LILY

After a quick shower in the women's locker at the track — I'm not picky about stuff like that — I blow-dry my hair, toss on a white blouse and tight jeans, then turn to the box Tanya left for me.

I giggle when I lift the top. Inside are a pair of scarlet cowboy boots. I continue to chuckle as I pull them on. They're not me, but they're not terrible, either. I take a few hesitant steps around the room, getting used to the stiff, rough leather boots. They're are a perfect fit the moment I slip them on my feet. So tight I can feel the pressure of my toes poking against the end of the soles. My reflection catches my eye in the mirror, where I examine the red boots, blue jeans, and white blouse. Unfamiliar, but not terrible. I twist and look over my shoulder, liking the way my butt looks in the jeans and how the boots make my legs look longer.

I feel sassy, confident, even. I can do this. Go to a party, sleep in Max's room, help this team through this rough patch. This is nothing compared to what I experienced in tech.

I strut to the SUV, where Tanya's waiting in the back. She's dressed in a similar outfit, only her shirt is plaid and her boots are black.

"Hey, cowgirl," I say as I slide in.

We discuss boots and Texas for a few minutes as we drive in thick traffic to the downtown area, where the restaurant, and our hotel, is located.

"Let's get a little work done, I think we have quite a while before we get to the restaurant with this traffic."

I nod in agreement. Tanya's sharp, and I appreciate her no-nonsense attitude.

"We got some press inquiries about you. Specifically," she scrolls through her phone, "About your previous job."

My gaze darts to the window for a beat, then back to her. "What did they want to know?"

"One reporter asked if you'd like to discuss the circumstances of your fi-, er, dismissal. I told him no."

"Thank you."

"Others wanted to know if you'd like to make a statement about women working in a traditionally male field, like tech or racing."

I nod slowly. "It might not be a bad idea. What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to need more details on your previous situation. All I know is what I read in the papers."

All the earlier badass feelings evaporate. "It wasn't one thing, one event. It was years of being a woman in the tech world, and multiple instances of sexual harassment. Everything from investors trying to get me drunk, to trying to kiss me in the office, and once, I was going over finances with a potential startup investor and he whipped out his erect, well, you know."

Tanya grimaces. "Eww. I once worked for a team owner like that. He was a Silicon Valley guy."

I think I know who she's talking about, but I don't mention his name aloud. "I'm sorry," I say softly.

She lifts a shoulder. "Sometimes it comes with the territory."

"That doesn't mean it's right. That doesn't mean we should endure it." All of my old anger's back now, churning my gut. "That's why I'm quite sensitive to how I'm perceived around Max. I don't want to seem like I'm doing anything inappropriate."

"But that's far different."

"How?"

"Because there's no real power differential. He's rich, richer than you, I assume, and you hold no real power over him."

I laugh. "Oh, come on. My father employs him."

"And you two have a history. Don't try to deny it."

A lump in my throat forms. "I'd rather we keep that out of the press."

"I understand that. But if rumors are correct, you and Max really had a connection all those years ago, didn't you? Why not try to see if you still are on the same wavelength? I've seen how he looks at you, and trust me, I've seen him look at a lot of women over the years. We used to work for the same team, coincidentally, the same owner who showed me his dick. I've observed Max many, many times, and I've never seen him as nervous or as captivated as he is in your presence."

"Please." I can't respond with anything more than that one word and a snort. None of what she's saying is true.

"You're only here for a few races, right? Why not see if it's something you want to rekindle?"

I narrow my eyes and stare at Tanya. "I thought we were talking business here?"

She shrugs, and then points out my window. We're rolling up to the curb of a building that looks like a hacienda in the middle of a cluster of skyscrapers, a pink stucco two-story building with a red barrel tile roof. "Oh, look, we're here."

We stay at the curb for a few minutes, not getting out, as we watch Esteban climb out of the vehicle ahead of us and saunter down the carpet to the front door. A half-dozen photographers snap his photo, and he grins for each of them. Good lord, he's just like Max: never met a camera he didn't love.

Or that didn't love him back. Exactly why I tried to stay away from the sport.

I let out a huff. "You didn't tell me there would be a red carpet and photographers."

"It's also news to me. I guess we're just going to have to strut our stuff. Come on."

"Oh, wait." I pull her back by the arm. "Can you make sure that no one gives me a hug?"

She narrows her eyes. "Why?"

"I'm not a hugger."

"Sure." She says this like it's not the strangest request she's ever received, and I'm sure it's not.

We exit the car, and a photographer calls out my name. "Pose for us, Lily? Wonderful boots."

I pause, put my hand on a hip, and channel my Mom with a smile. But I'm not showing teeth so I'm certain I look constipated and not mysterious, like she does. Since no one wants Tanya's photo, I stick close by her, hoping people will think I'm her assistant.

She says she needs to chat with Esteban and I'm left alone, so I wander toward the bar, my throat tightening at all the potential interaction with people. Then my gaze lands on a tall woman with a graceful neck, a killer body and a megawatt smile, holding a bottle of beer.

"Anh," I cry out.

She sees me and her face lights up. I make a high-pitched sound of excitement as we get closer.

"I want to squeeze you," she says, holding her arms out. She's wearing what looks like a white leather jacket with fringe, over what is possibly the tightest, most sparkly, red tank and shorts ensemble. She's also wearing a white cowboy hat over her long black hair, and boots.

"You look fucking amazing," I cry.

"Please, can I hug you?" Anh has known me for seven years and is fully aware of my phobia.

I laugh and shake my head. "I wouldn't mind if it was just us, but I don't want other people to think they can embrace me."

"You are so weird as always! Let's get you a beer." She wraps her perfectly manicured hand around my wrist and tugs me to the front of the line for the bar. Armed with just her charm — and her showstopping cleavage — Anh secures a drink for me and pulls me into a corner.

"I'm so glad you're here. There's a rich guy from Russia who keeps offering me money to send my models to his hotel room." She rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

"Eww. Gross. Some things don't change in Formula World." Ever since I can remember, certain fans have wanted to get with the grid girl models. It's like a status thing for them. "How are the drivers treating everyone?"

There was a time when the drivers and grid girls slept together often, almost like a rite of passage. I was curious to know if it was still going on.

"You know, things have become less...active these past few years. And get this, I'm about to hire some promotional male models, too. They're also going to hold the umbrellas over the drivers. I've got my eye on several Italians." Anh grins wickedly, and I laugh.

"I'm so glad to see you. It's been a crazy day. God, it's only been a day."

"Yeah, tell me everything."

Anh listens as I talk about Dad. That's one of her best qualities, her ability to truly listen.

I was hesitant when I first met Anh. She was so beautiful and didn't hesitate to showcase her looks, whereas I was a twenty-four-year-old nerd intern. Still, she took me into her circle of friends, all models, and we'd had some amazing times together.

She was even there the night I met Max, a topic I'd forbidden her to discuss after I left the sport.

"I'm so glad your Dad's doing better. How terrifying." She presses a hand to her chest. "And I saw your photo in the elevator with a certain driver. Or am I still not supposed to talk about him?"

A groan slips out of my mouth. "Oh, get this. Guess where I'm staying tonight?"

When I tell her, Anh's eyes open wide and her mouth forms a perfect, scarlet O. "In the same bed?" she whispers.

"No," I practically shout.

She raises her eyebrows and smirks, as if to say, yeah, right.

"I'm serious."

"I am, too. And I'm exhausted. I'm going to circulate and leave soon. Coffee tomorrow at the track?"

"Definitely." She hesitates and stares at me.

"What?" I ask, taking a pull from my beer.

I'm still stunned at how gorgeous she is. Anh clearly hit the genetic lottery, with a Vietnamese father and French mother, and became a model at sixteen. She'd loved the sport so much that she dropped her modeling contract to be a grid girl. Her overseeing the entire program for every race makes so much sense, and I'm glad she'll be at the track with me.

"He didn't sleep with any grid girls, you know. Just in case you were wondering."

"Who?"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about."

I lean in closer. "He did sleep with a bunch of other women."

"Not recently." Anh is also up on all the Formula World gossip. If she says Max didn't sleep with anyone recently, it must be true.

"Well, too bad for him. Because we're not sleeping together."

"We'll see," she hums.

Of course, she knows the incredible chemistry between me and Max.

"Nope."

She nods slowly. "Coffee, tomorrow. Text me."

We do an exaggerated air kiss, keeping a foot away from each other — we'd done this for years — and she bounces off.

For the rest of the party, her words echo in my ears. Is it possible that Max is truly a reformed fuckboy? And why do I care so much?

____

Have you pre-ordered book two in this series? It's coming out Jan. 24!