Page 4 of On The Edge

“What? You’re here?” I whip my head up to look around the parking lot and regret the action immediately as the sky keeps moving when my head stops.

“Via Zoom,” she says and then ends the call before I can respond.

Fucking perfect. Didn’t realize my babysitter was going to be present too.

I groan, lean my head back against the seat, and close my eyes. The pounding in my head is slightly better. Now if I could just get the churning in my stomach to ease, I’d call that a win.

Fifteen minutes and counting.

I’ll play the game.

I’ll sign the deal.

I’ll play the part they need.

I’ll live my life the way I want.

I’ll earn the money.

No one controls me.

And no sooner than the thoughts cross my mind does my cell ring again.

“Papá” lights up the screen.

Speaking of controlling me. My father never can resist any opportunity.

“Not today,” I mutter.

I’d rather face the blinding sun without glasses and a whole marching band right now than talk to him.

Sliding out from behind the wheel of my car, I take a fortifying breath. The fresh air does wonders to clear my head.

Each step toward the building has snapshots of the past two weeks of break flashing through my head.

Hiking the hills with the guys in the mornings.

Weight training during the early afternoons.

Meeting up with my sister, Sofia, a few times.

Nights spent at one club or another. Bottle service and velvet ropes.

Women . . . Christ, the women alone have been a bender in and of itself. Thank you, America, for that.

I pull open the door with a crooked smirk and thoughts of Heather and those lips of hers filling my head.

I’d say I’m at about seventy percent now. The moving about did me wonders. The sunglasses will stay on a bit longer though.

I’m not ready for the light yet.

“Mr. Navarro?” a pleasant voice asks to my right.

“Yes?” I turn to see a guy about my age wearing a security guard uniform and a smile. I go to take my sunglasses off out of courtesy but stop myself. I’ll let the Visine have a few more minutes to clear the red from the whites of my eyes.

“They’re expecting you upstairs. Ninth floor. Down the hallway to the very end.”

“Yeah. Um. Thanks.” I start heading toward the bank of elevators. America is a funny place. Formula 1 is starting to gain traction here so it’s weird to not be recognized for who I am like I would be if I were at home in Europe.