Chapter 17 #2
“This is my date for the evening, Justine Kwong,” Dietrich introduces.
The guy’s face morphs from annoyed to obsequiously apologetic in a millisecond. “Of course! What a pleasure to meet you.” He gets up, practically bowing me into my own seat like he didn’t just try to take it. “Dietrich, a real pleasure as always. I’ll catch up with you later?”
Dietrich gives a noncommittal smile.
“Just in time,” he breathes as soon as the sponsor is out of earshot. “That man was making me crazy with his talking.”
“Happy to help.” I do a mock salute. I can’t help wondering if this is what it’s going to be like all night—everyone trying to talk to Dietrich and me acting as crowd control. His ex-girlfriend couldn’t have enjoyed playing this role.
“Justine.” Lou Wilson sits next to me, breaking out in a wide smile. “Delighted to see you.”
“Hi, Lou!” My voice comes out barely more than a squeak. Considering our last one-on-one interaction involved him giving me a drinks order, this is a surprising (and welcome) development.
“This is Justine Kwong.” Lou turns to the heavily bespectacled man sitting on his right—Willem Hendriksen, the title sponsor who wouldn’t give me the time of day when I shadowed Dietrich during the British Grand Prix. “The one I was telling you about.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Hendriksen looks me up and down with clearly zero recollection of the last time we met.
“She drives in F3, first girl to podium in the series.” Lou jerks his thumb at me. “This is the real deal, I’m telling you. She’s going to be the first female F1 driver.”
I feel like someone’s set off a bottle rocket in my chest. Lou Wilson has gone from mistaking me for a server to thinking I’m going to be the first female F1 driver.
I debate whether I should remind him about Lella Lombardi, or Maria Teresa de Filippis, but it doesn’t seem like the smartest move to correct him in front of the title sponsor chairman.
“Willem, you’re joining us at Spa, right?” Lou nudges Mr. Hendriksen. “You ought to come watch the F3 race beforehand, see what our girl can do.”
“I’ll look into my schedule,” Mr. Hendriksen says, giving me a skeptical glance.
“Now, Justine,” Lou says, turning to face me, “Frank has briefed me on how well the season is going. It’s always special to lead the team championship and have multiple drivers competing for the Drivers’ Championship.”
“Cameron’s doing great,” I volunteer, then immediately want to slap a hand over my lips. Mom would call me silly for openly promoting my competition. It’s like I can’t keep his name out of my mouth.
“Who?” Lou frowns.
“One of our other F3 drivers,” Dietrich prompts.
“Right, of course,” Lou says in a way that makes me feel like he’s already forgotten Cameron’s name.
It should make me feel over-the-moon joyous, that I’m parked next to the Big Boss like a guest of honor while my competition is a distant afterthought.
But part of me can’t stop thinking about the Evanses.
How much they’ve sacrificed to get Cameron this far, what it would mean to him.
Mom was right. I’m already getting distracted, and we’re not even racing.
“I’ve only heard this one here”—Lou nods at Dietrich—“sing your praises, which, frankly, I can’t remember him ever doing before.”
I send Dietrich a glowing thank you look. He smiles back.
“Now,” Lou continues on, “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I’m personally hoping to have you with the Orbital family for a long time.”
My heart speeds. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying…
But another sponsor comes over, and Lou is pulled away.
“Did you hear that?” I turn to Dietrich so I can confirm I didn’t hallucinate the whole exchange.
“I did.” He nods, eyes twinkling.
“So, does it mean… do you think I’m the front-runner for the F2 seat?”
“You sound like their lead horse to me.”
Without thinking about where we are—in a public venue, dressed fancier than I’ve ever been in my life—I pitch myself into him and throw my arms around his neck. I think I hear something somewhere tear in my satin sheath dress, but I’m too jazzed up to care.
“Be careful, you almost torpedoed my wineglass,” he says, but I can tell by the way he’s smiling gently that he doesn’t mind.
My gaze flickers over his shoulder. Through the forest of floral-and-candle table settings, crystal glassware, and VIP guests, my eyes land on Cameron, sitting toward the back next to Pat.
I give him a tentative smile. This time, he glares right at me, dark eyes cutting into mine over the champagne he’s drinking.
“Now, now, children, save the PDA for the after-party.” Britt materializes out of nowhere, diamond chandelier earrings jingling.
My face heats. A quick peek around tells me Britt and Cameron aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed. Lou Wilson gives me an approving smile, like an indulgent father who’s thrilled his daughter has snagged such a catch.
“Dietrich, you’re speaking first.” Britt ushers him up the dais as the lights dim.
I barely hear a word of his welcome speech, I’m so all over the place. Part of me is racked with nerves, wondering what I can say to Cameron to set things right between us. If they can ever be right, once he finds out I’m definitively the front-runner.
The other part of me is soaring. About F2, about finally belonging, even if it doesn’t feel quite real.
Lou Wilson himself made it clear he wants me here.
With Orbital. The F2 seat is all but mine; I just have to finish out the current season strong.
My future is opening up, so grand and rich with possibilities I feel like anything—even a future F1 championship—is in the cards.
“How was that?” Dietrich’s already back, sliding into his empty seat.
I didn’t hear a word of his speech. I fumble for something—anything—to say. “I liked what you said about, um, teamwork.”
He stares for a second, then bursts out laughing. “You weren’t listening, were you?”
“No,” I admit sheepishly.
“It’s okay. That was a boring one.”
I grin in relief. He really is the nicest guy.
As soon as the rest of the speeches and meal service wrap up, the guests resume mingling and table-hopping.
Lou and Dietrich are swarmed, swept away on a tide of admirers and networkers.
I seize my opening and make a beeline for Cameron’s table.
I’m still not sure what I’m going to say.
Apologizing for not giving a heads-up about Dietrich feels too presumptuous, like, Hey, I know you like me SO much and that’s why you’re mad.
I don’t know what I’d do if I said that and he laughed in my face.
My internal debate is resolved by Cameron no longer being at his table by the time I get there. I’m half relieved, half disappointed.
“Justine!” Roz waves from a table nearby. Her cheeks are pink and she’s holding a half-drained martini glass. “You’re coming to the after-party, right? Uncle Lou booked Gini!”
“Who else is going?” I ask warily. I’ve long run through my energy supply from small talk. I’m not sure I have it in me to spend another few hours on my feet in a sweaty, rowdy crowd.
“Dietrich, of course.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “The mechanics. All the engineers. Most of the drivers. Grayson, Caleb, Cam—”
At his name, I sit up. “I’m in.”