Page 18 of Burn
“Obviously,” she snaps, pushing her plate away. “Listen, I’m sorry. It’s been a long and emotional day, and I apologize for bringing any of this up. I’m going upstairs to call the hospital and crash. I appreciate you ordering food for me, I was famished. And, like I said, we’ll get to the bottom of what happened with the car, I promise.”
She slides out of her seat and parts the cabana curtain.
“Lily—” I jump up to follow her. “Wait, I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to.” She gives a little dismissive shake of her head, but I’m not going to let her stroll out of here alone. Not when there might be reporters, zealous fans, or worse. You never know.
By the time she’s finished her sentence, I’m already dropping a couple hundred dollars on the table and standing up. “C’mon.”
The voices in the poolside lounge melt into an indistinct murmur. Everyone is watching us. I’m obviously the most recognized driver in the sport, and by now, word about Lily’s father has probably spread over the news and racing blogs.
Out of sheer protective instinct, I put my hand on the small of her back as we walk past the pool, past the DJ, past the palm trees. Her gaze slides to me for a millisecond, but she doesn’t pull away or say anything. She knows not to make a scene, as do I.
The fronds of the palm trees sway in the slight breeze, a perfect scene for a perfect Miami evening. The pale blue lights from the pool reflect off the tiles, and quiet laughter spills from the cabanas. I try and focus on all those things instead of how warm her back is under my hand. How the only thing separating my hand from her bare skin is a thin piece of fabric.
I open the door for her and we walk into the lobby, where we’re ambushed by three men with cameras. “How’s your father, Lily?” a reporter shouts.
Oh fuck.
We keep moving, toward the elevator. I know not to even look into the paparazzi’s eyes, but Lily shoots them a glare as they shout questions.
“Dammit, I should’ve gone to my condo,” she mutters to me.
“There’s still time. I can call you a car.”
She shakes her head and tries to march to the elevator, but the reporters are relentless.
“Ms. Onassis, can you talk about your father? How’s he doing?” A skinny guy shoves a phone in her face.
“Is it true that you’re going to be in charge of the team now?” Multiple flashes from a camera ignite, almost blinding me.
“Are you trying to make a statement about women in Formula World?”
She mutters to me, “How did they get in here, anyway? Doesn’t this hotel have security?”
“Good question,” I shoot back. Usually hotels keep the press away from us. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past someone on a competing team who was here having cocktails spotting us and sneaking in a reporter or two to try to make Team Onassis look bad. Shenanigans like that happen all the time.
Another reporter steps into my path. “Will you tweet about every incident of sexual harassment that you encounter?”
Lily’s eyes turn hard and glassy. I need to get her out of this situation immediately, because she hates this. I do as well, but media attention always seemed to wound her. It was one of the reasons she gave when she broke up with me. That she didn’t want to live under a microscope.
“What’s it like having your former lover as your employee?”
At that question, she turns and glares. I haven’t been around Lily much in the past seven years, but I know her well enough to understand when she’s had enough.
“No comment,” she says in a loud, clipped tone.
The press goes wild, snapping photos and shouting even more questions. I wrap my hand around her upper arm and tug her toward the elevators. By now, hotel security has materialized, attempting to get between us and the reporters.
This only results in a crush of bodies, as these things often do. I wrap my arm around Lily and fold her into my body as we make our way through the throng. One of the security guards presses the button for the elevator and another clears the way as the doors slide open. We hustle in.
“Penthouse,” she says in a curt tone, and I jab the button. It’s the same floor that I’m on, where all the suites are located.
The press gets a real treat for a few seconds before the door closes. Lily swears under her breath and as I turn my head I get a whiff of her vanilla-scented shampoo.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Stay calm.”
My arm’s around Lily’s shoulders, and she’s tight and intimate next to my body. I won’t lie; it feels incredible to have her nearby.