Page 26 of Burn
His gruff words make me grin. This is the Adrian Onassis I know: totally old school about racing. Although lots of us drivers use video games and simulators to practice, Adrian thinks drivers are too reliant on tech these days and don’t spend enough time in actual race cars.
“Lily’s a bit stubborn. Like her father. She might not want your help at first.”
That’s an understatement. “Okay,” I hedge.
“She’s going to need someone to bounce ideas off, and I want that person to be you. You’re the senior driver, you’ve been with three other teams, and your instincts are impeccable. I want you two to work well together, you hear? No shenanigans, no controversy. You got it?”
His eyes narrow, and I shift in my seat. Busted.
My voice dips an octave. “Absolutely. I’ll help her in any way I can.”
What am I supposed to say? No, sir, I won’t try to screw your daughter?
Lily walks back into the room, a model of efficiency with a fake, bright smile pasted on her face. Somehow she’s procured a clipboard and a pen. “Okay, we need a family meeting with the doctor. Max, could you step into the hall for a few minutes? Mum and I need to discuss a few things in private.”
I jump to my feet. “Sure, sure.”
“Max can stay, he’s like family,” Adrian protests.
“Papa,” Lily says, her tone a warning.
“See what I mean?” He looks at me. “Stubborn girl.”
Lily tilts her head to the door.
“How about I go down to the Starbucks and get you some coffee? Anyone else want anything?” I offer.
Her mother chortles. “Good god, you’ve got him trained already, Lily.”
“See? This is why she’ll be excellent for the team,” Adrian says.
“Mum. Papa. Please. We need to focus on Dr. Patel’s plan.” Lily’s voice is sharp, and she scowls in my direction. “Coffee would be amazing. Thank you. Please ignore my parents.”
I grin and walk out, humored by her words. If only Mr. and Mrs. Onassis knew what I’d be willing to do for their daughter—and if only she would let me.
Chapter Ten
LILY
The meeting with Dr. Patel goes better than expected. Because Papa’s surgery was a resounding success everyone at the hospital agrees that he should be discharged in about a week. He’ll need to rest for at least four to six weeks, and might be cleared to return to the race circuit at that point.
“We’ll have to evaluate, though. You’ll need physical therapy,” says the doctor.
“I’ll make sure he follows orders,” Mum chimes in, patting Papa’s foot. In response, he playfully scowls.
I do the math in my mind. Six weeks means four races, almost back-to-back: Austin, Las Vegas, and Montreal, one weekend after another. Then there’s a weeklong break and Mexico City. After that is Brazil. I know the schedule by heart. That’s not too bad, I guess. No major global travel to contend with. I inhale and catch a whiff of Max’s cologne that still hangs in the air.
No, the schedule is terrible. Superbad.
Dr. Patel finishes talking and says he’ll give us some time alone. When he leaves, it’s the three of us: me, Mum, and Papa. I wish I’d given in to my father and allowed Max to stay. His presence would be oddly comforting, since I anticipate this conversation to be tense. My father can be as unyielding as a boulder.
Mum and I sit on the bed, on either side of Papa.
“We have a ton of logistics to work out,” I say brightly. “Like where you’re both going to stay while he recovers, whether you’re going to New York—”
“We’re staying at your condo when he gets out of here, then we’ll decide on New York,” Mum says firmly. “You have to get to Austin, dear.”
Papa nods in agreement. As if they’re both on the same page, which is unusual. His stubbornness and Mumsy’s lack of filter has caused some pretty spicy arguments over the years. Usually this happens during times of tension, like when Papa’s team is losing, or when Mum went through perimenopause.