“Ah,” I reply. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’m also not sure I want to ask.
“Now that we’re together,” he continues, “we can tell your dad there is no need for competition anymore.”
I’m so glad I was right about him. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders to not have to compete against my childhood friend for control of my family legacy. Together, we can run the company side by side. I didn’t realize that was a dream of mine, and yet, now that I’ve thought about it, I want to realize that dream of taking over with my husband as my partner. And if my husband just happens to be my best friend I have no sexual feelings for, so be it.
“Yes.” I smile brightly at him. I hated competing against him. It made me feel awful, and I had no idea why my dad would do that. Why he would put us up against each other? But now I know. It was so we could find our way to each other.
“I’m so glad you agree, Adrienne.”
“Of course,” I reply. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He smiles sheepishly. “I have to admit I wasn’t so sure you’d give up DHR without a fight.”
“Why would I give it up?” I ask and he shoots me a look like he’s talking to a child.
“Well, I’ll run the company, obviously,” he says, and it feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured over my head.
“And what will I be doing?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to know—really, I don’t—but it’s like watching a train derail. You can’t not look.
“Planning a wedding eventually,” he replies with a shrug like he couldn’t care less. “Having babies. I don’t know.”
“Planning a wedding?” I repeat slowly. “Having babies?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you don’t think I should continue to work for DHR?” I ask cautiously.
“No.” He laughs like I’ve said something funny. “Why would you?”
“Because I’ve been racing my entire life?”
“Well, there’s no need to anymore,” he says. “Besides, we can’t both be the top racer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t have you beat me,” he answers like it’s the obvious response. I still have no idea why.
“Why not?” I ask with wide eyes, dropping my fork onto my plate with a clatter.
“Smile, Adrienne,” he says through gritted teeth in a sham of a smile. I see the camera flashes out the corner of my eye. Crap, I had forgotten they were still there, and they seem to be eating this date up with a spoon. So I smile sweetly at him and pick up my fork again. I push the lettuce around my plate and even fork up bites to my mouth even though I’m no longer hungry. He clearly wants me to put on a good show for the press, and that’s fine with me.
“Why not?” I repeat my earlier question, this time with a fake smile plastered on my face.
“Because it would look bad if my girlfriend beat me on the track,” he says like I’m an idiot. I barely keep from rolling my eyes.
“I didn’t realize your ego was so fragile,” I mutter under my breath, but he appears to have heard it.
“It’s all about image, Addie. You know that better than anyone else.” His tone is gentle and placating. At least he knows he’s irritated me.
“Look,” I say, trying to return his olive branch. “This is one date. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I think we should continue to compete, and we’ll see where things go after the season.” Which, hopefully, is nowhere, because I’m not sure I like the idea of throwing my career that I’ve worked so hard for away on a whim, but I don’t need to announce that to him over fish.
“You can’t be serious,” he prompts.
“Well why not?”
“There is no sense in you racing this season if you’re only going to retire with your dad at the end of it,” he bites out.
“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” I explain. “I have no intention of retiring any time soon.”
