Handle Me

PRAISE FOR GENEVA LEE “Sexy, sinful, and downright delightful! Geneva Lee is the queen of writing drama, angst, and the heroes of your dreams.” CORA CARMACK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF LOSING IT “A royal tale unlike any other. Heart-stopping, mesmerizing, a delicious treat with every page turned. I only wanted more.” AUDREY CARLAN, #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF CALENDAR GIRL “Captivating, emotional, and sexy-as-hell.” MELANIE HARLOW, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF SOME SORT OF HAPPY ALSO BY GENEVA LEE THE ROYALS SAGA Alexander & Clara Command Me Conquer Me Crown Me Smith & Belle Crave Me Covet Me Capture Me A Holiday Novella Complete Me Alexander & Clara Cross Me Claim Me Consume Me Smith & Belle Breathe Me Break Me X: Command Me Retold HANDLE ME Estate Publishing + Entertainment Copyright © 2023 by Geneva Lee. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. www.GenevaLee.com First published,2023, first ed. Cover design © SergValen/Adobestock.com. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 August September October November December January February March April May Epilogue Acknowledgments Also by Geneva Lee About the Author To sisters, especially kid sisters CHAPTER ONE ANDERS As long as I’ve been racing, people have asked me why. Every driver gets asked that, and every time the person asking wanted some deep, philosophical answer. I was running from my past or racing towards my future or some other bullshit. The truth was not that profound. There hadn’t been much else to do, growing up. It had only taken one time behind the wheel—one dose of pure, unfiltered adrenaline—and I’d been hooked. There was nothing like the vibration of the engine when I shifted gears. I didn’t care about the crowds or fame. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. On the track, it was me, the car, and my own mortality. The only thing that ever competed with it in my book was sex. I’d never been able to decide which was better. At least, it used to be that way. “You’re taking that turn too wide. Tighten it up, Your Highness!” Wilkes shouted in my earpiece. Translation: I needed to go faster. “Sod off,” I shot back. I shifted gears, going full throttle as I headed into Copse. I wasn’t a fan of my new nickname, but I had a better chance of convincing the guys the world was flat than getting them to stop calling me that. They just needed a reminder I was the one behind the wheel. Wilkes wanted fast. He’d get it. I entered Copse blind. Taking this corner was always a leap of faith. I had to trust myself and my car. I didn’t hesitate. My wheels hugged the track as I took the turn, knocking it down into seventh before I felt the familiar lift. I shifted into eighth as I took the first left. I’d been told early in my career that you had to be suicidal or stupid not to be scared of this circuit. I had no clue which category I fell in, but these days I’d rather face it than what waited for me past Silverstone’s gates. Reporters—if the bastards could be called that. Women—that bit wasn’t as bad. And a security detail. At least on the track, I was free. Out there? My life was becoming a bloody circus act. All because twenty-six years ago, some wanker I’d never met shagged my mom. Now that wanker was dead, all his dirty secrets were coming out, and I was the biggest scandal of all. The illegitimate son of a dead king with an older brother determined, for inexplicable reasons, to make me one of the family. “Get your head out of your arse and drive!” Wilkes barked over the comms. I snapped back into focus and accelerated into the final corner, only taking my foot off the pedal when I straightened my wheels. The team ran toward the astroturf as I slowed the Renault to a stop. “Don’t bother telling me,” I said to my performance coach. I didn’t want to know my lap time. Wilkes told me anyway. “One minute and thirty-two fucking seconds.” He stalked off, leaving the rest of the crew to deal with my sorry ass. Another distracted day on the track, and I’d screwed my lap time harder than a sailor on leave. It wasn’t just practice at this level. Every lap counted when it came to securing the sponsorships that kept the multi-million dollar team running. More days like this, and the only companies willing to sponsor me would be retirement villages. Wilkes flew onto the track, headset in hand, yelling so loudly he was turning purple. That couldn’t be good. Shit. At this rate, I wasn’t even going to get a retirement home to sponsor me. Then I realized he wasn’t screaming at me. Tugging my helmet off, I pushed out of my seat and strained to get a look at what had my team boss frothing at the mouth. The crew surrounding the car made it impossible to see. I climbed out of the Renault and got a glimpse of what—or rather