Chapter 3
Max
I have no reason to follow her. None at all.
Yet, my legs begin moving before my brain can tell me to mind my bloody business. I wasn’t particularly excited about attending tonight’s fundraiser. Most of these pre-season events are nothing more than the teams and their owners showing off their human trophies before the season begins.
Ordinarily, that type of thing doesn’t bother me. But lately, parties and fundraisers bore me. The same people over and over, jockeying for some position. I do enough of that on the track. The performance aspect of the pre-season is starting to wear thin.
With a sigh, I assume whatever’s sticking in my craw about my discomfort, is due to starting a new season with a new team.
My father’s team.
The cars don’t make their appearance until our pre-season practice runs, which are still a few weeks away. The drivers, on the other hand, though not obligated to attend all of the events hosted by the FIA, it’s often a way to network with sponsors and the like.
A lot of backroom deals are made at these fundraisers.
That thought leads me to wonder where Edwin, my agent, has gotten off to. I note that he did mention something about speaking with the owner of an apparel brand I’d mentioned being interested in working with.
Instead of going to find Edwin or sidling up to a number of other potential brand partners, I follow the woman in the dark, floral dress and bronze mask.
She quickly weaves her way through the dancing couples, and I keep my attention not on the sway of the dress but her coppery red curls she’s tamed for tonight into a side ponytail.
I’m a few paces behind her as she breezes through the door to catch up to Luca Taylor.
“Mr. Taylor,” she calls, making him stop about halfway down the four exit steps that lead to his awaiting car.
I step just out of the way of the door into the shadows, remaining in earshot of the conversation.
“My apologies for chasing you down like this,” she says, sounding breathless. “But I meant to meet with you earlier in the evening.”
“Have we met before?” he asks, looking confused.
“No, but I’m Annalise. Travis Townsend’s assistant. You’ve worked with his agent, Norm, until now, but Travis and Norm couldn’t make it tonight.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Taylor says.
“Wait.” She takes another step in his direction, her voice bordering on desperation. “Travis was greatly looking forward to discussing this deal with you in person.”
“So much that he couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance?” Taylor frowns.
“That’s not his fault,” she counters before explaining how much Travis values his brand and what an honor it would be to work with his company.
Taylor’s face softens a miniscule amount, but he takes another step in the direction of his awaiting vehicle.
“I’m sure it isn’t. Look, it’s been a pleasure, but—”
“He wanted to be here,” she interrupts. “I know you have to go, but please know that Travis not being here tonight is not a testament of his lack of commitment to your company or this deal.”
“Right. He sends his assistant instead,” Taylor throws back. “I really must get going.”
“Your grandfather knew about commitment.” Annalise moves down the stairs, now getting in between Taylor and his car.
Wanting to hear the rest of this exchange, I move closer to the top of the staircase.
Taylor stops moving as well, standing erect as if his attention to this conversation has been renewed.
“I read an article about your grandfather that said during the third year of MaxWaters Suits’ operations, sales were so low he wasn’t certain how he was going to pay his employees the following month.
But one night his son, your father, who was still a little boy at the time, begged him to come home early to see his school performance.
“The article said despite the immense pressure he was under, not knowing how he was going to pay his staff and terrified he’d have to close down the company that’d been his dream for years, he kept his promise to his son.
He went to watch that performance. And a man who was the father of his son’s classmate admired the tie your grandfather wore. It was a handmade Taylor original.
“This left the man impressed enough that it sparked a conversation that eventually led to the financial investment that saved MaxWaters Suits.”
“You’ve done your research,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed.
“I don’t recite the story to flatter you, Mr. Taylor,” she continues.
“I tell it because Travis was also moved when he heard that story about your family’s company.
So much so, that he told me he wanted this partnership deal more than any deal he’s had before because you would understand the value of family.
“You see, Travis isn’t just my employer.
He’s my brother and he’s not here tonight because his wife and son are sick with the flu.
And given the compressed amount of time he’ll have with them once the season starts, he chose to spend his evening alternating between feeding his wife homemade chicken soup and using one of those sucker things to make sure his son could breathe and fall asleep more easily. ”
My head jolts backwards at her last statement. Though I can’t see his face, from behind, Taylor’s head cocks sideways, leading me to believe he’s as confused as I am.
But he doesn’t brush her aside or insist she move out of his way.
“A nasal aspirator.”
“That’s it.” Her face lights up. “You should’ve seen the way Lucky fought Travis to keep that thing away from him. How are six month olds so strong? I couldn’t believe—” She stops herself.
“Excuse me.” She clears her throat. “That’s the truth, Mr. Taylor.
Travis didn’t brush you off and send in his assistant to do the work he thinks is beneath him.
He sent me because just like your grandfather, Travis values what’s important.
Family. And once he signs the dotted line on your contract, he’ll be as committed to representing your brand with the utmost respect that he is to winning a second championship because now he has his own family watching him. ”
That final declaration is what causes a searing sensation to ripple through my chest. As I glance down, I notice my hands balled into fists.
While I’m familiar with the feeling that’s come over me, I don’t like it. Thus, instead of acknowledging it, I calm the flame of my jealousy, using the memory of that accident to recall what happens when I allow it to get out of control.
My attention rises again to find Luca Taylor getting into his car and pulling off, leaving Annalise standing and watching.
A certain satisfaction rolls through me, until I notice the way her shoulders slump as she watches the car retreat into the night. There’s something about her forlorn stance that I find completely unsatisfying.
I think back to minutes ago, holding her in my embrace, spinning her around the dance floor while she tried to sell me on the attributes of her brother.
I heard none of it above the voice inside of my head wishing she’d remove her mask so that I could get a better view of the myriad of freckles that outline her light brown cheeks.
A small ache in the pit of my stomach had opened on that wish.
Which pisses me off.
Annalise is the one woman I shouldn’t give a second glance to. My new teammate’s sister—a teammate who hates me as much as I abhor him.
A brother who she’s undeniably loyal to.
Yet, as my latest decision to sign with Amato Racing for this new season is proof, I’m a glutton for fucking punishment.
“You son of a bitch!”
Annalise’s snarling hiss brings me out of my internal world. My gaze drops to hers. While her usually hypnotizing hazel eyes are filled with fire that matches the color of her hair, it’s a dizzying combination to be confronted with now that she’s removed her mask.
“Excuse me?” I ask casually.
“Don’t play dumb with me. You intentionally sabotaged my meeting with Luca Taylor.”
I jut my head backward, looking from my right to my left.
“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes narrow and my breathing stutters. It’s likely imperceptible to anyone watching. I’ve spent years in front of the camera, being media coached on how to say or do the right thing to charm the press. I know how to conceal my truth.
Even from myself.
“Fuck. You,” she says through clenched teeth. “Do you know what I’m talking about now? You irredeemable asshole.”
“Such foul language, princess,” I snark. “Women who look like you shouldn’t talk like that.”
Her eyes bulge, then narrow again.
“Add condescendingly sexist to the irredeemable asshole list. Listen, I don’t know what you think you were doing in there, or why you chose to come over to the one team you should’ve stayed away from,” she scolds, “but whatever other notions of sabotage you have for this season, do yourself a favor and drop it. Travis has already had one shitty teammate, and you see how well that worked for him.”
“Don’t compare me to that wanker,” I gripe, stepping closer until our bodies are only inches apart.
Last season it was revealed that Amato driver Skyland Grant had deliberately tried to set Travis up for failure. He’s now in prison for blackmail and having a hand in the kidnapping of Travis’ wife.
“Right, because you’re so different from him.”
The haughty, dismissive tone disturbs me more than anything. It’s too familiar, too fucking familiar.
“Listen, princess—”
“No, you listen.” She gets close enough to poke my chest with her pointer finger.
“Whatever plans or designs you have to sabotage my brother this season, forget them right now. I promise you you’ll regret any and every form of deceit you try.
I told you once before to stay the hell away from my brother. I meant it then, and I still mean it.”
The moment the words pass her full lips, she spins on her heels and heads down the stairs she came up just to tell me off.
I watch her the entire time she retreats, even as she waits for her car to come around to pick her up. Minutes go by before I recognize that I’m watching her vehicle retreat in the same manner she watched Luca Taylor do not long ago.
“Max,” Edwin’s voice calls from behind me. “What are you doing out here, mate?”
I spin to find my friend and agent standing at the entrance, tuxedo jacket opened, looking confused.
“Nothing. Did you get that meeting with Drummond?”
His expression reveals his disappointment.
“We’ll get him next time,” he promises.
I don’t bother to mask my disappointment. To which, he responds by changing the topic.
“Listen, there’s not much happening in there since Drummond left for the night. You’ve done all of the obligatory meetings and appearances with Drake, the engineers, and the other drivers. Why don’t we go to that party I told you about?”
My response is interrupted by more people exiting the fundraiser. The distant echoes of laughter and music don’t call to me like they once did even a year ago. The pulse to keep the night going in a much seedier place with fewer cameras doesn’t excite me.
Before I can give Edwin my decision, a voice calls my name.
“Max, we were looking for you inside,” an older man says, gesturing to the woman at his side.
“Bill.” I nod and try to smile.
“Honey, this is Max Ferreira. He’s finally come over to Amato. We’re all looking forward to seeing what he’ll do this season,” he tells her. “Let’s hope you’ll have the success your father had with Amato. Wouldn’t that be special?” He smiles at me as if I should be in agreement.
I probably would if the clenching of my stomach muscles didn’t temporarily paralyze the muscles in my face, including my tongue.
“You should’ve seen Severino in his day,” the man continues. “I bet he’d be proud to see you in Amato red this year. Though I don’t think Townsend’s going to make it easy on you this season.” He goes to pat my shoulder, but I shift out of his reach.
I catch the way his smile falters.
“Thank you,” I say, the tightness in my voice reflecting the strain it took to push those two words out.
I’ve suddenly changed my mind.
I peer over his shoulder to Edwin.
“Let’s go.”