Page 17 of On The Edge

And when the time is right, I’ll . . . I’ll take control. Live my life. How I truly want to.

My radar detector begins to beep, and I let up on the gas completely before I get caught. No doubt going one hundred miles per hour on a straight road in Podunk, Texas would land me in jail.

And I don’t want to miss my flight.

Don’t want to piss off Genesee and risk this deal. Because this is the deal I want. This is the deal I pushed for, pushed Lennox to chase.

This will be my ultimate legacy. My name everywhere. My likeness ingrained in day-to-day culture.

An ultimate fuck you to my father.

An unending homage to the only man I aim to make proud—el patriarca.

CHAPTER SIX

Maddix

“Where in the world is all this money coming from to buy all this?” my dad asks as he flattens the shopping bags to keep them for whatever he thinks he’ll need them for but will never use. Much like the flattened wrapping paper my mom keeps from years past—just in case. “Nordstrom, huh?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Fancy.”

Not fancy. In fact, I feel like an imposter with all these new clothes. I guarantee that Cruz Navarro’s woman wouldn’t be caught dead in a Nordstrom store—too mainstream, too mass market—but on a moment’s notice and with a new company credit card, the five outfits I bought are the best I could do.

“Just mix and match them with your usual stuff,” my mom says as she smiles from the doorway, arms crossed, not having a clue about the world I’m stepping into other than having to travel abroad for work. “This is all so exciting. You getting to traipse around working with a real-life race car driver.”

Traipse and working. Yes, well . . . clearly she’s bought the lie, and she’s the first person who normally can see right through me. Just because this might work doesn’t mean my conscience over lying is any cleaner.

My internal debate over telling them was endless. But considering my mom can’t keep a secret to save her life and the fact that my dad would repeatedly tell me how I’m out of my damn mind for agreeing to do this—I chose not to.

When a man’s motto in life is an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, there is no way in hell he’ll even remotely understand his daughter faking a relationship to the world for money.

Besides, telling them the truth would jeopardize the lies I had to tell Michael. And Michael . . . there isn’t a vindictive bone in his body, but then again, I’ve never seen him dumped and then replaced rapidly by another, very famous man.

Do you hear yourself, Maddix? How ridiculous this sounds? Fake dating, a famous man, a vindictive ex, and everything in between? What next? You’re going to be in tabloids in Europe?

Oh God.

I am, aren’t I?

“What’s that look on your face for?” my dad asks, bringing my head back into the here and now. It shocks me out of my sudden—and seemingly recurring—panic.

“I’m pinching myself that this is real. That I’m getting the chance to do this—travel, assist Cruz. I mean . . . all of this is so sudden,” I say as I open my carry-on and double-check that I have my power adapters and charging cords for all of my devices.

“It is, but it’s also so very exciting. Now don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll come by and water your flowers. I’ll make sure your mail is picked up. I’ll just take care of everything,” my mom says. Not like it’s a hardship considering I live in a cottage-like granny flat about a football field length away from their main house on this big plot of land. Property that has been passed down from generation to generation outside of Austin.

Sure my place is older and it’s near my parents, but the rent is cheap and when you’re saving up to buy a house—or move to New York City someday—you suck it up and pretend like living near your parents is no big deal.

“Thank you. But . . . I probably would have killed them anyway.”

“Shush. I’ll tend to them.” She stares at me as her eyes well with pride. “I can’t wait to tell everyone that my baby is a bigwig now.”

My dad rolls his eyes behind her back, and I fight back a smile as he clears his throat loudly. His way of saying, let’s get the show on the road before she starts blubbering.

“Mom, I’m twenty-four. I’m not a baby. And I’m far from a bigwig.”

“I still don’t understand why you had to break things off with Michael,” she says and then holds her hands up. “Not that I’m one to meddle with your affairs.”

Remember that in the coming weeks. Pretty please.

I sigh. “I know you guys like him, but . . . we weren’t going anywhere and thought this might be the best time for a clean break.”