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“Look. As far as he’s concerned, he’ll think he’s having dinner with a business connection. And he is. Look at it as a networking dinner, except that some photographers will capture you together. I’ll make sure of that. It’ll be two hours, maybe three.”
“You mean you’ll tip off the paparazzi.”
“Something like that. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Because I’m in a good mood, I follow Tanya, if only to humor her. She stops at another high-top table across the terrace, where two men are chatting. Both are wearing white shirts and jeans, as if they shopped at an identical store. One is a bit taller than the other, and the shorter one has dark hair, dark stubble, and dark eyes.
“Lily, this is Rob McDowell. He’s the VP of brand partnerships I was telling you about.” Tanya goes on for a solid thirty seconds about his beer company, which is one of the sponsors of our team.
I tell Rob that it’s nice to meet him and we shake hands. Under normal circumstances I might be madly interested in the handsome and well-employed Rob. But not hours after I was on my knees for Max.
Oh, Max. I glance around but don’t see him. It’s so packed and dim up here on the terrace that it’s hard to tell where anyone is, though.
Rob gushes about the race, the team, and today’s win.
Tanya interrupts. “I need to go talk with someone. Lily, think about what I said, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She melts into the crowd, and I’m left alone with Rob.
“What are you supposed to think about?” Rob says, with a flirtatious grin.
“Oh, some team stuff. Business, you know.” I wave my hand helplessly in the air, wishing I could dive into a gallon of champagne.
“You’re doing a great job with the team,” Rob says, and I beam. “Your father’s quite the guy. I’ve had dinner with him a few times, and boy, is that man entertaining. How’s he doing, anyway?”
I relax a little, because this is a topic I’m comfortable with. I launch into an update about my father’s health, and Rob seems genuinely interested.
“He won’t be back before Las Vegas, and possibly for a few races after that,” I say, referring to the upcoming calendar. As we speak, some of the team is packing up here in Austin, getting ready to haul the trackside garages and modular buildings thousands of miles north.
“When do you get to Las Vegas?”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I say, praying that he doesn’t probe any more about my life.
“Me too. Have a bunch of meetings in the morning. How about we have dinner tomorrow night? I know of a great steakhouse on the Strip.” Rob’s eyes crinkle at the corners.
Tanya will kill me if I say no. But isn’t it wrong if I do? How much am I willing to do for this team? Then again, one dinner with a sponsor won’t kill me, although the way Rob’s leaning toward me and making deep eye contact makes me think he wants to discuss something other than business.
“Sure,” I say breezily. “Tanya can set up a time with your assistant.”
At that moment, I feel a familiar hand on my back, and Rob’s eyes widen with excitement.
“Max Becker, bro, you drove an incredible race today!” Rob extends his hand and Max takes his hand off my spine to shake it.
“It was all my team, man. They’re incredible. From the top on down.” Max slides a glance at me and remains close by my side. It’s an unusually flirtatious gesture, possessive, even. Especially for a man who doesn’t often show emotion in public.
I chew on my cheek, wondering if Max heard Rob ask me to dinner. But that’s ridiculous. We’re not in high school here. I do have team obligations. It’s not like Max and I are a thing, despite what happened earlier today. And yet.
“Lily seems like a natural as a team owner, doesn’t she?” Rob says to Max.
“She sure does.” Max is all smiles, and I’m guessing that he didn’t hear my exchange with Rob. Or if he did, he doesn’t care.
“Don’t get too used to me, I’m only here for a few more races.” I grab a champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
“A shame,” Max murmurs, looking at me through his lashes.
“Definitely a shame,” Rob says, raising his glass of his brand of beer. “The sport needs some estrogen, doesn’t it?”
I smirk, wondering if he’s being patronizing. Maybe I’m hyperaware of comments like that because in my former job those were usually the kind of gateway words to things far more offensive.
