“You will fit in very well in the Monaco office.”
“Excuse me? Monaco?”
CHAPTER 13
Travis
“I’m not riding in the same car as him,” I tell my teammate, Skyland Grant, barely keeping from glaring at Max.
With two hours before the start of our first race here in Melbourne, the last person I want to sit next to and play nice with is Max Ferreira.
“Looks like it’s me and you, Skyland.” Max claps Skyland on the shoulder while his own teammate from Krämer Racing laughs with a couple of other guys.
“No problem with that,” Skyland replies. “Glad there’s no hard feelings after last year’s little mistake.”
Max snorts. “I never said that.”
I barely glance his way as I remember the accident Skyland caused at last year’s Las Vegas Grand Prix that completely took Max out of contention for podium in that race.
“I’m just a guy who understands the meaning of good sportsmanship.”
An image of me punching the sideways grin off of his face passes through my mind.
“Fuck off,” I tell Ferreira.
His grin wavers but he holds it in place. “That wasn’t very kind, was it?”
“You’ll see how kind I am when I leave you in my slipstream in a couple of hours. Think of it as a present.”
“Confident this year, huh?”
“I’m always confident.” I leave themotherfuckeroff of the end of the sentence only because we’re among other drivers.
Within minutes the parade starts, and various drivers are paired off in tiny cars to drive around the track waving to spectators.
The parade is a chance for all of us to clown around a bit, rev up the crowd, and of course an opportunity for sponsors to show off a little more. I wave and smile just like every other driver during this time, but not once do I stop thinking about the upcoming race.
I utilize the additional drive around to make note of the track, each curve, noting where I would brake in my race car, where I would hit the throttle, and so on.
By the time the parade ends, and Skyland and I make it back to our Amato Racing garage to suit up for the race, I’m mentally ready for the next two hours. And for the first time in a race ever, I slip my hand into the right pocket of my suit, feeling the picture that I now keep there.
It’s the ultrasound image Dr. Slosher gave me after our first visit.
“How’re you feeling?” Annalise comes up behind me.
“Flat out,” I reply, to which my sister frowns.
“Strategy,” she replies.
“That too. But I’m winning this race,” I tell her. “Did you take care of everything?” I ask, changing the subject.
“This is what you want to talk about before your first race?”
“Did you?” I ask.
“Of course.” She sighs. “Éléanor’s confirmed that your mystery woman has accepted the position.”
“And the apartment?”
