A guy in a beige suit, his sandy blond hair nearly the same shade, stopped beside me with a wide grin. “I’m Ethan.”
The name tugged at something faintly familiar. Dad or Asher must’ve mentioned it, though his face didn’t ring a bell.
“Brooks,” he added, like it should mean something.
“Kaia Demeri,” I said cautiously.
His brows lifted, almost imperceptibly. Realization flickered—he knew whose daughter I was. His glance darted toward Dad just as he left Sharon’s side and strode over.
“Mr. Demeri,” Ethan said smoothly, “you have a beautiful daughter.”
I forced back a snort. Of course he’d say that to suck up to my father. Too bad Dad cared so little about me that calling me beautiful didn’t win anyone points. It didn’t with me, either. Compliments from strange men only made me uneasy.
Dad laughed. “I sure do. Ethan is one of our racers,” he told me. “Come on, Kaia, the photographer’s here.”
So, he was Asher’s teammate. The only racer Ash had mentioned acted like an ass at his birthday party. If this was him, I had even fewer reasons to trust him. I edged back, widening the space between us.
Ethan nodded at my father, then let his gaze slide over me. It stalled at my neckline, and the wrong kind of shivers crawled over my skin. “See you later.”
More like, never. Dean had already taught me enough about being cornered. The memory still made me sick.
Dad took me by the elbow and steered me toward a red backdrop with the team’s logo. A curly-haired photographer chatted with Sharon, who smiled politely while glancing at the door, phone clutched in hand.
“He had only one job,” Dad muttered, flicking a look her way. I opened my mouth to defend Asher, but a commotion cut me off.
Alejandro entered first with Dawson, hands flying as he told a story. Both wore slate-gray suits and looked sharp, but my eyes locked on the man behind them.
A thrill ran through me as Asher crossed the hall. His black suit fit like it had been made for him, crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of sun-kissed skin. Dark hair combed to the side, he drew every eye in the room—and mine most of all.
He reached us. “Russell. Mom. Sorry for the delay. We had an issue with Javi’s suit.”
Not a glance at me. His eyes stayed on our parents, as if I weren’t there. As if last night’s kisses hadn’t happened. An ache swelled in my chest. My fingers locked around my purse until my knuckles ached. No—he wouldn’t. That wasn’t him.
“It’s all good now,” Javi said behind me. “Hi, Kaia.” Unlike his friend, he had no trouble acknowledging me.
I managed a thin smile. “Hi.”
“Kaia, Asher, come here.” Dad motioned toward the photographer.
I stood by Sharon. Asher took his place beside me, and when Dad stepped in too, the photographer raised his camera.
“Smile,” he called.
I fixed my eyes on the black lens as the shutter clicked again and again.
Pretending had become second nature, but I’d be surprised if disappointment hadn’t seeped into my expression. When the photos ended, we moved to a table near the stage. Javi sat with us while Alejandro and Dawson joined three men at the next table.
Asher slid into the chair beside Sharon.
“You should’ve made sure to be here on time,” she whispered, probably thinking nobody heard. But I did—and so did Javi, who rolled his eyes. When our gazes met, he winked, his smile warm and easy.
Dad walked to the stage as the lights dimmed. He tapped the microphone, beaming at the guests.
I didn’t get his smiles anymore. All I got were scowls, because I wasn’t someone he cared to impress.
I tried to focus on his speech but drifted. Minutes later, applause rippled through the hall.
“To Forward Racing and future victories!” Dad declared.
