo worked up and put in on your helmet. All your colors from now on should match the logo. Your social media posts should highlight your incredible focus on racing and your . . . for lack of a better word . . . ruthlessness in pursuing it.”

“It’s perfect!” Richard exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

It wasn’t as drool-worthy as turning him in the god of thunder, but it made a shit-ton of sense. I finally snuck a peek at King and found he was still staring at me but now he was lost in thought. I didn’t think he was listening to the back and forth of the team as they discussed who would handle the different aspects of the plan until he suddenly barked out, “No. I want Isabel to head it up.” He didn’t look away. Instead his gaze locked with mine.

And it was a scorcher. There were so many thoughts and feelings crossing his face I couldn’t keep up. All I knew was that King didn’t seem to be able to move.

“She’s an intern!” That was Halifax. Again.

“And she’s the only one in this room who has a plan,” King replied.

I jumped. He really was a bit scary when he was upset.

“Richard’s in charge,” Jeremy said as he stood, slamming his laptop shut, “with Isa running point on the new plan. Halifax, my office. Now.”