Page 4 of Downforce

I look from Lucky to my brother. “You’ve got a lot more eyes on you this season.”

“These are the only eyes that matter,” he says, gazing down at Lucky. “And the other pair now sleeping in our bedroom.”

I smile at the way he refers to his wife.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis. I know you don’t like going to these things,” guilt laces his tone, “but with the season starting in just a few weeks and both Alyssia and Lucky being sick, the thought of leaving them, even for a few hours …” He trails off.

I don’t need him to finish. With his season starting in just a few weeks, as a new father and husband, he wants to soak up whatever precious time he can with his family.

Which is why I can put aside the minor discomfort I have and show up for him. Especially since his agent, Norm, can’t make it tonight either. It’s up to me to help Travis see this deal through.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got your back tonight,” I assure him. “The deal is as good as done.”

CHAPTER 2

Annalise

This can’t be happening. Of course, tonight of all nights there would be a traffic jam that caused my already delayed driver to cross into the part of the South of France, where tonight’s event is held, more than thirty minutes behind schedule.

As if that wouldn’t already cause my stickler-for-time brain to be on edge, I’m reminded that Mr. Taylor is scheduled to be at the fundraiser for a limited amount of time. According to all of the reports I’ve read on him, he’s notoriously reclusive, only making public appearances a handful of times per year.

Which makes this meeting all the more important.

To keep myself from asking the driver our ETA yet again, and to stop the spiraling thoughts that have the potential to set me off course for the night, I pull up the emails Travis’ agent has sent me regarding this meeting.

Although I’ve read these emails at least five times, each, I scan them again for any details I might’ve missed. According to Norm, Mr. Taylor will be dressed in a Phantom of the Opera themed mask. That shouldn’t be too difficult to spot.

Unless someone else also decided they wanted to play a deranged, scarred stalker who hides out in opera houses.

This thought attempts to send me down a series of what-ifs.

But I cut it off on a deep inhale and exhale. I don’t have time to spiral into what-ifs because they bring on obsessions, and obsessions bring on compulsions, and compulsions pull me away from my objective.

A few deep breaths help me to reorient, and I silently thank my medication and previous therapies for helping me better manage my OCD. I scroll through the notes on my phone to go over the questions I’ve prepared for tonight and get a quick look at the facts of the business.

It takes another twenty minutes before I arrive at the event’s location. By then, I feel well prepared, yet still flustered by my late arrival.

“Thank you,” I thank the driver for helping me out of the car. I take a moment to smooth down my dress with my hand and adjust the mask on my face. An unexpected surprise is that the mask offers a level of comfort. With three-quarters of my face hidden, I feel freer, more relaxed.

As I enter, I give a quick wave to a few drivers from both Formula 1 and Formula 2, as well as a couple of team principals and owners. I can’t identify everyone since some masks obscure faces more than others.

Though I try to brush past a few in search of Luca Taylor, I end up making small talk with some FIA staff who recognize me. Glancing over their shoulders, I do a sweep of the room, taking in the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that line either side of the ballroom, the gold trim along the walls, and stone fireplaces that bookend the room.

The low light streaming from the crystal chandeliers throw off beautiful shadows in the shape of the masks we’re all wearing.

“Annalise, is that you?” a deep male voice inquires behind me.

Despite the rush I’m in to find Mr. Taylor, I turn and smile at Drake Horner, Travis’ team principal.

“The one and only.”

“Great to see you. You remember Letty?” He gestures to his wife at his side.

“Always. How are you, Letty?” I ask with a smile.

“So good to see you.” I brace myself when she leans in for a kiss on the cheek.

I work hard to hold my smile in place and not allow my true emotions to show on my face. Even after years of work on this, I still hesitate when it comes to physical contact with people I don’t regularly interact with.