Page 101 of Hot Lap
Junior’s head snaps his way and the prat steps back. “Down, boy. We’re just having a chat.”
Reece gets between Mai and the predator. “You have no business being at this event.”
“I’m working, asshole.”
“Not here, you're not. This isn’t exactly your department is it, drone op?”
That lands, and Junior’s tight smile vanishes.
But before things escalate, the balcony door slides open, and Petra steps through. Her gaze locks on Junior. “You’re in the wrong place.”
Coy is right behind her.
Junior raises his hands. “Relax, Hayter. I’m gone.”
Coy steps forward. “Not fast enough.”
Junior looks like he’ll commit to war, then thinks better of it. Coy holds more weight than most in F1, and Baby Betterton knows it. He slinks off without another word.
The second the door shuts behind Junior, Reece curses under his breath.“Christ. What is it with this fucking night?”First Graham, now that arsehole. Why do all these men think they can treat Maiken like she's not worth basic human fucking decency?
Petra glances at her. “He touch you?”
Mai’s jaw is hard and her gaze is harder. “No, but I promised to make him regret it if he did.” She isn’t shaking, and she didn’tshrink from the threat. Maiken is a Vegas girl and the daughter of a corrections nurse. It seems she knows exactly how to handle wankers like Junior Betterton.
Reece has never wanted to kiss her more.
Instead, they rejoin the party because he has obligations. The crowd has shifted and everything feels a bit looser, probably because the drinks are stronger.
Maiken takes his arm, all confidence and control. She’s not just keeping up, she’s setting the pace.
They make the rounds.
Photos with Coy and Petra — Reece in the middle, arms draped over both shoulders, the cameras flashing like clockwork.
Then Coy steps aside and gestures to Maiken and his daughter. “Ladies, mind if we get one with you together?”
Maiken smiles and steps forward.
Petra smirks. “Guess we should give them something usable.”
They pose side by side, Maiken in black, Petra in red silk. Oil and flame. One calm as gravity, the other grinning like she’s already won.
The cameralovesthem. Phones come out. AetherX’s photographers turn their lenses. The execs lean toward each other mid-shot and whisper.
The CEO of AetherX, Daphne Browning, steps forward. The woman is a power bob over chrome heels. Her expression says she’s already drafted three different strategies while watching Maiken and Petra pose. She approaches Mai directly. “That dress.” She nods, voice low and approving. “And the whole look. Flawless and confident without apology. I like it.”
Maiken smiles. “Thank you.”
“Petra’s the face of our ‘Edge Theory’ campaign for a reason, but I think we’re overdue for a second narrative.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to Reece — not asking permission, but noting their connection — then she’s back to Maiken. “Would you be open to a conversation about editorial work? Something digital-forward. Short-form, live touchpoints. Power. Performance. Personality.” This is quintessential Daphne, thinking so fast she skips half the words.
Maiken doesn’t dive in or gush. She considers. “I’d be open to a conversation, but I won’t compromise or apologize for what I do for a living. I want that to be absolutely clear.”
Daphne’s smile sharpens. “Good. No one should ask you to. And I sure as hell won’t.” She extends a hand, and Maiken takes it without hesitation. There’s a quiet message in that moment. Nitro’s primary sponsor has chosen sides.
Pride and relief take up so much space in Reece’s chest he can hardly breathe.
