But would she?
Probably, eventually, but she’d have to live with a strange emptiness deep in her soul. She liked her work and enjoyed being good at it, but what she really wanted—what she craved—was simple: to hold Taz’s full attention, to be the focus of it. She wanted to be the one person who mattered, apart from and beyond the reputation he was rebuilding or the races he was winning.
Yes, she wanted to stay in his world, but not for the flashing cameras, the extravagant cars or clothes or red carpets. She no longer needed to prove she was worthy, to her parents or to herself. She was, simply because she was Millie. No, her motivation to stick with it was simple: she wanted to be wherever Taz was.
But Taz didn’t want what she did; he wasn’t looking for anything permanent. He liked the thrill of a lover, but that was where it ended. He couldn’t give her what she needed. Her choice was simple: She could either walk away or watch the man she was falling for, the man she loved, leave by degrees.
Either way, she’d end up alone…
‘Millie, I asked whether you wanted another drink.’
Taz’s annoyance cut through her reverie, and she jerked. ‘Uh… I’m fine, thanks.’
Taz plucked her glass from her hand and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. He raked his hand through his hair and dropped a low-pitched for-her-ears-only F-bomb.
‘Problem?’ she asked.
He sighed, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He put his back to the room, and his expression morphed from geniality to annoyance. ‘All this?’ His gesture encompassed the glittering crowd, the music and the chattering crowd. ‘It’s a waste of time. I should be at the track, preparing.’
She pulled his jacket sleeve back and squinted at his Rolex. ‘Give it another two hours and you can slip out,’ Millie told him. She saw his stubborn face and sighed. ‘You agreed to attend, Taz. Your presence and support areimportant.’
His mouth tightened. ‘The only thing that matters is what happens on the track. Winning is everything.’
He was so single-minded, and now that he could resume racing, he’d reverted to being selfish about his time. His view had narrowed, and only racing held his interest. Many people, including her, had worked overtime to make this event happen. And the charities were going to get a very healthy injection of funds into their war chest. But all the work they’d done, all the money they’d raised, meant nothing to Taz.
Had he ever seen the real value in aligning himself with the charities, beyond rehabilitating his reputation and winning the championship? Had she fooled herself into thinking he was a better man than he was?
And if he couldn’t even value this event, he certainly didn’t value her and the work she’d put in on his behalf. Everything, every atom of his being, was focused on and directed at being a four-time championship winner. There was no space in his life for her.
Millie’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart wanted to slink out of her chest. She was nothing more than a brief blip in his world of cars and fame and championship glory.
But she was too far in. She’d fallen too hard, too fast and too deep. She hadn’t quite hit rock bottom yet, but she knew when she did, it was going to hurt like hell.
Millie walked into Taz’s hotel suite ahead of him, his words reverberating through her head.Winning is everything.
Winning couldn’t be more important than human connections, friendships and relationships. Could it be the only thing that mattered? Surely not.
‘You seem distracted,’ Taz said, pulling his bowtie loose and shrugging out of his jacket.
Millie kicked off her heels, and the hem of her dress pooled on the floor. She watched him walk over to the credenza holding a variety of spirits. He lifted a crystal decanter. ‘Cognac. Do you want one?’
No. What she wanted was to understand this man. To discover what made him tick. She sat on the edge of the couch and rested her forearms on her knees. Taz walked over to the open doors leading to the balcony and infinity pool, leaned against its frame and sipped his drink. Behind him, the lights of the city twinkled with a certain smugness, confident of its place as one of the richest cities in the world.
‘Did you mean what you said earlier?’ she asked. Tension immediately slid into the muscles of his shoulders and broad back, and his stance widened. He lifted his glass to his lips, but he didn’t turn to face her.
‘Remind me…’ he murmured.
This was the emotional equivalent of being slathered in volcanic-hot wax. ‘You said that winning was everything, that nothing else mattered.’
He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. She was normally slow to anger, but his small, too-casual dismissal of her question annoyed her. Or was she really angry that, while she’d been falling for him, his priority was winning his fourth championship?
Had she seen what she wanted to see? The thought ratcheted up her temper. ‘Do you believe nothing else is important? You’ve completed your five charity events, Taz, and raised millions for various charities. You’ve made a discernible difference in people’s lives, and that’s also worth celebrating,’ she protested, desperate for his reassurance.
Was she looking for validation, for him to admit there was more to life than the De Rossi Racing team? Because if he couldn’t, then what did that mean for her? It meant she’d made no impact on his life, that she was another fleeting presence, another speed bump hampering his race to victory. She’d felt like that before—too many times to count. Her entire life, she’d battled the fear that she was unworthy of being seen or valued. She wanted to matter to him—not because of what she could do for him but because of who she was. Because she was Millie.
But how much longer could she keep hoping, keep believing that she might be the exception to his ironclad rule, when everything about him screamed that she wasn’t?
He turned around slowly and resumed his same stance, his other shoulder pressed into the wall. ‘I stand by what I said. Winning my fourth championship is all that matters, the only thing on my mind. Nothing, not my reputation or me playing ambassador for those charities or—’ he hesitated, and in her mind she filled in the missing, unspoken word. He’d been about to sayyouand pulled back.
