Page 49 of Full Throttle

Anthony shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Excellent.” Dominic rose. “Now that’s sorted—”

Vance’s phone rang, and his father glanced at the screen. “I need to get this. One moment.”

Anthony waited until the door was closed before he leaned forward, swirling his champagne with an impressive amount of menace. “Your father and I were just discussing helmet designs. He’s designing a new one for me. Gold, since I seem to win so much of it.”

Dom raised an eyebrow. “I’m amazed he can find one big enough to fit your head.”

“Funny,” Anthony said, “coming from the human equivalent of a participation trophy.”

They observed each other. Anthony drained his champagne.

“I saw that you flew over with Juliette.”

Dominic ate another sandwich, chewing it with deliberate slowness. That was technically true, although Ranya had ordered them to share a plane so that the press could get pictures of them landing in Monaco. To boost team morale, she’d said, which was, Dominic felt, a nice way of saying that they were still trying to clean up after the PR disaster with the pirate ship.

Dominic had hardly spoken to Juliette on the plane. She’d spent the journey with her head buried in a puzzle book while Dominic had fiddled with his camera, adjusting aperture and light settings, and pretending to himself like he didn’t notice every time she tapped the pencil against her mouth.

Still.

No need to tell Sinclair that.

“And?” Dominic asked.

Anthony’s eyes glittered. “Just interesting.” He snapped at a waiter, who hurried forward. “Anything happening there?”

The waiter fumbled clumsily with the champagne bottle, and Dominic couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. Poor bloke. Lord only knew how the waitstaff managed to put up with Anthony’s smug face. They deserved one hell of a tip, and, possibly, a year of free therapy.

“Fuck off, Sinclair,” Dominic said coolly. Not his best work, admittedly, but it got the point across.

Anthony’s smirk widened. “So Juliette’s single.”

“I wouldn’t know. We’re not friends.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out.”

Something in Dominic’s chest tightened. “She wouldn’t be interested.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “You seem awfully confident for someone who’s not her friend.”

Dominic stilled. Something terrible burned in his chest, and it was a monumental effort to give a casual shrug. “Do what you want. There’s nothing I’d love more than to watch Marchmont publicly reject you.”

The doors opened, and for once Dominic was relieved to see his father emerge. Vance was frowning, typing away on his phone with force.

“Everything all right?” Dominic asked, glancing surreptitiously at his watch. Ten minutes to kick-off.

Vance scowled. “There’s been an issue with the engine. The piston is shot, and the blasted specialist has gone on holiday for the week, which means—” His phone rang, and the scowl deepened. “Would you give us a moment? It’s team business.”

Anthony shot him a smug look. Dominic imagined grabbing him by the collar and shoving him overboard. Still, any excuse to leave, right? Besides, if he went now, he might have time to grab a kebab on the way.

“I was just leaving.” Dominic rose. “Enjoy your champagne.”

“I’ll try,” Anthony drawled. “Gets boring when you have it every week.” He lowered his voice. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Dominic smiled. There were also sharks in his imagination. Big, hungry sharks.

He waited until he was halfway down the gangplank before making the call. His phone rang twice, then someone picked up.