Page 81 of Full Throttle

“I didn’t know you were such a chef, Hastings,” Anthony said. He draped an arm around the back of her chair, and she hid a grimace. “The food is delicious. You ought to make a career of it.”

Dominic’s eyes darkened. “I prefer to dabble.”

“Always nice to have a backup.”

Dominic smiled. “Shame your mother didn’t feel the same way about condoms.”

“Dominic,” Vance said.

“Sorry,” Dominic said, with no feeling. “Can you pass the pepper?”

He pushed around his peas. He still hadn’t met her gaze; she was starting to feel that she could jump on a table and perform a three-part Shakespeare play and he wouldn’t take notice. Anthony held up a hand.

“It’s all right, Vance. Just a bit of friendly ribbing between drivers.”

Vance leaned forward. “Anthony’s been having some marvelous drives. The team couldn’t be more pleased with his performance.”

Anthony adjusted his napkin. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Nonsense,” Vance said. “You’re spectacular out there.”

“It’s down to the car.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Vance said. “You’re one hell of a driver.” He turned to his son. “Dominic is talented too, of course, but it’s wasted on a midfield team. And there’s no shame in quitting. I have a friend in television who would be delighted to take him on as a commentator.”

Dominic took a large bite of chicken. Juliette’s grip tightened on her knife.

“He’s too talented to quit,” she said.

Vance raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Dominic,” Juliette said. “He’s a racer. He always will be.”

She wasn’t sure who was most astonished by her outburst: Vance, Dominic, or herself. Her heart was beating fast. But to sit here at this table…to watch Vance talk about his only son as if he were some sort of spare part…

She couldn’t do it.

And, heaven help her, Juliette found herself continuing. “Dominic has good instincts, and he’s fast. Especially for a driver in a midfield car.”

“Well,” Vance said. “He’s having a tough season.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Vance’s eyes narrowed. “He’s had several crashes. And only one podium.”

Juliette glanced at Dominic. “You were close in Monaco. You almost overtook me.”

“Well,” Vance said, “that’s not saying much.”

Juliette ripped into the bread roll. She thought about the time that Cap had hidden a spider in her shoe. She’d retaliated by scattering his dirty boxers across the lawn before he brought his first girlfriend around, and her brother had never done it again. Politeness, Juliette often found, was vastly overrated.

But some part of her had hoped…

She glanced over at Dominic. But he was staring at his potatoes, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Juliette’s heart sunk. He doesn’t owe you anything. She gripped the bread roll. You’re not even friends. And his father is the most powerful man in the sport; of course Hastings doesn’t want to cross him.

She ought to let it go. Then she looked at Vance, who was calmly flagging the waiter down for a dessert menu, and something in her hardened. So he was paying for the wine. Fine. Did that really give him the right to sit here and disparage her career?

Juliette set down her bread roll. “That’s not saying much because I’m a woman. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”