Page 28 of Burn
There’s no escaping them because we’re standing on a sidewalk, with a busy street between us and the car. Clusters of people are stopped nearby and on the other side of the road, taking pictures and video of the unfolding scene. They probably came to see their sick loved ones, but we’re now the main attraction. This is a moment for TikTok, Instagram, the world.
The reporters don’t care that people are watching. They shout question after question at us. The noise is so loud I can barely hear anything, and blood whooshes in my ears, making me unsteady on my feet.
“The driver’s pulling the vehicle around,” one of the bodyguards says to Max.
His gaze rakes over the assembled press. It’s obvious he’s not thrilled with this situation, and neither am I. My heart rate is spiking, my palms are sweaty, and I suspect all the photos and videos will show me looking dazed, if not outright fugly, wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
We’re barraged with questions, and at first Max and I both stay silent. After thirty seconds of total pandemonium, I snap.
“Okay, okay. If you all shut up, I’ll give you a statement.” I hold up my hand.
Max looks uncharacteristically startled. When we were together I never said anything to the media, and in fact went out of my way to avoid them by using disguises and fake names. There’s none of that now, though. Not while I’m running a Formula World team with the universe’s most popular driver on the roster. It’s time to woman up.
“Stand back. Give us room.” I’m trying to channel my inner crisis mode. It’s so much easier when I’m doing this for someone else.
The reporters back off about six inches, and I scan their sweaty faces. Tanya would probably want me to read from a prepared statement, but there’s no time for that so I must improvise. “My father had a heart attack at the track yesterday. He underwent surgery and is now recovering well. Because it was a major operation, he’ll need to undergo physical therapy and requires some time away from the team. I’ll be taking his place running Team Onassis, and will be heading to Austin this afternoon. I can take a couple of questions, but we’ve got to make this quick.”
“Lily. Lily!” It’s Gordon, the Sky News beat reporter who does the on-track interviews. He waves his pen in my face, which makes me want to grab it and snap it in two.
“Yes, Gordon?” I’m dipping into a well of patience that I never knew I had. The reporters step closer, and a claustrophobic panic wells inside of me. It goes along with the hugging thing—I despise strange people in my space.
“Why are you the one to take over the team? Why not Jack or one of the other team principals?”
It’s a fair question. “My father trusts me. I grew up around Formula World and am intimately familiar with my father’s wishes. The team is an excellent group of professionals and I’m there to help manage things and cheer them on until my father is back in top shape. And he will be back, so don’t get any ideas that this is permanent. One more question.”
I point to a woman whose voice is barely audible above the other reporters’ shouts. “Yes, you. Where are you from?”
“Lyn Eckfeldt fromAutoweek. Ms. Onassis, will your prior relationship with Max Becker pose any problems when you assume your father’s duties as team owner? How does that square with your crusade at your former employer to root out sexual harassment?”
I should’ve known this question was coming. I lick my lips, hating myself for hesitating. What I want to do is snarl and say it’s no one’s business what happened between Max and me all those years ago. But that would fan the flames, so I smile.
As I’m about to answer, Max steps forward, but I gently touch his arm and speak. “Max and I are great friends, and he’s simply a brilliant driver. I’m sure we’ll work well together. Isn’t that right, Max?”
He flashes a rare grin for the media. “Lily’s experience in the corporate world and her knowledge of the sport means she’s as qualified as anyone to run a Formula World team. I’m thrilled to be her driver, and she will do an excellent job. We only focus on the present, because the only thing that’s important is winning in Austin, and Montreal, and the championship.”
“The car’s here,” one of the bodyguards shouts. He holds his beefy arms in aTso Max and I can walk through the swarm of media. They shout questions as we hustle into the waiting car, and I only exhale when we’re well away from the hospital and on the road.
I stare out the window, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. My plan for the summer was to get my head on straight. Look for a new job. Try to regain my equilibrium and dignity after being fired.
“You did great,” Max says in a voice reserved for upset children and feral kittens.
I turn to look at him. His eyes are soft, and I swear they’re something resembling tender. “Thanks. It doesn’t get any easier, dealing with them.”
“I was pretty impressed. You’d have never acted that calmly seven years ago.”
“I’ve learned a lot.” My statement hangs in the air as we stare at each other. Learned how to tamp down my emotions, learned to ignore my instincts and operate on autopilot.
The driver’s voice interrupts our conversation but not our eye contact. “Ms. Onassis, are we going straight to the executive airport?”
“I’d like to stop at my condo downtown. Thank you.” I give the address without tearing my eyes away from Max’s. “I appreciate you answering that question for the media back there, the one about us.”
“No need to thank me.”
We smile at each other, and the temperature in the limo rises about fifty degrees. I should stop staring into Max’s eyes. Should stop remembering what it was like to kiss him. Shouldn’t recall how it felt when he held me. But I can’t, and it’s making all the dopamine and serotonin in my brain ping around. I almost feel high, and yeah, a little happy under these messed-up circumstances.
“Your father asked me to help you, and that’s what I was doing. Simple as that.”
He breaks our eye contact and turns to look out his window. That’s when my heart fractures a bit. He wasn’t doing that out of kindness, wasn’t coming to my rescue with the press out of anything but obligation.