“That would’ve been fun,” Ivy says, surprising me.
“You would’ve wanted to see that?” I ask.
She looks at me with a glint in her eyes. “Hell yes. I mean, no offense,” she turns to Travis and says. “I didn’t think car racing would be that enjoyable to watch, but the energy here is electrifying.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Travis retorts. “Just wait until tomorrow.”
“Though I don’t know all of the drivers, I already have an idea of who I’d put my money on.”
Travis gives her a genuine smile. “For that, I’ll forgive you for calling itcar racing.”
Ivy laughs.
I open my mouth to wish my cousin good luck tonight, but voices around the room raise as two more people enter the room.
The second guy is none other than Brazilian-English F1 driver, Max Ferreira.
“Here we fucking go,” Annalise says loud enough for all of us to hear.
Max plays up the crowd surrounding him—waving, smiling, and shaking hands—until he makes eye contact with Travis. My cousin instantly narrows his eyes. While a smile continues to play out on his face, it’s lost the joking luster it once held.
“I need a drink,” Annalise says before swiping a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
“Not too much on that,” Travis warns, his voice serious.
“Last time I checked, you aren’t my father,” she bites back. “It's half a glass, calm down.” Her eyes move over to where Max is standing. “And if you want me to keep my claws in check, you’ll lay off.”
Before Travis can respond, Max approaches our group.
“Travis,” he greets, with a smile a mile wide. “You remember my manager, Carl, right?” He introduces the man by his side.
“You mean the same Carl that tried to recruit me just six months ago?” Travis nods. “How could I forget?”
“Annalise,” Max says, going out of his way to address my cousin, who’s obviously ignoring him.
In fact, Annalise gives nothing more than a grunt in acknowledgement before telling Travis, “There’s Randy. I need to speak with him about that issue we discussed. I’ll see you later, cousin. You too, Ivy. Nice meeting you.”
She walks away without a backwards glance. Yet, when I look over at Max, his gaze is pinned on her back.
Within a beat, Travis moves in front of him, blocking off sight of his sister. “Did you need something, Max?”
Max sends him a hundred wattage smile. “I wanted to wish you luck, of course. May the best driver win.” He holds out his hand.
“It’s Vegas,” Travis says, taking a step back and widening his arms. “I own this city.”
Travis’ cockiness doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Out of the past four seasons in Vegas, he’s finished three of those races with podium positions, two of those winning the top spot.
Max chuckles before dropping his hand and walking away toward a group of people waving him over on the other side of the room.
“That was intense,” I say with a lifted eyebrow.
Travis smirks. “A little friendly rivalry. I have to go, but maybe we can connect sometime before you guys leave. Nice meeting you, Ivy,” he says in a much less flirtatious tone.
“You too,” Ivy replies. “You probably don’t need it, but good luck tonight. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“We both will.” I hold out my free hand.
Travis clasps it.
