Had some PR disaster occurred he wasn’t yet aware of? Was she putting out PR fires? Or was she ill? She’d been working long, long hours in a high stress environment. He was a demanding boss and expected results. Was she finding the work—him—overwhelming?
Taz checked his watch, shook his head and clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t find the answers to his questions here. He had a few free hours before the sponsor dinner, enough time to track Millie down and ask her directly. He barked a command at an intern, instructing him to organise a courtesy car to be waiting for him at the turnstiles.
Sliding his aviator shades onto his face, he raked a hand through his hair and strode through the exit. The roar of the gathered fans was deafening, the flashes from cameras cutting through the overcast sky. Hopefully his sunglasses masked his anxiety. He wasn’t used to worrying about anyone, ever, and he was exasperated Millie could make him feel this way.
But the world didn’t need to know any of that.
As he stepped into the parking lot, his eyebrows rose. Parked a yard away was a sleek, limited-edition Ferrari, a beast of a machine. This was his courtesy car? Nice. Not enough to lift his mood, but nice.
He took the fob the olive-skinned brunette held out to him and ignored her sexy smile.
He slid behind the wheel and ran his hands over the leather steering wheel. The interior was immaculate, the idling engine a low-throated growl as he tapped the start button. He punched the accelerator, the roar of the car rolling over the crowd. His fans bellowed their approval.
Precision and power. He might have to buy one of these for himself.
Ten minutes later, Taz pulled up in front of the boutique hotel where he and Millie were staying while in Italy. Killing the engine, he stepped out and pushed his sunglasses into his hair.
Striding up the stone steps to the small but luxurious lobby, he spotted the hotel manager. With a flick of his wrist, he slapped the key fob into the man’s hand.
‘Move this for me, will you?’
The man looked from Taz to the Ferrari parked under his portico, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. ‘Sì, signore. It will be my pleasure.’
‘I understand that Ms James has checked in. Where is she?’ he demanded, hooking the arm of his sunglasses into the V of his shirt.
‘I believe she is on the back patio.’
Taz nodded. If someone had told him, a few weeks back, that he, the team owner and its principal driver, the most essential component of De Rossi, would be chasing down one of his employees, he would’ve rolled his eyes. He’d would’ve snapped terse explanation: he was paying her salary and would demand to know why she wasn’t at the racetrack, doing her job.
Work always came first. Vesuvius could erupt, an asteroid could strike, but his team and the De Rossi brand were everyone’s number one priority.
But he knew Millie well enough, and trusted her just enough, to know she’d have a damn good reason for not being at the track. Something was wrong. He knew it like he knew his own signature.
Taz stepped onto the back patio, his eyes immediately sweeping over the space. Thick, ancient vines tossed shade over the area, shielding it from the summer sun. It was a peaceful retreat, a world away from the chaos of the racetrack. In the far corner sat a low-slung comfortable two-seater couch, paired with a sleek coffee table. Millie was curled up in the corner, her legs tucked beneath her, a laptop open on her knees.
She was absorbed, her brows drawn together in concentration, fingers poised above the keyboard. She was dressed in a pair of form-fitting hot pink tailored shorts and an oversize button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. Her hair caught the soft light filtering through the vines, and he experienced a punch of lust and a now-familiar hit of need.
He leaned against the door-frame for a moment, watching her, feeling the heat of his anxiety wrestle with something else entirely—a pull he didn’t want to acknowledge. He ignored the profound whisper ofThere she is. No, this wasn’t the time for fanciful bullshit. He needed a reset, immediately. This was about work, and her being AWOL today. When she finally noticed him, Millie would have to justify why she’d skipped work and disappeared when she was most needed.
‘Where have you been? And why aren’t you answering your phone?’
Millie’s head shot up, and her eyes widened. ‘Taz…’
He walked over to her, telling himself he had to treat her like he would any other employee. ‘Your PR position requires you to be trackside, withme. I don’t recall a clause stating that you can hang out at the hotel!’
Millie looked away and lifted her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. He frowned. There was no avoiding it: he was definitely missing something. He couldn’t remember Millie ever taking a day off and slacking on the job before. She routinely worked long hours and didn’t complain. ‘Are you sick? Do you have a migraine?’
She shook her head but kept her eyes on her screen, her bottom lip between her teeth. Concern replaced the last vestiges of irritation. ‘Millie, look at me,’ he softly commanded.
It took her a while to obey his order, and she couldn’t meet his eyes, looking at the base of his throat instead. He skimmed his eyes over her face, taking in her red, swollen eyes and her pink nose. She was either having an allergic reaction or…
‘Have you been crying?’ he asked.
Her small shrug answered that question. Taz silently cursed and rocked on his feet. He didn’t engage with people emotionally and rarely had personal conversations. He didn’t have the faintest idea how to ask her why she’d cried hard enough to leave traces of tears on her face. Her bottom lip was still wobbling, for God’s sake!
‘What’s wrong? Why the tears?’ he demanded, wincing at his too-harsh tone. He prayed she didn’t start crying again. He wasn’t a fan of emotions and didn’t know how to handle a crying woman. Normally he walked away and either left them to get on with it or…
Truthfully, there wasn’t anor. He never bothered to engage.
