Page 70 of Fast & Reckless
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—theotherreason 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 herrather 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 sorryto 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.
