LILY

Adam and Tanya, the team's public relations head, greet me at a side gate of the Miami track in a chauffeured electric golf cart. I climb in and we whiz away, slowing only for the security at various checkpoints.

The aftermath of the race is all around us: sanitation crews picking up trash, teams packing up giant tractor-trailers, a few fans lingering in the VIP area hoping for autographs.

"We've asked the entire team to meet us in the garage," Adam says, his long face pinched with worry.

"Perfect. Anything else I need to know before I talk?" I'm back in corporate crisis mode, something I'd thrived at in my last job. At least until the crisis involved me.

I've known Tanya for years. She was head of PR for Team Eagle, the racing outfit that Max went to after we broke up. Tanya is almost forty, and has seen a lot Formula World. So much that she seems entirely unfazed at the moment, while Adam and I are both drenched in sweat and have faces pinched with worry.

I've always admired Tayna's tough-as-nails demeanor. We're not exactly friends, but more like friendly acquaintances. I suspect this is going to change. It could go either way — we're either going to be besties at the end of this situation, or we're going to hate each other.

"Well, Max is in a bit of a state because his car engine blew up on the last lap, and he was leading the race," Adam says.

I wince. A bit of a state in Adam's dry, polite U.K. English probably means Max is irate and possibly even had a tantrum on the track. Most drivers would, from what I've seen and experienced in my years observing Formula World.

"I've never seen Max so angry." Tanya's voice is matter-of-fact.

"Ouch. How did Esteban finish?"

"Tenth," Adam says, and Tanya groans.

"It's been a shitty day," she says.

Yeesh. "So the team's already in a foul mood." I can't tell if the dismal race results are going to make it harder for me to give this announcement.

"Pretty much," Adam says.

"Does anyone know about Dad? Any rumors leak? Anyone see him taken away?"

Tanya shakes her head, her shoulder-length brown bob flipping in the wind. How does she avoid frizz in this humidity? "I don't think so. He was in the back of the garage, and Jack managed to drag him into the back room. The paramedics took him out the side door, which isn't accessible to the press or public. People probably assumed the ambulance was there for someone who had heatstroke."

My poor father. I'm about to ask if them if they'd noticed any signs of illness but we're at the garage. The golf cart stops and we all climb out. Next to the garage is one of the team's cars, a sleek black and orange open wheeled Formula World car. My father's passion and purpose.

As if on cue, the side door opens.

Jack, one of our two team engineers, fills the doorway with his large frame. He's tall and blond, his skin tanned and rough as if he spends all his time outdoors. He looks like a man who's spent a lifetime surfing, sailing, racing ... and winning races. His expression is grim, but brightens when he spots me.

"Lily!" Just when I think he's going to extend his hand to me, he folds me into a giant hug.

"Blrb," I mumble into his armpit. It's one of the many reasons I hate hugs. I'm short and always end up mashed into someone's underarm or boob area and am forced to inhale their body odor.

I wriggle out of his grip, feeling my skin crawl. It's nothing against Jack, I know he's a lovely man — I'd had dinner with him and my father when he was first hired to the team a year ago. But I simply hate hugs. They feel weird and fake and uncomfortable to me.

And after races, there's the sweat factor. All these men are covered in buckets of perspiration and now I'm immensely squicked out, right when I need to focus.

"How's Adrian?" Jack asks, oblivious to the fact that I'm practically itching from his cold, clammy odor that lingers on my skin.

"He's in surgery now. Of course before he went in, he made me promise to say a few words to the team."

I can hear the burble of voices inside the garage, various accents all mingling into one low buzz. Jack nods. "Anything you want to discuss quickly before you go in?"

"Yeah." I softly shut the door and motion for Tanya, Jack and Adam to join me in a huddle. The two men are so tall that I must straighten to my full height of five feet two inches tall, and to crane my neck just to make eye contact. Normally I'd wear heels to a meeting so important, but I hadn't anticipated any of this when I hurriedly threw on my sneakers back at my condo.

I notice Tanya's gaze lingers on Jack. I'd heard rumors years ago that they were sleeping together, but never asked anyone to confirm because it was none of my business. And at this point, I don't care about anyone's past flings. I simply need to break the bad news and we can all hope Dad recovers so I can go back to ... doing whatever it was I was doing before today.

Nothing. I'd been doing nothing for the past two months since getting fired, unless you count moping, baking, and sleeping.

"I'm taking notes," Tanya chirps, whipping a phone out of a waist pack.

"Dad asked me to be in charge of the team for the next few races." I know men's egos in this sport can be fragile, so I say this without a hint of emotion.

If Adam and Jack are shocked, they don't show it. Tanya's thumbs fly across the phone screen and after a flash, she looks up.

"When do you want to send out the news release? How many interviews do you want to do? Or should we call a news conference? I think we should hand pick a few reporters—"

I hold up my hand. "News release only. I'm in no shape to talk to the press today, or tonight. We'll deal with it tomorrow."

"But people are going to want to hear from you," she says firmly.

"I don't care. They'll get a news release. Then we'll send a second when Dad's out of surgery and then, maybe, I'll talk to a few selected journalists." I stare her down and she finally nods.

Whew. Won that battle.

"Adrian's always wanted you to join the team," Adam says softly.

"Well, he has his wish, temporarily. But this is the last thing I want to be doing right now."

"I guess he figures you have the time," Jack says.

Was that a jab? My firing from the racing game company two months ago was national news. Although harassment of women in tech had long been an issue by the time I was fired, the way I publicly brought it to light was...unusual. And, looking back on it, I'd probably been a tiny bit nasty in Tweeting my complaints and the photo of a guy who said I'd be a "good lay" during a very public conference. But I'd had enough, and I snapped.

I'm used to odd looks and pointed verbal barbs, so I merely look Jack squarely in the eye.

"I have nothing but time. Let's get this announcement over with."

The four of us march in. Jack first, then Adam, and finally Tanya and me. The thick, humid smell of sweat mixed with rubber tires hits my nostrils and I flatten my back against the far wall, behind Adam. I can see the tiny beads of sweat dotting people's foreheads and upper lips. Shirts sticking to his skin. The room is small and stuffy and I can't breathe. I want to run but I promised Dad that I'd do this for him.

A few of the guys in the garage, longtime employees of my father's, wave and smile in my direction. A chorus of murmurs ripple through the crowd, things like, why's the boss's daughter here, and where's Onassis on nearly everyone's lips. Conversation sizzles like grease in a pan, spitting and popping on the barbecue. I can't help but think of Dad. This is where he got his start, way before I was born. This is where he found the success and family that he cherished.

I peek around Adrian's shoulder, looking for one man in particular: Max.

The last time I saw him was four months ago at a party before the season start, at the team's headquarters in Connecticut. I'd made an appearance for Dad, said a polite hello to Max — who was of course chatting up a grid girl who holds the umbrella over drivers before the race — and promptly left. It was during a time when I was going through a particularly rough patch at my job, when the executives refused to take me seriously about the climate of harassment. I hadn't wanted to torture myself by watching Max flirt his way around the party.

Jack stands at the front of the room, holding his arms out and pushing the air toward the sides of the empty garage. "Make a circle, everyone, make a circle. That's it. Like we're in grade school. Spread out so we can see everyone. We've got a team announcement. Lily Onassis, Adrian's daughter, is here. Lily?"

He sweeps his arm wide, as if welcoming me into their space.

I step around Adam, nervous as all hell. My heart pounds with all the RPMs as one of my dad's cars. I scan one side of the makeshift circle, and don't spot Max's familiar face.

"Hi everyone. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Dad wanted you to hear it from me. He collapsed during the race and had to be taken to hospital. He had a heart attack, and he's fine, but he's in surgery now."

Gasps and murmurs fill the room, giving me the time to survey the other side of the circle.

There. There he is.

Standing with his back against the wall, arms folded, coolly appraising me as if he's going to critique my performance. Max Becker, golden boy with the faded gold hair. He's aged a little since I first met him seven years ago, but he's no less gorgeous. An angel and a demon all in one body, the press used to say, and I couldn't agree more.

We lock eyes for a second, and it's as if the noise, the odor, and the heat evaporate. Our entire eight-month relationship comes rushing into my mind, all the late-night conversations about our hopes and dreams, the laughter, the fierce, desperate kisses.

I shake my head and hold up a hand, tearing my gaze from Max's beautiful face.

"Please don't worry. Dad doesn't want you to be concerned. We're getting him the best care, of course, and he'll be back on his feet in no time. He also wanted me to tell you something else." I pause to lick my lips, knowing this will be the bigger shock for the team. "He asked me, well, made me promise, you know how Adrian is..." I pause to allow the guys some much-needed laughter.

"He wants me to take over for him during the next few races."

A hush descends into the room. My gaze goes to Max, like he's a magnet for my eyes. But instead of him returning my attention, he stares at the floor.

A pang of anger and hurt shoot through me. He really despises me that much. I turn toward Jack, who by now is clapping. The others join in. Even Max, after a second.

Jack rests his hand on my shoulder and I tense up, worried that a very public hug is on the horizon. "Lily and I and the executive team are going to get all the details ironed out over the next few days. For the rest of you, carry on as usual. We've got a race in Austin next Sunday, and that needs to be our priority. We're going to win for Adrian."

"That's right, stay the course. Prepare for the race, and send prayers to Dad. Thank you all," I call out. "I'll be sure to give him your regards when I see him tomorrow."

Jack and I step back and the men in the room — it's almost all men, like almost every Formula World team — break apart from the circle and talk in small groups. Some shuffle outside, probably to discuss the team's future now that I'm in charge. This, I can handle.

Max's obvious disappointment? It's a little tougher to swallow.

"That went as well as could be expected," I say to Jack.

"Absolutely." Jack's normally cheery voice is a little flat, or perhaps I'm imagining it. "Ah, I think someone wants to chat with you."

He points over my shoulder. Please don't be someone wanting to give me a hug. With a pasted-on smile, I turn.

My breath hitches. Max is standing there with a grim expression on his face. Oh, crap.