Page 148 of Full Throttle

“Here. Take it.”

She extended the file. Juliette frowned.

“What is it?”

Ranya smiled, but there was something sad about it. “Open it on the plane. And just remember…it’s your decision.”

Chapter 47

Winning Is Easy

Dominic slumped back, staring at the pile of cardboard boxes. There were more than he’d anticipated. Boxes of old cameras and plastic medals, comic books and model cars…He’d even taken several frying pans from the kitchen. Nothing his father would miss, but things that reminded him of making Sunday morning omelets with his mother.

He wiped his hands on his trousers.

Strange, Dominic thought, that his childhood could be confined to seven cardboard boxes. Even weirder to think there was no trace of him in this house now. Vance had painted over the height marks on the walls, and his father preferred expensive oil paintings to family photographs.

As far as anyone was concerned, Dominic Hastings had never existed in this Parisian flat. He might as well be a ghost.

The front door opened.

Dominic stiffened. The cleaners weren’t scheduled for today. Which meant it could only be one person.

Vance Hastings paused in the doorway. His father wore smart trousers and a polo top, a bag of golf clubs slung over his shoulder. A stack of papers and a fizzy drink balanced precariously in the other arm.

Dominic straightened. “You’re home early.”

“We only played nine holes.” His father surveyed the boxes. “Is this all of it?”

“Yeah.” Dominic dug in his pocket. “Here. You can have this.”

Vance looked at the extended key. Something odd flickered across his father’s face. “Before you go…” He set down the clubs. “We’re dropping Sinclair from the team next year.”

Dominic paused. “Oh.”

“He’s caused too many incidents. The team feels it would be inappropriate to keep him at this stage.”

“I see,” Dominic said slowly, although he didn’t. Why was Vance telling him this? Did his father blame him for Anthony’s outbursts?

Vance shifted. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Right.” Dominic rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. For once, any pithy remark escaped him, so he settled for changing the subject. “I meant to ask. Do you still have Mum’s old photographs? The ones you took down?”

Vance shook his head. “I gave them to a gallery. I’ve had a few places inquire over the years, but I never found a suitable home. Until now.”

“Oh.” Dominic paused. “I thought…”

Something flickered across Vance’s face. “You thought I shoved them in the loft.”

Actually, Dominic had assumed his father had tossed the photographs in the trash, although it didn’t seem kind to say so. “Something like that.”

Vance’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t blame you.” His father pulled a cloth from his pocket, and surprise flickered through Dom. Was Vance…nervous? “Look, I haven’t always been a good father. I pushed you too hard as a child. And recently…” He mopped at his forehead. “Do you know why I asked you to leave Duro Stallion?”

His racing statistics. The number of cars he’d crashed. Not that Dominic thought about it much. Just every goddamn day of his life. “You told me that Sinclair was the better racer.”

“I lied,” Vance said.

A beat passed. His father pocketed the cloth.