LILY

The good news is, Max drives so well during qualifying the next day that he achieves pole position, which means for the race he'll be first on the grid.

The bad news is, we'll probably have to sleep together again tonight so he'll win the actual race tomorrow.

Or is that bad news?

I keep pondering this in the hours after Max's blistering qualifying laps. Watching him was pure joy, poetry almost, for people like me who love the sport and the art of driving. He handled every curve, hugged every wall, with a deft touch. Even Dad called me afterward, overjoyed; he watched it from his hospital room.

Esteban came in third on the grid, so the team is in a cautiously optimistic mood as we head to that afternoon's press conference.

"You nervous?" Esteban asks me. He's so young and new in the sport that at thirty-one, I feel practically ancient next to him. We're walking with Tanya and Max into the press center on the track.

"A little. You?"

Esteban grins. "I love this part."

I wish I had his enthusiasm. This is the part I've been dreading. So far, everything's gone as planned, and I've been largely able to stay out of the public eye. But as is typical after qualifying, each team goes before the press and submits to a round of questions. Usually it's my incredibly quotable dad here in the press room with Jack and the drivers.

We're all clustered in a closet-like room next to the press center, waiting for another team to finish up their media conference. Max tugs at my sleeve, and motions with his head to step to the back so we can talk.

"You're sure about this?" he asks in a low voice, sending a hum of desire through me. Despite our intimate sleeping position last night, we hadn't so much as touched in a sexual way, but the tension remains — at least on my part.

Maybe not on his, a fact I was trying not to dwell on. He'd bounded out of bed early this morning and left without a goodbye. I'd pretended to be asleep as he slipped out of the room. Didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was.

"I'm good. Really."

"If there's anything you don't want to answer, I'll step in, okay? I know how to get the press off my back." Max is an expert at that. A glare and a two-word answer are all he needs to shut conversation down. I've watched him do it a hundred times.

"Thanks. But I'm okay." It's almost embarrassing to be this inept in front of the media, and surely Max thinks I'm ill-equipped.

"Okay, it's time," Tanya calls out, and we all file into the main room.

It's packed, lined with cameras and photographers from around the globe, and at least a dozen print reporters. My stomach coils into a tight knot. Maybe I'm not ready for this.

I paste on a smile and take my seat. Jack is at the far end, then Max, me, and finally, Esteban. As is customary at these things, Jack begins with a short statement about how the team and drivers did during quali. The rest of us sit and listen, drinking water or staring at the back wall of the room, over the reporters' heads.

A few reporters engage with Jack, all technical questions about the cars. Then Gordon, the guy who does the grid walk before each race, signals by waving his hand in the air. Jack calls on him.

"This is a question for Max. To what do you attribute your incredible qualifying times today? You were like night and day compared to yesterday's practice."

Max fixes his serious, icy stare on Gordon. "I had an off day yesterday."

"But what changed between yesterday and today?" the reporter probes.

I try to will myself not to blush and reach for the pitcher of water. It's shockingly heavy, like it's filled with lead.

"Nothing changed," Max says in a cool tone.

Another reporter, an older woman with a German accent, pipes up. "We are wondering if it's the presence of Ms. Onassis that's making your driving erratic."

At that, I fumble with the pitcher and spill a little on Esteban's leg. "Sorry, sorry," I whisper to him.

The sound of camera shutters fills the air as Esteban grins and Tanya appears with a towel. "Sorry, it's my first day drinking water," I quip, mortified. Of course I'd have to do this right as an embarrassing question is asked.

"Next question," Max says.

"This is for Lily Onassis," says a reporter, who looks like a thin grandpa type, complete with handlebar mustache. "I think we can all say that we're happy your father is recovering."

My heart is thrashing against my chest as I lean into the microphone. I can feel sweat sliding down my back, and at this point, I don't even care if I'm making the table jiggle a little with my knee that's going up and down. Why hadn't I brought my worry beads with me?

"Thank you."

"How are you finding running the team in your father's absence?"

I exhale. A softball question. I've rehearsed an answer that will fit for this one. "Many of the people on this team have been with my father for years, so it almost runs itself. I'm enjoying being back in the racing world. I grew up around the track, and watched my father grow this team into what it is today, and I'm just proud I can step in for him while he's recovering."

The reporters scribble and nod. I allow myself to relax a little. Another journalist, one I don't recognize, pipes up with a British accent.

"How are you finding Max now versus at the beginning of his career?" she asks.

I turn to look at Max, who twists to stare at me. My tongue runs over my top teeth to stall while thinking of an answer. "I think Max has matured quite a bit, and has honed his excellent driving skills into championship form."

"And personally? How is your relationship personally compared to when you first met him?" the reporter probes.

I freeze. Is this journalist insinuating what I think she is? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Finally, as the silence hangs heavy in the air, practically crushing me with its weight, I say, "I'm not sure I understand the question."

"How is it being his boss when you used to sleep together," the woman asks. "Especially since you were a crusader for sexual harassment reform in the workplace in your last job. Do you feel a bit hypocritical?"

I look around wildly, searching for Tanya. There's no way I'm answering that.

"My private life is just that. Private." Max's blue eyes have turned to a glacier-like hue, indicating that he's pissed.

Tanya rushes to the front of the room, as if blocking the reporters from us. She holds out her arms, then claps her hands. "That's all the time we have, folks."

We all file out to the sound of reporters shouting more questions, but none of us say a word. Esteban peels off to sign autographs, and I expect Max to, as well. I put my head down and walk quickly away, feeling shame deep in my core.

"Wait, Lily."

I turn to see Max calling my name and coming toward me. We stop in the middle of the walkway and stare at each other, but when people walk by and give us a glance, we step out of the way. We're sandwiched in between the press center and a makeshift café that's open to all the teams.

"I'm sorry. I just got so pissed at that question that I couldn't help but step in. I probably should've minded my own business but..." he blows out a breath and brushes his hair back with his hand.

"Don't apologize. This is just the way it is for me right now. You know, the only way out is through, and all that."

He nods. "Um, about tonight."

"I have a sponsor dinner. You?" I didn't see his name on the list I'd been given.

"I'm with other sponsors at a cattle ranch."

"A cattle ranch?" A giggle slips from my mouth and I clap my hand over my lips, trying to imagine Max and his sexy European self around a bunch of Texas cowboys.

He grins, a dazzling smile that makes me swoon a little. His eyes practically glitter in the late-day sun.

"Nine p.m., your room?" He says in a low tone. Thank God no one's nearby.

I break out into a fresh sweat. "Yes. Nine p.m."

We say our goodbyes and walk in different directions. Him to sign autographs, and me, well, I'll just wander aimlessly around the track, wondering where and how this is all going to end with me and Max.