«Don't talk to girls, they'll break your heart.»
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Pierre!
His expression dropped in less than a second, attention drifting to where the voice came from. Fuck no, he thought, already one foot on the ground ready to hop off his seat and leave. The antichrist herself, better known as Sloane Devrij, wedged her way in between people with the clear intention of getting closer to him. Max trailed a few steps behind her, as though he couldn't keep his girlfriend's fast pace and easy way of dodging bodies here and there. She waved a hand to make her presence known, but he was already excusing himself to the rest of the staff and ready to disappear from there. He didn't need to hear from any of them. Especially this one.
And he was nearly successful, Pierre even considered hiding in the Ferrari motorhome for a little while and obligating Charles to stay with him the whole time because his friend was an easy option to keep Sloane away all the time, if she hadn't managed to catch up with him that was. Sloane forced him to halt his quick steps by grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him along with her to the side so they wouldn't block any other passerby.
"Pierre, come on," She told him once he turned to face her. "Can we have a chat? Let's talk, please. I come in peace." He looked at her like he wanted her gone from his view. Or dead. She was aware.
Max joined them no more than a minute after his girlfriend had trapped him. "How do you even walk that fast with those shoes? Holy shit, you're fast."
"Leave me alone, Sloane. I don't want to hear it." He told her, ignoring the Red Bull driver and ready to turn around and wander off anywhere but there.
It was, of course, not an option. She grabbed his arm and stopped him once more. "Can you please listen to me?" Her grip loosened, hand dropping to her side. He was glaring daggers at her and if the situation were any different, she would've joked about how he probably learned that from Salma. The same icy glare. "I'm sorry. We are sorry." She remarked her words as if they would mean something to him. As if he would take them that easily.
But exactly like her friend, it sounded empty and void of real intentions. Pierre scoffed, arms folding across his chest. "Don't fuck with me, Sloane. You can drop the nice act, this isn't funny."
"Can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on between you two?" Max intervened, frown deep in confusion rather than annoyance. His gaze switched from him to her, pushing for something.
Of course, he doesn't know. "What's happening here Max is that your girlfriend," He gestured at her with a light nod. "Is an asshole. Just like her friend Salma."
The Dutch driver took a step forward, shoulder to shoulder with Sloane now. "Okay, Pierre, tone it down. Don't call her that. She's not an asshole." Then Max turned to the current centre of discussion and her big sorry eyes. "Why are you apologising to him and why is he calling you an asshole? What did you do?"
"Yeah, Sloane. Go ahead, tell him." He sourly encouraged. "Tell Max what's going on."
She met his gaze, flickered back to her boyfriend's and so on for the first seconds. Pierre could tell Sloane was in the middle of figuring out how to explain the situation without it sounding awful. She had those shiny eyes that he'd already seen before when she used to date Charles. It was way too easy to read her and her ways to proceed.
"We did something pretty shitty," She finally admitted, blinking while Max waited for her to continue, expectant of a better explanation. Pierre nodded in agreement. It was indeed shitty. "In our defence," She even raised a finger in the air, but set it down realising there was no defence, really. "Okay, look it wasn't nice of us, but we aren't that bright when we're together and yeah, we can be assholes sometimes. But we regret it!"
