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“I had no idea.”
“Why would you? Most people outside the tech sphere don’t know what women go through in that industry.”
“You won’t be treated that way in Formula World, you know.”
I jiggle my knee, wishing I was anywhere but here. I wasn’t so sure of Max’s statement, because in my experience, whenever a woman works in a man’s world, she’s subject to all kinds of abuse, both subtle and overt. But perhaps he’s right, or maybe I’ll be shielded from such behavior because I’m the team owner’s daughter. “I hope not. We’ll see.”
“I’m sorry, Lily.” His expression softens, as does his tone.
“No need to apologize. You’re far from the poster child for toxic masculinity. Anyway, tell me why you wanted to have dinner and chat.” Both knees are jiggling now,up down up down, and I force myself to stop by pressing my heels into the ground.
“Yeah, ah, I wanted to bring you up to speed about the quality of my car. Since you’re running the team. This is a conversation I would’ve had with your father after today’s race. I have a lot of concerns, and someone needs to fix things, otherwise both me and the team will lose. I’m sure you and your father don’t want that. We need to win.”
His suddenly cold demeanor makes my hunger evaporate and my stomach plummet with disappointment. He doesn’t want to catch up, doesn’t want to talk to me at all—he only wants to discuss business.
I set down my chopsticks, no longer hungry, and reach for the pen and small notebook I always keep in my purse. This is exactly the position I didn’t want to be in: steeling myself for another heartbreak from Max.
“Certainly. Please tell me all about the car.”
Chapter Seven
MAX
Normally, around women I’m a simple man, and I make my needs and wants well known.
No strings, just fun, sex only. A few laughs, some drinks, a night in a hotel room, and we both move on.
But Lily . . . she’s different. Always has been since the minute I ran into her in the days before my first race in Monaco all those years ago. I can’t help but think about that day when I stare into her beautiful face right now, as she takes a sip of her drink and fiddles with her chopsticks.
We were all at a club, multiple teams. It was days before the race, so we were all letting off steam and having a few hours of fun. I was with Lucas and a few other drivers. We were all young back then, excited to be the toast of Monaco, surrounded by wealth and beauty.
Being guys barely out of our teens, we laser focused on a group of grid girls, the women who hold umbrellas over the drivers before the races. They were all impossibly tall and gorgeous, like human versions of gazelles. But there was one who was short. Disheveled, with long, dark hair flying everywhere. Wearing glasses and a simple black tank dress.
“Who’s that?” I asked the driver standing next to me. I nodded in the direction of the women. “The brunet.”
He thought I was referring to a tall girl with long, black hair who was standing next to her, but I was talking about the other woman, the one the tall girl was laughing and chatting with. They started to dance, and while the tall girl swayed like a ballerina, the shorter one danced with absolutely no rhythm at all. She laughed the entire time, her face illuminated with something I rarely saw in this world: authenticity.
I grinned. “No, the other one. The one who’s dancing like a robot.”
“Dude,” Lucas chimed in. Back then his Brazilian accent was thicker. “That’s Onassis’s daughter.”
“The team owner?” I asked, confused. Why hadn’t I seen her before?
“She’s interning for him this year. Apparently, she recently graduated. She hangs out with the grid girls.”
I hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that moment. Lily had always thought of herself as plain, and I never understood why. I was instantly captivated by her curves, her hair, her humor. The fact that she allowed herself to be silly in a club with the world’s most gorgeous models and wealthy people told me more about her character than any expensive outfit.
That night I hadn’t had the courage to approach her. But I did later, in Miami, at the very place we’re sitting in now.
Her beauty is still disarming, even now that I’m older and way more experienced. I know this because of the way I’m blathering on about my car and what happened on the track today.
I simply don’t know what else to talk about. Hell, there’s a lot I want to say, but something’s stopping me. Pride, probably. And anger. I never fully got over her leaving me. It’s not that I want to punish her or make her pay for what she did. I understand why she decided to end things, and it even made sense to a degree. But I feel raw and wounded in her presence, like I did when we broke up, and I’d rather set all those old feelings aside.
I’m also shocked at her story about her firing. I never go on social media—I have people for that—and I’ve long learned that reading comments about anything is a waste of time and mental peace. I’d read about her firing in theWall Street Journal, but that story had been a sanitized version of what had really happened. Some guys on the team had whispered about it, but the people closest to me knew enough to not utter a word about Lily. Lucas made sure of that.
The fact that any man would disrespect her like that makes me want to punch someone. But she doesn’t want to hear that, I’m sure. Just like she wouldn’t want to listen to me dissect our failed relationship. And now with her father’s health crisis and her temporary takeover of the team, she doesn’t need me complicating her life even more.
So, I’m going to be a good boy and muster the one quality I’m not known for: patience.
