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“Mum, I’ll breathe later. Chop chop.”
She opens her eyes and shoots me a reproachful glance. We both stand and I grab what little stuff I have and shove it in my oversized purse.
“Adam will come get Papa’s stuff. Don’t worry,” Mum says.
She opens the door as I’m checking my face in the mirror. On a good day, I look cute but plain. Today I look basic and exhausted.
“Well, hello there,” she says in an exaggerated, throaty tone.
What now?
I whirl around to find Max standing in the doorway. I hadn’t heard him knock.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets, like they were when we said good-bye last night. His face is pinched with worry. Standing a respectful distance behind him are two beefy-looking guys who are obviously his bodyguards.
“I thought I’d come by and see how your dad’s doing. Have you talked to him?” He glances from my mother to me. Our eyes lock for a moment, and once again my face flushes hot in his presence. This has got to stop.
Mum clears her throat and turns back to Max.
“We’re on our way to see him,” she trills. “Why don’t you join us?”
I squeeze Mum’s elbow, propelling her out the door and past Max, who smells freshly showered and yummy. He’s wearing jeans and a Team Onassis polo shirt that shows off his taut, muscular chest.
“I’m sure Max has better things to do, Mumsy.”
“No, I’d like see Adrian.” Max’s tone is even, so emotionless it’s disarming.
“And I’m sure he’d love to see you too,” Mum says firmly.
What I want isn’t a priority here, and I can’t argue with Mum’s logic. Max is my father’s star driver, and I’m sure he would appreciate a visit from him.
“I’ve got a car downstairs.” Mum pulls away from me and threads her arm through Max’s. “Let’s go.”
I bite back a sigh and follow them out of the hotel. One of the bodyguards leads the way, while the other follows behind our little group. Max is a perfect gentleman, gallantly escorting Mum through the lobby door like they’re going to a ball. People stop to stare at them and take photos. I skulk behind, hoping I’m hidden behind the beefy bodyguard.
Outside the hotel there’s a small gaggle of press clustered near a bench across the street. Like he did last night, Max puts a protective hand on the small of my back as we all speed up toward Mum’s car as the paparazzi barrel toward us, shouting questions. My gut tightens at the sight of the cameras but today, I control myself.
I barely have time to wonder why Max’s touch sends little electric sparks through my body because we all hurriedly slide into Mum’s chauffeured car, barely managing to avoid the reporters. It’s a Mercedes, with a massive backseat. Somehow I’m in the middle, mashed between Mum and Max.
One of his bodyguards is in the passenger seat, while the other is apparently following behind in an SUV. This is how it’s going to be for the next several weeks, months even, if I take over the team.
As we drive off, a photographer shoves his camera almost against the tinted window of the car, in hopes of getting a photo of me and Max.
“They never stop, do they?” Mum asks in a cheery tone. She’s always been amused by the media attention that came with Papa owning a team. Now with her new career, she kind of thrives on that spotlight. Mercifully, she knows how uncomfortable I am with being in the public eye, so she doesn’t encourage the spotlight when we’re together.
Already I feel suffocated. We ride in silence for several long, awkward minutes.
I glance at Mum and she’s fiddling with her phone. “Did I tell you that Ralph Lauren asked me to do a campaign on Instagram? They want vibrant older ladies.” Her laugh is like the audio equivalent of champagne, bubbly and light.
“Mmm, no, you didn’t,” I grunt. How I ended up her daughter is beyond me. Mum’s ethereal and positive and I’m plain and grumpy.
My eyes slide to my right and Max’s leg. His hand is resting on his thigh, and I study it for a second. This only serves to remind me of how he used to run those exact fingers over my body, through my hair, across my lips . . .
I screw my eyes shut. This cannot be happening. I can’t have lusty thoughts about Max. I’m his boss. Ugh, that even feels weird to think. And even if I wasn’t, I’d only be making a fool of myself. Max almost certainly doesn’t feel like he used to about me.
“Max, how are your parents, anyway? Are they still in Germany? Such lovely people. And your brother? How is he?” Mum turns and peers around me.
