“On schedule,” I replied, offering him a quick kiss on the cheek, “Just finalizing the catering proposals. I’ll have a brief ready for you and the board by Monday.”
“Good,” he nodded, “I’d like it if you spoke with the Stratos team before the end of the day. They’re considering doubling their donation this year. Make sure they feel taken care of.”
“Already on my list.” I turned as a familiar bark echoed through the suite.
Monty trotted over like he owned the place, his paws surprisingly quiet. His tail wagged once, then he sat right in front of me like the judgmental little prince he was.
“Hey there, handsome.” I crouched and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “You miss me, or just the air conditioning?”
Monty huffed dramatically and leaned into my hand. Typical.
“Nice to see you, too,” I muttered under my breath, then stood, smoothed my dress, and waved goodbye to my father, taking off in search of coffee and maybe a moment to breathe.
I turned the corner toward catering and nearly collided with Anna, who was balancing her phone, a clipboard, and a half-full cup of iced espresso.
“Oh!” she laughed, steadying both our drinks like a professional, “Nic, hi.”
“Hi yourself. How’s it going?” I stepped back, taking her in. Sleek ponytail, no-nonsense expression. Same Anna, always three steps ahead. She was sort of my role model at this point. Everyone in the circuit respected her, she represented two drivers, surely more soon, and she was my go-to for any help. She somehow could fix any problem at all.
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “We’re already down one intern to some flu that is going around, the sponsors are being dramatic about changing the champagne in the cool down room, and Alexander can’t decide if he wants to wear the navy or the black suit for the press event tomorrow.”
“Tell him to wear the navy,” I said instantly, “The black makes him look too polished. The navy softens him. People like approachable.”
“I knew you’d know,” she grinned, “How are you holding up? You look…glowy.”
I blinked. “Good, now that the marketing posters for the Foundation are finally up, and um glowy?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s just uh—sunscreen,” I deflected.
“Mmhm. Okay. Glowy sunscreen.” She sipped her espresso and bumped her shoulder into mine. “Look, you don’t have to say anything, but if you ever want to talk about it—whateveritis—you know where to find me.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I wasn’t ready to say anything out loud, especially not about the way Matteo made something ache deep in my chest. Or the way waking up without him beside me felt colder than it should’ve.
Instead, I said, “Thank you.”
She smiled again, a knowing one this time, and then her phone rang. “Duty calls. See you around!”
Anna disappeared down the hall in a blur of calm chaos, and I was left alone again, staring at the half-full espresso bar and wondering how the hell I was supposed to focus on event logistics when Matteo DeLuca existed in the same radius and his picture was splashed on every wall in the Moretti paddock.
I pulled in a breath, rolled my shoulders back, and reminded myself: this was just a job. Just another race weekend.
Whatever had happened in Portofino didn’t matter. It was just vacation, just to get it out of our systems.
I repeated it silently a few times, hoping it would stick.
It didn’t matter.
The sun had barely crested over the grandstands when I crossed into the Moretti paddock on race day, my badge swinging around my neck and my phone already buzzing with three new messages from catering. I sent a one-word reply before tucking it into the pocket of my tailored blazer. The familiar hum of activity in the garage filled the air.
Organized chaos, my favorite symphony.
“Hey,” Lucia’s voice pulled me from my inbox. She looked calm in a breezy linen dress, hair pulled back in a low bun, Gianna perched on her hip with a tiny pair of headphones already around her neck. She beamed with pride.
“Hi, you two,” I smiled at the pair, “I see Gia’s already ready for the chaos.”
“She insisted,” Lucia laughed, “She said she wanted to prepare to be just like the drivers.”
