Page 97 of Downforce

I doubt my mother will show up again tonight, but in case she does, I don’t want to see her or the posh friends she’ll have with her. I think about giving Edwin a call to meet up with him and our other friends, but I dismiss that thought almost as soon as it arises.

The last place I want to be right now is on a yacht, partying with God knows who until all hours of the morning. I glance up at the sky, seeing the stars that start to show their beauty, and decide it’s probably best to head back home for the night.

CHAPTER 27

Annalise

I pace back and forth on the roof of my apartment building, thumbnail in between my teeth while my tablet rests along my right forearm. I came up here to complete a few work tasks before going down to spend my evening with Chloe.

This is the third time I’m going over my weekend’s to-do list.

There’re too many details I want to pin down tonight before leaving work for tomorrow.

I’ve met with Norm, who’s in town for the weekend, and we’ve discussed two major brand deals that Travis already has in the works. He’s introduced him to a few other, smaller brands who may be interested, and we’ve gone through the contract for Liam and Randy’s lifestyle brand to get Travis’ approval before he signs.

That was all between shuffling my brother from one sports journalist to another over the past few days. The thrill of race weekend hums in the air. While there’s always an electrifying energy in the air at every race, there’s something special about the Monaco Grand Prix.

Not only does it kick off the season’s European tour, but the already glamorous lifestyle of the country ratchets up an exponential amount, bringing in some of the world’s most elusive and wealthy names.

I also consider that Travis crashed in last year’s race, leaving him unable to finish, and I know he feels the added pressure to perform better this season. Mysteriously, that thought leads me to think about Max.

Traitorous thoughts run through my mind. A smile I don’t fully consent to makes its way to my mouth as an image of Max crossing the finish line, the checkered flag waving in his first place finish. It’s a horrible thought because I should want the champion of this weekend’s race to be my brother.

Yet, Max’s track record in Monaco comes to mind. He’s never won a Grand Prix here or any other of the European races. He tends to drift at this part of the season. I always chalked it up to his partying reputation—the fact that he cared more about late nights with nameless and faceless groupies than actually focusing enough to win. But the more I’ve gotten to know him, that version I once held of Max in my head doesn’t stand up to reality.

I shake my head and close my eyes, willing myself to refocus on the work I came up to the roof to do.

“Chloe’s waiting for me,” I whisper to myself with my eyes closed.

But when I open my eyes, he’s standing there.

My eyes widen, and for a split second I think I must’ve conjured up an even more realistic version of Max than the one that was already in my head. It’s not until a muscle in his jaw twitches that I realize he’s not a figment of my imagination.

He’s the real thing, standing in front of me. Fisted hands at his sides, dark jeans covering his long legs, a short-sleeve polo that shows the veins of his forearms. A light breeze offers me the scent of the cedarwood with a hint of black current cologne he wears. There’s a tug at that place inside of my chest, directly behind my ribs.

It reminds me of the longing I’ve felt over the past couple of days. It whispers in my ear that I’ve missed this scent.

No, not the scent. The man wearing it.

“Hey,” I say above a whisper. It’s a greeting and question at the same time.

It asks what are you doing here?

“I went out for a walk,” he says as if answering my unspoken question.

I look him over again, noting the baseball cap on his head and summarize that he’s wearing it low to disguise himself against the onslaught of fans and onlookers who’d be clamoring for his autograph or a picture with him if they found Max Ferreira wandering the streets alone.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I blurt out, realizing the type of danger he could’ve put himself in. “Wandering out by yourself,” I say when he raises a curiosity filled eyebrow. “You could get hurt.”

It sounds a bit silly as the words come out of my mouth but I won’t take them back. Nor will I acknowledge how suspiciously close my comments sound to what Max had told me that night in Japan as he pulled me out of that park.

I may refuse to acknowledge the comparison but the knowing smirk playing on Max’s lips says it all.

“Are you concerned about me, princess?”

His question is full of the typical smugness I’d come to associate with Max over the years, but there’s an underlying tone that calls out to me even more. Intrigue? Wonder? Curiosity?

I can’t put my finger on it.