“Hmm,” Cal’s brow lowers, and he’s looking at his damn phone again. “That’s getting it in under the wire.”
“I swear, MacCallam, if you could detach from social media for five minutes—”
“You wouldn’t know what the hell you were up to,” he finishes, turning the oversized titanium phone to me. “I guess this means I’m captain of your pit crew.”
CROWN PRINCE TO RACE IN GRAND PRIX is blasted big as the screen. Ava does a little gasp. My jaw tightens and fury burns in my chest. “How the fuck did they get that already?”
Ava’s voice is soft in my ear, and I don’t miss the tremor there. “I thought you couldn’t race anymore?”
I made the decision this morning in the high of learning our tech deal had gone through. The entry forms come every year like clockwork, and for the last six years, I’ve simply thrown them away. Not this year. I held them until today, the absolute last day to throw my hat in the ring.
“I only decided this morning.”
The muscle in my brother’s jaw moves. “We’ve got to find that fucking rat at Occitan. In the meantime, are you serious about this?”
“I was this morning. Obviously, I haven’t discussed it with anyone.”
“But you returned the forms.”
“I want a place in qualifications.”
Cal laughs and braces my shoulder. “Mother is going to have a shit fit, and I can’t wait. You’re bound to win it this time.”
“We’ll see.” I’m smiling, though. He’s right, and it is so good. “I’ve clocked my best times these last two practice sessions.”
“I was there.” His response boosts my mood. I’m lucky to have him on my team.
When I look back at Ava, she’s watching me, her green eyes round with worry. I pull her close and give her a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll be okay.”
My hand slides over the curve of her ass to her lower back, and I lean forward to kiss her lips briefly. Cal’s ordering champagne, and I notice a throat clearing somewhat obviously behind us.
Glancing up, I meet olive drab. “Felicity!” Stepping forward, I shake her hand firmly. “Good to see you, old chap!”
“Rowan!” She laughs loudly, moving her eyes and head over her shoulder. “You do always have the queerist greetings.”
Frowning, I look behind her to see, of all people, Lara Westingroot. Straightening, I move Ava to the side from where she was pretty much sitting on my lap. I’m not hiding her—I still hold her hand, lacing our fingers. I’m only more formal now.
“Miss Westingroot, how are you?” I do a slight nod.
“Rowan.” Lara moves in too close and touches my hand. “You should know we don’t have to be so formal now.”
My shoulders tense as Ava leaves me to stand beside Cal at the bar. Shit.
“Are you in good health?” I ask.
Lara laughs and blinks up at me. Is she attempting to flirt? “As good as can be expected with this latest news.”
“Damn tabloids,” I grumble. “I hadn’t told anyone when they smeared it all over the Internet.”
“At least she’s very beautiful.” Lara glances at Ava in an obviously appraising manner. “For a commoner, of course. But honestly, another American? Surely you could find a conquest from among our own ranks.”
For a moment, I’m confused. “I’m sorry, I thought you were talking about the race.”
“I’m talking about this person you’ve taken up with as of late.” Criticism is in her tone, and it sets my jaw. Miss Westingroot will not appraise my behavior if she knows whats best for her.
“I enjoy Ava’s company. She’s fresh and interesting.”
“Fresh and interesting? What’s that supposed to mean?”