AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
LILY
Procrastibaking is the art of delicious distraction. Since I lost my job a month ago, I’ve become an expert.
I’ve used baking—something I was never much into before—as an avoidance tactic. A way to deflect from the fact I was fired. A vehicle to avoid looking for a new job. A break from real life.
And today, the afternoon of the Florida Grand Prix race, my newfound baking habit is serving as a stress release of sorts. I’m channeling my inner Martha Stewart and making double chocolate chunk cookies.
I tune the small TV monitor in the kitchen to the race and line up my ingredients. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs. I’d even found some gourmet fair trade chocolate chips at a health food store. Like there’s anything healthy about these things.
I shouldn’t be watching this race. But a mixture of habit, curiosity, and a touch of self-torture win out. As the television blares with pre-race interviews, I plop the stick of butter in a bowl and dump a cup of sugar on top.
Papa’s at the race, probably pacing in the garage. Ready to give his team a rousing, inspiring, and legendarily gruff yet loving pep talk. There’s no way he’ll mingle with the crowd, so there’s little chance I’ll see him chatting with the Sky Sports announcer, who’s roaming the track for his infamous interviews with celebs on live TV.
Grid Walk with Gordon, the segment’s called. It’s been on for years. Viewers love it, and watching it makes me grin, thinking how my father has always loathed the cheesiness of Gordon’s questions.
“Oh, there’s Savannah Jenkins, the owner of Jenkins-Annunziata Racing. Savvy? Savvy?”
I look up, straightening the glasses on my nose so I can better focus. Her team is one of my father’s main competitors.
“How are you feeling about today’s race? It’s the first Formula World in Miami, so it’s quite historic. Your hair looks marvelous, by the way.”
Of course Gordon would comment on her flowing red mane. “Do you compliment all the team owners’ hair?” Savannah says in a flat tone.
I bark a laugh. Savannah’s a friend. We’re both about the same age but took vastly different life paths. She embraced the Formula World life, married a driver, became a team owner. I was once my father’s intern in hopes of following him into the family business, but then I ran from the sport and pursued a safer path: business school and a job at an auto racing game developer.
It all worked out so perfectly, until it didn’t. Maybe real-life racing would’ve been a more secure path, ironically. A more personally fulfilling one. But I doubt it, given the position I’d been in all those years ago.
I know Savannah well enough to detect she’s worried about today’s race. That little furrow in her brow tells me everything and I am sure she’s also annoyed with Gordon and his sexist questions. Plus, it’s June, which means it’s hotter than hades in Florida today. Savannah’s face has bypassed dewy and is well on its way to a full-blown sweat.
One more reason I’m glad I’m in my cool, air-conditioned kitchen, baking.
“We’ve worked out any issues with our cars that we had back in Toronto.” Savannah smiles tightly and tries to edge away from the reporter.
“Any driver you’re particularly worried about? Anyone you think could beat your guys?”
Savannah inhales sharply. “Every team should be worried about Max Becker on the Onassis team. He’s the most experienced on the track, and as we all know, is ruthless when he’s behind the wheel.”
“You’d certainly know, Savannah, since your husband and Max were rivals and then teammates . . .”
I dip my head and focus on the bowl of butter and sugar. Initially, I’d planned to use the mixer, but instead I take a fork and attack the butter, mashing it together with the sugar with harsh, almost violent, strokes.
At the track I’d be drinking champagne, hobnobbing with the celebrities in the garage. I’d see friends there, maybe have a few laughs about the old days when I was younger and wilder and took risks.
Papa would’ve been so thrilled if I’d been at his side, and that fact makes me feel guilty as hell. The track is only about twenty miles from my condo in downtown Miami. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t face the world after my career recently ended in a spectacular flameout. Couldn’t face the press asking about every detail of my life, once again.
And most of all, I couldn’t face Max Becker, my father’s star driver.
The reporter drifts away from Savannah and drones on for several minutes, interviewing an actor who obviously knows nothing about the sport.
“Aaaaaaaand there’s a man here I always like to talk to. It’s the driver of the hour, the man with everything to win and the most to lose. Max Becker, three-time world champion and odds-on favorite to take home a fourth driver’s trophy this season. Max? Care to say a few words about your latest race with Team Onassis? Well done on that pole position during qualifying.”
My head snaps to attention and I lean closer to the TV screen that hangs under a cabinet. A pair of bright blue eyes and rumpled dirty-blond hair fills the screen. It’s a face used to winning; the arrogant expression of a man used to getting everything he wants because of his incredible, ridiculous, all-consuming talent.
“It’s going to be a tough race. Sensitive circuit. None of us knows the track. All I need to do is stay away from the walls and I’ll win. You know that.” His smooth, slightly German-accented voice still makes my heart flutter, even after all these years.
The reporter chuckles. “There’s that legendary Max Becker confidence.”
