Page 48 of Full Throttle

What was strange, Dominic reflected, was that his father had volunteered a compliment. He looked down at the sweaty cheese. There really was an awful lot of food.

Shit.

Something was definitely up. He knew better than to think his father wanted to apologize for sacking him. Perhaps Vance’s latest stock had tanked and he needed Dominic to buy shares. Or a relative had died. Or radioactive plankton were taking over the world and Vance was being held captive here, on this yacht. Anything was possible.

“Thank you,” Dominic said. “We’ve been pleased with our results.”

Vance picked up his champagne. “Especially with the worst car on the grid.”

Dominic relaxed slightly. Backhanded compliments. That was better. “I’m lucky to have a good team.”

“You’re lucky to have Ranya, you mean.”

Dominic paused. They didn’t discuss Ranya Silva for many reasons, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to open the hood of that car now. “You’ve changed the name,” he said instead.

“Pardon?”

“Of the yacht,” Dominic clarified.

They’d named the boat Colette, after his mother. He could recall christening it together, the three of them standing on the dock, drinking mint tea out of plastic cups. His mother had crouched, her silk scarf fluttering in the breeze. You see how your father spoils me, ma poule?

“Oh,” Vance said. “I brought Amelia here last week.” He waved his hand, his wedding band flashing in the sun. “You remember Amelia?”

This, Dominic deduced, was evidently the latest twenty-four-year-old that his father was sleeping with. “Sure.”

“She thought that Champagne Dreams might suit the boat better.”

Dominic balled a napkin in his fist. “I’m sure she did.”

Never mind that Vance never used to drink champagne. Never mind that he hadn’t eaten pork, or sworn, or even dreamed of sitting at a table laden with alcohol. Vance had changed his name from Rayad El Hamdaoui to Vance Hastings within a year of setting foot in England at the age of eighteen, but there had been some part of Rayad El Hamdaoui that still existed before his mother’s death.

Now it was gone. His father had shrugged on Vance Hastings like a snug Barbour jacket. Dominic looked at the fresh, glittering letters on the side of the boat: Champagne Dreams. He suppressed a snort.

If only Amelia knew.

Dominic glanced at his watch. There was a football match starting soon. “Was there a reason you wanted to see me?”

Vance frowned. “Can’t a father miss his son?”

Dominic set down the napkin. Best to wait it out. And sure enough…

“Well, there was one thing that I—” Vance’s gaze slid to the glass doors. “Ah. Here he is.”

Dominic followed his father’s gaze, just in time to see Anthony sodding Sinclair step onto the deck. His blond hair was damp, as if he’d been swimming all afternoon, and that stupid signet ring flashed in the sunlight as he wiped his hands on a hot towel.

Anthony smirked. “Hastings.”

“Sinclair.”

Brilliant. He would have preferred to take his chances with the radioactive plankton.

Vance adjusted his sunglasses. “I wanted you to meet. Get acquainted. The press are writing the most horrible things about the two of you. I figure it would be best if we put all that to rest, n’est-ce pas?”

Dominic surveyed Anthony. The press had written an article about how Anthony had gotten drunk in a pub and loudly referred to Dominic as “basically an immigrant” who “didn’t really understand the nuances of British sport.” Anthony had denied it, of course, and made several reporters laugh by saying that he “couldn’t even spell nuance.” Then he’d been photographed with a Scandinavian model at a fashion show, and the whole thing had blown over. Chalked up to another cheeky comment from the Bad Boy of Racing.

Still. Dominic glanced at his father, wishing he would take off his damn sunglasses. Was he annoyed by the article? How much did a stupid show of amiability matter to him? There were…things, he thought, his stomach tightening, that Vance could do to ensure his cooperation. It wouldn’t be the first time his father had strong-armed him into complying. And he wasn’t about to take the risk.

“I’m sure we can be amicable,” Dominic said evenly.