Page 147 of Downforce

You are going to marry me one day.

I clear my throat and peel my gaze away from the key pendant around her neck, noting the way it glistens even in the low lighting of my living room.

“We both know that’s not the case,” I answer. “Even before this began,” I wave a hand between the two of us, “before we began, I saw how serious you were during race weekends. How tightly you kept Travis on schedule and how well you networked among sponsors and Amato staff. It wasn’t difficult to pick up how serious you were about the job.”

She pauses, the tip of her spoon in the gelato while she stares at me.

“It’s also wasn’t difficult to see that you’re destined for something else.”

That shakes her out of her little stupor.

Annalise shakes her head. “Being serious about my job doesn’t mean I’m meant for something else.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” I’d tried to keep the underlying impatience that bordered on anger out of my tone, but by the way she cocks her head to the side, I suspect I failed.

I’m fine with that since I’ve had an urge to get this off of my chest for some time now.

“You don’t want to be an assistant. You’re good at it because you’re good at everything you do. You want more, but for reasons you won’t admit to yourself you’re frightened of going after what you really want.”

She sits up, which pretty much tells me I’ve managed to piss her off.

“And what is it that you think I want?”

“To be an agent.”

“How would you know⁠—”

“You rattle off racing stats better than any commentator out there. You analyze racing strategy almost as well as me or your brother, and you scan news articles reading about the latest deal an athlete has signed like it’s your job.”

“Being an agent takes more than that and you know it.” She places the gelato, spoon still sticking up in it, on the coffee table, and begins pacing the hardwood floors. “I can’t snap my fingers and have what it takes to be an agent. There are credentials that are needed, and probably stronger connections than I have.”

I snort, which makes her glare at me.

“You’re the sister of the reigning world champion,” I say, flatly.

And the soon-to-be wife of the next one.

I keep that last part to myself.

“You have the connections, Annalise. And I know damn well you could pass any certification test in your sleep.”

“So what? You’re saying I lack ambition? That I don’t want more for myself? Or maybe I am more like your mother? A princess that wants to be on the arm of the driver than to stand on her own two feet?”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it,” she throws back at me.

“Perhaps ambition should be made of sterner stuff.” The comment crosses my lips before I can stop it. In the time it takes for me to close my eyes to silently curse myself and then open them again, Annalise is across the room and at the door.

I have just enough time to slap my palm against it, sealing the door shut.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” she says, not looking at me.

“No.” I shake my head. There’s no way in hell I’m about to let her walk away.

“Move,” she seethes.