Chapter 7
Travis
My first public appearance since the ending of last season and I run into her again.
Run into is an exaggeration since she’s doing her best to avoid me. I first spotted Alyssia right before she collided with a man before rushing off behind the door to the kitchen.
It was only a split second, but I could never mistake her for anyone else. Everything about her and that night is etched into my memory like tread on a brand new tire.
I’ve kept my eye on the door she disappeared behind for almost thirty minutes, planning to intercept her. For what, I don’t know. Maybe to demand an explanation as to why she left my bed without so much as an explanation or a fuck you.
Pretty stupid since I’ve never demanded or wanted one of those from a woman before.
With so many people at tonight’s charity event, most of whom are clamoring to meet me to ask about my plans for the upcoming season, it’s been impossible to get a moment to myself.
The most trouble I’ve had is refraining from scowling and asking what the hell did they think my plans were for this season.
To win.
Always to win a world championship. Same as it’s been since I signed my first F1 contract five years ago.
“As I was telling Max earlier, before you walked away,” éléanor Decaen says. “I’m grateful the teams have finally decided to come together to create greater support for the nonprofit organizations this season.”
I grind my teeth as I look down into my glass of champagne, my thoughts threatening to wander back to Alyssia.
I’m bored by tonight’s event. More than typical. The only reason I’m here tonight is because it’s a pre-season tradition that I, along with all of the other drivers, attend these types of charities to kick off the season in a couple of weeks.
“The added support of the individual teams will allow us to draw even more attention for the programs we support,” éléanor continues.
As the former head of the Federation’s nonprofit division, her new role is to spearhead this joint venture among all ten of the F1 teams to fund and support adolescents in Europe and North America who dream of entering racing through STEM fields.
“I’m certain it will benefit all involved,” I tell her.
éléanor and I have worked together in the past on nonprofit initiatives by the Federation. She’s fine, but she’s not my concern right now.
“If you’ll excuse me—” I stop when I pivot and once again come face to face with Max Ferreira. My top lip instantly curls when my gaze lands on him.
“Max, Dennis, what great timing.” éléanor beams. “We were discussing the team’s new initiative. It would be wonderful if we can get a meeting between all of you to set up some appearances during the season.”
“My assistant handles all of that,” I say.
éléanor walks off after the other guys give her a similar reply.
“How was your break?” Dennis Rossberg asks since this is the first time he or I have talked tonight. Dennis drives for Douglass Racing. Overall, a decent guy, two years older than me.
“Too long,” I answer, ignoring Max. “Yours?”
While he answers, I do a scan of the room.
“Mine was lovely,” Max interjects in that grating English accent of his. I don’t think all British accents are annoying. Just his.
“Thank you for asking. Surprised to see you here tonight, Travis.”
“What’s so surprising about it?” I ask. “We all knew we’d be here.”
The grin playing on Max’s lips grows as he tilts his head to the side.
“I knew we would be in attendance.” He waves a hand between himself and Dennis. “But, frankly, I imagined you would still be licking your wounds somewhere.”
The way he emphasizes ‘wounds’ is what has me reaching out to grab his collar before I think better of it.
“Slow down.” Dennis steps in between Max and me.
Max’s eyes narrow on me, though he continues to hold the grin.
Bastard.
The line holding me back from calling him that word out loud is razor thin. And the one thing I know that would set him off.
No sooner than I suppress the urge to call him what he is, I spot movement out of the corner of my eye.
A flash of white, not nearly enough for me to know who it is, but my body reacts in a way that has already discerned who it is before I can lay eyes on her.
At a more opportune time, I’ll have to assess why and how my body and mind are already so attuned to this woman. A woman I only spent one damn night with.
But it wasn’t enough.
I tuck that thought away, as well, as I move away from Max and Dennis and follow Alyssia.
Her back is to me as she holds out a silver tray containing glasses of champagne.
Everything inside of me wants to take her by the arm, pull her into a dark corner, and demand to know why the hell she left me high and dry that morning.
This is the only reason why I’m so bent on getting alone time with her, I tell myself. Because I wasn’t done with her in Vegas, only to return to my room to find her gone.
Plus, focusing on her is the distraction I need from the rest of the guests. The fucking looks of pity or curiosity in their eyes is nearly enough to send me over the edge.
They all want to know how I’m going to respond after last season. I can see the questions in the way they watch me, but I ignore them all for now.
I’ll let my race times do the talking for me.
Instead of making small talk with a bunch of charity goers, I’ll look for the woman who captured my attention for one night in Vegas. One thing stopping me from being too obvious are the photographers.
There’re too many in here right now, taking candid and not-so-candid shots of the guests.
Try as I might, my life isn’t private, especially when I’m away from Monaco, the country I’ve called home for the past six years.
But when I see her back to me again, I can’t stop myself from calling out.
“Excuse me.”
Her back stiffens, steps falter, but she doesn’t turn around.
Nor does she come to a complete stop.
That pisses me off.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to be ignored.
Alyssia picks up speed, an attempt to get away from me.
Cute.
She obviously doesn’t know me well enough to know that once I’ve laid eyes on something I want, I don’t give up until it’s mine.
Long strides allow me to overtake her just like I’m known to overtake on the corners of the track. Before she’s aware, I’m directly in front of her, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
Her eyes balloon right before she covers her tray with her free hand to keep it steady.
“Oh,” is all she says.
“Oh?” I chase her gaze with my own, making sure to not let her break eye contact.
“Did um …” She clears her throat. “Did you need a drink, sir?”
Sir.
Her voice comes out pleasantly detached. Nothing like the smoky, sultry notes it held that night in Vegas. She’s going to play this game, huh?
“While I’m not opposed to you calling me ‘sir,’ I think you’re aware that I don’t give a damn about a drink right now.”
Fire ignites in Alyssia’s eyes when I give her a sardonic grin.
Heat rushes through my veins seeing the way her detached facade slips.
A blink suppresses the ire in those toffee pools long enough for her to hold out her tray in front of her.
She looks as if she’s going to ask the question a second time, but she’s stopped.
“Alyssia,” a male voice calls.
I narrow my eyes at the older man approaching us. “There you are,” he says to her before looking over at me. He smiles, that pasted, professional smile all staff give at these sorts of events.
“Mr. Townsend, did you need something?” he asks.
I move my gaze back to Alyssia. “A drink, apparently,” I say, taking a glass from Alyssia’s tray.
She looks everywhere but at me.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself this evening. It’s truly an honor to have Watson Catering serve at such a prestigious crowd. Isn’t that right, Alyssia?”
My free hand tightens into a fist. I don’t like the floundering look that crosses her face.
“That’s right, Mr. Watson. If you’ll excuse me, I need to restock.” She nods toward the tray although there’s still three glasses of champagne on it.
“Right, don’t forget to assist Gabriel with the clean up at the back. We’ll need more hors d'oeuvres served in about ten minutes. Also, tell Gina that we need her out here to relight the candles that’ve gone out.
“Our guests will be seated in another twenty minutes.”
Alyssia doesn’t verbally respond but gives a slight dip of her head. What pisses me off the most is that she doesn’t even glance my way before rushing off again.
My gaze trails the woman who’s been haunting my dreams for the past few two month.
It takes another forty-five minutes, a ridiculous amount of small talk with people whose names I won’t remember, and a very unsatisfying dinner later, before I conspicuously make my way to the doorway Alyssia passed through earlier.
It leads to a long hallway that ends in two double doors, presumably to the kitchen.
To my surprise, right before I reach the kitchen doors, Alyssia bursts out of a side door I hadn’t even paid attention to.
She’s so frenetic in her movements that she slams directly into me. It’s only my steady balance that keeps us both upright.
With my hands on her shoulders, I look down into her eyes to see unbridled panic.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to go to the hospital.”