30. Silverstone, England

30

Silverstone, England

“Will, we need to go over your itinerary for the break,” Violet said as she strode along at his side. The Lennox paddock was packed, and that was probably mostly because of him. Reporters, sponsors, wealthy fans, and patrons … the interest in Lennox was at a fever pitch as he racked up the wins. While it was gratifying, theirs wasn’t the attention he wanted right now.

Violet was still talking. “I know you’ve got a lot of time booked with Velocity, but there are other sponsors asking for time as well, so it would be helpful to know what your other plans are.”

He stopped and faced her. “What other plans?”

Violet shrugged. “Just wondering. If you’d … made plans. With anyone.”

Will scowled and looked back at his mobile. Plans? Right now he’d be happy if he could just get Mira to answer his text. They saw each other plenty of times during the day but always as coworkers, never as … whatever they were to each other. At this rate, he’d be sneaking into her hotel room after midnight. Again.

“No plans,” he snapped.

“So I can book the other sponsors?”

Will let out an annoyed huff. “Sure. Yes, book away.”

“Okay, great. Now, about your parents. Shall we clear out the VIP lounge, or do you want to have them to your motor home?”

“My parents?”

“They’re coming today.” Violet glanced at her phone. “In ten minutes, actually.”

Will stopped walking, dropping his head back and groaning. “That’s today?”

“You said—”

“I’m sure I did. I just forgot.”

“It’s race day. It’s Silverstone .”

“I know .” How could he forget? The Formula One circuit was on British soil, racing at Silverstone, which was like the home field for Lennox. His sister had told him she was dragging their parents here. It had just slipped his mind. Maybe on purpose.

“Oh, look, here comes Mira,” Violet chirped. “She’s sure to make you less grumpy.”

Will’s eyes snapped up and there she was, picking her way through the crowds, ever-present notepad clutched in her hands, her credentials swinging between her breasts. A few nights ago, when he’d stripped her clothes off, he’d left those credentials on and wrapped her lanyard around his fist as he’d—

“Hey,” she said when she reached them.

It took a herculean effort to school his face into disinterestedness. All he wanted to do was smile at her and say something to make her laugh, or maybe back her against the nearest motor home and kiss her senseless. But Violet’s voice was too bright and singsong to be believed. She could sense that something had changed between them, despite their best attempts to give nothing away.

“What’s up?” he asked, looking not at her, but at a spot over her right shoulder.

“The guy from Rally Fuel was hoping to get a word with Simone, but she’s tied up in the press pen. Do you have a minute for him, Violet?”

“Sure. If you can wrangle Will’s parents for me.”

Mira looked at him in surprise. “Your parents are coming today?”

He shrugged. “I forgot.”

“Okay, I’m going to go steer the Rally guy toward hospitality. Mira, here are the passes to the VIP lounge for Will’s family. I’ll send a photographer around to his motor home later to get some family shots.”

“No photographers,” Will said quickly. “My mother … she doesn’t like being part of this racing stuff.”

“Why not?” Mira asked.

“She’s okay with being in the press for one of her charity events, but sport isn’t her thing.”

Mira’s tone turned sharp. “Not even when her son is on track to win the world championship? Not even when he’s about to sign the most lucrative sponsorship deal in the sport’s history?”

Her offense on his behalf was sweet. And now he wanted to touch her again, but not with Violet here and photographers everywhere. He probably shouldn’t even be spending this long talking to her. “Not even then.”

Mira’s eyes went soft. “I’m sorry, Will.”

Violet’s interested gaze was ping-ponging back and forth between them. Will cleared his throat and glanced away.

Violet gave a disappointed sigh. They weren’t fooling her at all. “Okay, have a good drive today, Will.”

“Thanks, Vi.”

He and Mira stood side by side in silence, watching her go.

“Hi,” he finally murmured, giving her the smallest smile he could manage.

“Hi.” She kept her own face blank, but her lips were twitching, her dimples appearing and disappearing. He wanted to reach out and trace one, or take her hand, or touch her hair, but that was all off-limits. There were eyes everywhere and it always seemed like every move he made was being noted by someone with a camera. The ubiquitous press—the other reason they were still hiding this thing. After Brody, Mira’s involvement with another driver would send them all into overdrive. And with him? The Once and Future King of the Party Boys? They’d never let it go.

“So your parents are coming.”

“My whole family, actually. The entire executive suite of Hawley and Sons Bank.”

Mira blinked. “You have brothers and sisters?”

Had he really never mentioned Jem and Ed to her? Maybe if they spent time together outside of bed, it might have come up. “One of each. Jemima and Edward.”

“And they both work for the bank?

“Everybody but me. Understand now? This trip was my sister’s idea. Jem’s been trying to patch things up between me and my parents. I think it’s hopeless.”

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the din of the crowd. “There he is! Will!”

He scanned the crowd and spotted his sister standing on tiptoe, waving an arm over her head to signal to him. His mother, right beside her, was whispering something to her rather forcefully, probably another admonition that drawing attention to herself was unseemly. Jem was, as always, flatly ignoring her.

Philomena Hawley, in a pink suit and a pearl necklace, looked completely out of place on the racetrack. His father was no better. Only Edward Geoffrey Arthur Hawley III would show up at a Formula One race in a Savile Row gray flannel suit. At least Ed had left the suit and tie at home today. And Jem looked like another species entirely in her bright floral dress.

He waved to Jem. “You’re about to meet them all,” he muttered to Mira. “God help you.”

When they reached him, he leaned in to kiss his mother’s smooth, powdered cheek, careful to not actually touch her. She hated that. “Mum, Dad.”

“Hi, Will.” Jem swung an arm around his shoulders and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek.

He hugged his sister tightly. “You look great, Jem.”

“William, you’re looking well,” his father said. The words were friendly enough, but the tone wasn’t, and neither was his disapproving perusal of Will’s blue race suit, covered in sponsor logos. He reached out for a perfunctory handshake, as second nature to him as breathing. His father’s handshakes were so regulated that you could almost set a stopwatch by them. Always precisely the same grip, precisely the same two seconds before release.

Ed reached around their mother to shake his hand. “Will, you’re looking bloody fantastic this season. Congrats.”

“Clarissa and the girls couldn’t come?” Ed’s wife, Clarissa, was pretty humorless and uptight. Missing a visit with her wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but he was genuinely sorry to miss Ed’s two little girls, Sarah and Molly. He adored them, sticky fingers and all.

“Moll’s got the flu and Clarissa’s worried they’re both contagious. She sends her love.”

“Who’s your friend?” Jem asked, eyes raking over Mira with interest. Jem would be worse than a dog with a bone if she sensed he was involved with Mira. Which meant he had to play it cool.

“Oh, um, this is Miranda, the team principal’s assistant.”

At the wall of blank stares, he elaborated slightly. “The principal is like the CEO of Lennox Motorsport.”

His parents nodded in vague understanding. He’d only been racing professionally since he was a teenager. You’d think at some point they’d have bothered to learn something about it.

“Well,” Mira said brightly. “I’m just here to hand off your VIP passes. Someone will come over to Will’s motor home before the race starts to escort you to the VIP suite.”

“Thank you, dear,” his mother said perfunctorily, an endearment she used when she didn’t know someone’s name and didn’t care to learn. The moment he’d uttered the word “assistant,” his mother had erased Mira from her consciousness, relegating her to the category where waitstaff and cleaning people existed. This was about as bad as a first meeting with his family could go.

He could see from Mira’s expression that she felt the sting of that dismissal and he itched with frustration. He wanted to introduce her properly, but if he did, he’d be outing their relationship in a pretty public way, and she was the one who didn’t want that.

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” she said. “Enjoy the race.”

She was being the brisk professional she was with everyone in the paddock, and he didn’t like it. But it was too late, because she’d already turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Up until today, he’d been okay with keeping them under wraps. There was a lot on the line for both of them. If they were going to crash and burn, better to do it out of the public eye. But he wasn’t comfortable with hiding anymore. If Jem knew they were dating, she’d go mad. She’d love Mira. Mira would love Jem. Ed would have a field day relaying all the details to Clarissa. If they went public, they could both stop lying to Violet. Paul Wentworth wouldn’t send his daughter on fruitless cockblocking missions.

Did all this mean he was ready for more with her, whatever that meant? He didn’t know, but one thing was certain, he wasn’t going to figure it out in a bunch of late-night hotel hookups, no matter how fun they were. He needed more time with her. He wanted more time. That alone told him plenty. He’d never wanted more with anyone.

“Will?” Jem said quietly. “Is everything okay?”

He smiled at his sister. “Yeah, everything is fine. Come this way, guys.”

As they made their way through the low-key chaos of the race paddock, his mother was making that face of hers, and Will could feel himself already getting defensive.

“She’s been in a mood since we left London,” Jem muttered, falling into step beside him. “Spoiling for a row, if you ask me. So don’t give her one.”

“Why do you think I would, Jem?”

“Because I see that look on your face, baby brother. Watch it, mate.”

“I’ll be fine. She’s the one who needs to watch it. Her and Dad both.”

He ushered all of them up the steps and into his motor home, where his parents glanced around in confusion.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked almost desperately. “Ed? Jem?”

“A beer would be brilliant,” Ed said.

“Have you got something fizzy?” Jem peered over his shoulder as he opened the fridge.

“Is champagne fizzy enough for you?”

“Ooh, champagne is perfect !” He passed her a bottle of Mo?t, a sponsor gift.

“Jemima, it’s not even lunch time,” his mother admonished.

“That’s why I’m drinking champagne , Mum. Much more appropriate for brunch than whiskey, don’t you think?”

Will snorted in laughter and his father scowled at him. “Mum, Dad, anything?”

“No, thank you,” his mother huffed, answering for the both of them.

“This is rather posh, Will,” Jem said, running her fingers over a glossy wood table. “Quite a step up from last year.” Jem and Ed had come to watch him drive in a few of his Formula E races, but not his parents. Not after that fight three years ago.

“This is just a Lennox perk, and only for the European races. Not complaining though. It’s nice to have some privacy on the track.”

“Do you live in here, then?” his mother asked, askance.

“Of course not, Mum. My hotel suite is in Buckingham. I’ve also got my flat in London, but I’m not there much during the season. I stay in hotels on the road.”

His mother shook her head. “Still living out of a suitcase, like some refugee, at your age.”

“Mum—” Jem sighed, but Will cut her off before she could continue.

“I’m not living out of a suitcase, Mum. I’m traveling for my work , which is racing.”

“Mum,” Ed interjected, “Will’s one of the best drivers in the world. Have you picked up a bloody paper this season?”

“This is sport . This is not a proper job,” his father growled.

Will’s temper, only barely tamped down, flared up like dry tinder. “ This is a multibillion-pound industry.” He pointed to a stack of promotional material Velocity had just sent over. “I’m about to sign one of the largest sponsorship deals in Formula One history. I’d think even you’d be able to appreciate the money involved, Dad.”

Unfortunately, the infamous shirtless black-and-white Velocity ad lay on top of the pile. Not showcasing him at his most professional, but Will was past the point of caring. Mira was right—that sponsorship deal was huge, and he was the one making it happen. That was nothing to be ashamed of.

His mother glanced at the Velocity ad and slammed her eyes shut. “Good heavens, it’s that horrid photo. I can’t believe you’re proud of that.”

“Nine generations of Hawleys have handled the finances of some of the finest families in England,” his father said in that stupid House of Lords voice of his. “All the way back to King George the Third. But that legacy wasn’t enough for you. You had to throw it all away for this. Your name in all the scandal rags, taking your shirt off like a Page Six whore, and using our good family name to sell trainers .”

“Those ads are going to fund an entire season’s research and development and help pay the salaries of four hundred employees. Yes, I am proud of that. And when I’m not selling trainers for Velocity, I’ll be behind the wheel of the most technically advanced car on the planet, driving it better than anyone alive. It’s not bloody Hawley and Sons banking for fossilized British families, but I’ll be damned if I apologize for it. Not to you or anybody else.”

“Hey—” Jem reached out to touch his arm but he yanked it away.

“Sorry, Jem. I know you meant well, but this was always going to be a disaster. Look, I’ve got a race,” he said, heading toward the door. “I know that means bugger-all to you two, but it’s important to me and every other hardworking person out there, so I don’t have time for your fucking judgment.”

“Will—” Jem tried again, but he was already out the door.