Nico
The hallway Alaric disappeared into led to the restroom. I followed him, and when I reached the door, I pushed it open and saw him already inside. I walked straight to the urinals, stepping up to the one right next to him without a second of hesitation.
I didn't look away.
As we both stood there, our eyes met in the reflection of the polished chrome. I let a slow, wicked grin spread across my face, then let my gaze roam all over his body shamelessly until it landed on what he was holding.
"Long, just as I thought," I muttered.
I didn't even try to hide the smirk as I looked back up. Alaric's face went from pale to a deep red in a matter of seconds at my choice of words.
"You are a pervert," Alaric hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and fury as he quickly finished up.
"I prefer the term 'admirer,'" I replied smoothly, not breaking eye contact for a second. I let out a low whistle, leaning back slightly. "Though, to be fair, you aren't quite as massive as what I'm packing. Still... impressive for a pretty boy like you." I winked at him.
Alaric let out a strangled groan of pure frustration, turning away instantly to march toward the sinks. I also finished up and joined him, checking my hair in the mirror while he scrubbed at his hands like he was trying to wash the very sight of me away.
"So, tell me," I started, my voice echoing off the tiles. "How does it feel to lose? You looked a little devastated out there when that gavel hit the wood. I'd get used to that feeling if I were you." I paused, washing my hands before continuing. "You should get ready to lose a lot more than just a painting this season."
Alaric scoffed, but he didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the water, tightening his jaw so hard I thought it would snap. "The money wasn't the problem, Nicholas. I didn't 'lose' anything." He finally looked up, his hazel eyes filled with rage in the mirror. "I just found your excessive spending foolish. Five hundred thousand for a piece of canvas? That is not something I will ever do. You're a clown playing with a checkbook."
I tutted, leaning my hip against the counter. "Excessive? Please. It was for charity, darling. I was just doing my part to contribute to a good cause. You should be thanking me for being so generous. Besides, you are a billionaire, one of Monaco's finest young men, so spending a few thousand shouldn't be too much for you."
"You should go fuck yourself and get out of my sight," Alaric spat angrily, turning toward the dryer.
I took a step closer, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "Well, I can't exactly fuck myself," I whispered, my eyes dropping to his lips before locking back onto his. "But you? You, I would gladly fuck."
"Shut the hell up!" Alaric roared. He lunged forward, his fingers snagging the collar of my jacket and yanking me toward him. He was breathing hard, his pupils blown wide.
I didn't stop smiling, nor did I struggle to pull away, because I was enjoying the moment.
"Why so sensitive, darling? I've wanted a piece of you since the moment I saw you get out of your car this morning. I mean, you have a pretty face, and I love pretty people," I told him, winking just to rile him up yet again.
Alaric's grip tightened. "You think your little championship wins give you the right to speak to me like that? I could buy your entire team and dismantle it by tomorrow morning if I felt like it. Just because I let you become king of the grid for two years doesn't mean I can't kick you out again."
I chuckled, the sound vibrating against his hands on my collar. "Oh, I know you have the money, Alaric. You're a De Villier; you could buy the whole damn grid, even half of the cities in Monaco. But on the grid, you don't really have that power anymore. Now, you are just someone coming back to claim a spot that already belongs to me." I leaned closer until our chests were almost touching.
"And in here, you are just a man who's been lonely for two years. So tell me... what's the wager? What would it take to get a De Villier to finally drop the royal act and crawl into my bed? Name the stakes, pretty boy, because clearly, you're tired of playing it safe."
Alaric let out a groan of pure rage and slammed me against the sink.
"You're so pretty even when you're trying to kill me," I joked, my eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "So damn pretty."
"I am an Alpha, Nicholas. I am not some toy you can bid on at an auction! And even if I were to fuck anyone, it wouldn't be an arrogant person like you. I don't do low-borns."
I said nothing. Instead, I let my gaze drop slowly down his body, lingering on the front of his trousers where the fabric was beginning to strain. A slow, predatory smirk curled my lips.
"Is that so? Because for an Alpha who hates me, you're looking remarkably hard right now." I tutted, then pointed directly toward his crotch, watching the blood rush to his face. "Don't worry," I whispered, leaning into his ear. "I'm very good at bending people over. Even the ones who think they're in charge."
"You bastard!" Alaric screamed and landed a punch on my face. It caught me right on the corner of my mouth.
I stumbled back, leaning against the mirror as I reached up to wipe a stray ruby droplet from my lip.
"Feisty," I muttered and let out a dark laugh. "I love that, De Villier."
"You are crazy!" he yelled at me.
"Why so sensitive, yeppeun?" I murmured, the Korean word for 'pretty boy' rolling off my tongue. "Will you scream like this when I am bending you over?"
"I have never bent for anyone in my life," Alaric spat, his voice trembling. "And I'm never going to. Stay the hell away from me. If you ever come close to me again, I'll make sure to break your hands so you never drive a car again."
He let go of my collar, shoving me back one last time before turning on his heel.
"I wish I could stay away!" I shouted after him. "But I think we both know that's not going to happen!"
Alaric didn't look back; he pushed the door open and slammed it loudly on his way out. I looked at myself in the mirror, cleaning the blood away with my thumb.
"See you on the grid, De Villier!" I muttered to my reflection.
I walked back into the auction hall, adjusting my jacket and ignoring the sharp sting in my lip. The room was still buzzing, but the atmosphere had shifted. People stared as I walked past them, but I didn't care about any of them. Who wouldn't know Nico Park in Monaco?
My eyes roamed the room as I headed toward my seat. Once they found Alaric, I smirked. He was sitting stiffly, his eyes fixed forward as if the very air around me was toxic. He didn't look my way. Not once. And I liked that, because the reason I was doing all of this was to make sure that he never returns to the racing world.
I took my seat beside Dylan, who didn't wait for me to settle in before he threw a question at me. "Nico, what the hell was that? Five hundred thousand? Well, that's the cost of one of your wristwatches, so just do you," he said, shifting in his seat. "By the way, we need to sign the release forms and arrange the shipping for the painting immediately."
I looked at the "Crimson Tide" one last time. It was a beautiful, chaotic mess. Just like the man who wanted it. Then, an idea popped into my mind.
"Change of plans," I said, a wicked grin spreading across my face as I watched Alaric from a distance.
Dylan blinked. "Change of plans? You're not keeping it?"
"Oh, I'm keeping the receipt," I murmured. "But I want you to have the painting delivered to the De Villier home. Tonight. Use the address on the registration list."
Dylan stared at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head. His mouth hung open for a few seconds before he could find his voice. "You... you want to send it to Alaric?"
I nodded.
"Nico, have you lost your memory? You just spent a half-million dollars on a gift for the man who hates you. He is your rival."
"Exactly why I want him to have it," I replied. Because it meant I was with him.
I kept my eyes on Alaric, imagining the look on his face when that massive crate arrived at his door. He wouldn't know whether to hang it or burn it. Either way, every time he looked at those red waves, he'd think of me. He'd think of the restroom. He'd think of what I called him.
I wasn't just in his head anymore. I was going to be on his wall—and maybe, soon, even inside of him.
"Just do it," I finally said, my grin widening. "And make sure the note says: 'For the yeppeun-i who needs a reminder of who owns the track.'"