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“Morning, boys,” she blushes and sweeps her eyes over us both.
“New haircut?” He runs a finger through Evelyn’s shoulder-length blond hair, “Bellissima.”
I smack him in the shoulder as Evelyn bats her lashes at him. “Let’s go.”
He turns back down the stairs but not before sizing up Evelyn’s ass as she continues up the stairs. “I need to get laid,” he mumbles and adjusts himself.
“What’s it been, forty-eight hours?” Dante goes through women like most people change their socks.
Not that I’m judging or suggesting that I am any better.
I’m not.
“Sixteen hours, but who’s counting? What’s happening with the hot little red-headed number?”
“Nothing. Same shit, different day.” I assume he means Nova, who the gossip magazines claim is my on-again-off-again tennis-star girlfriend who just left London. We’re only “on” when our geographic locations match up, and then it’s far from a relationship.
“It’s true what they say, yes, redheads are freaks in bed?”
“More like batshit crazy, in this case.” Dante laughs and makes an assortment of lewd gestures like the crass asshole he is.
Nova’s Russian and likes it about as cold and ruthless as I do. Serves us both well until she inevitably goes off the deep end.
We hit the main floor and open up the stairwell door at the far end of the building lobby. Sunlight beams in from the wall of windows, and I squint at the brightness. Tall potted plants and trees stand between trophy cases that line the massive open-air lobby.
Imperium is relatively new in Formula 1. It hasn't been around since the 1950s, like some of the original teams, but we’ve done well regardless. They’re all about young drivers, innovative tech, cutting edge design. We tend to attract the younger generation of fans. Our merchandise is all bright green and matte black. It brings in the high energy, extreme sports crowds.
“Now that’s an ass,” Dante stops. He looks down a hallway to our right and holds up his fingers in a square as if he’s taking a photo.
I look up, and my breath escapes me. I feel organs shutting down.
Emily is standing at the end of the hallway facing away from us and staring out a glass exit door. Her long brown hair is almost to her waist, which is wrapped in a grey asymmetrical skirt. She’s shifting from foot to foot on heels that accentuate her naked, toned calves. She runs her hands down her sides and over her pretty clothes.
She’s nervous.
“Ask the gods, and you shall receive,” Dante makes the sign of the cross over his heart and looks to the ceiling before he takes a step toward Emily in the hallway.
I put a hand on his shoulder and fist his shirt, “No.” I drag us a step back behind a giant palm tree as Dante twists his face up like I’ve gone mad.
“I saw her first. What do you say in America, shotgun?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I push him back into the wall and keep watching Emily between the palm leaves.
“That’s her,” I growl while holding Dante against the wall, my eyes never leaving Emily, who continues to fidget and look at her watch.
“Her? Ohhhh,” it finally dawns on Dante. “That was today.”
I nod.
What the hell is she doing? I check my watch, it’s almost 9:15, and she’s on the ground floor hiding in a hallway. Of course, I’m hiding in a goddamn palm tree like a pussy, so this is a fine predicament.
Fuck that.
I step out from behind the palm tree, put my hands into my pockets, and stroll to the entry of the hallway she’s in. Dante follows and stands silent next to me as we watch Emily from twenty feet away.
As if she can feel my eyes boring into her, like she also feels this electric wire connecting us, she stops fidgeting and slowly turns her head.
That’s right, baby, you feel me here?
