Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) (7 page)

“Yep,” I reply, holding out my hand. “Name’s Ace. It’s really
wonderful to meet you, Mr. Davies. I’m a big fan.”

“Well, color me honored,” he laughs, pulling me into a quick
hug. “It’s great to have you here, Ace. I’ve heard great things about you. And
your racing abilities, to be sure.”

I feel two chubby little arms close around my legs as Alfie
launches himself at me. “Well hello there, sir,” I laugh, leaning down to give
the little guy a hug in return.

“Hi Ace!” he burbles happily. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you very much. You look pretty handsome yourself,” I tell
him.

“Oh god, looks like we’ve got a ladies man on our hands
already,” Harrison laughs.

“Well, he is your son after all,” Siena ribs her husband.

“Hey, hey—I’m a
reformed
ladies man,” Harrison insists, wrapping an arm around Siena’s slender waist.

“I certainly hope that’s the case,” replies the airy voice
of Camilla Lazio as she joins the cluster of Ferrelli and McClain team members.
Her gray-streaked hair is arranged in an elegant chignon, and her silver-beaded
sheath dress is a thing of beauty. I can only hope to age as well as the
beautiful Lazio matriarch.

“Hi Mama,” Siena smiles, planting a kiss on her mother’s
cheek.

“Hello darling,” Camilla replies, smiling at the assembled
faces. “Just look at this place! You’ve done a marvelous job, as ever. The band
is a very nice touch. And you all look amazing, as always. All my little
babies, grown up at last. Well, all my babies but one. Do you know where your
brother is, Siena?”

“I’m sure he’ll be down eventually,” Siena replies. “I’m
trying to give him some space. But we have another Ferrelli driver in our
midst. Mama, this is Ainsley Vaughn. She’s the driver Enzo is going to be
mentoring this season.”

“
You’re
Ainsley Vaughn?” Camilla asks, her eyes going wide as she looks me over. A
little twinge of panic runs through me at her confused expression.

“Yep, that’s me,” I smile through my discomfort. “It’s very
nice to meet you, Mrs. Lazio. I’ve been a Ferrelli fan forever!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Vaughn,” she says, warming
to me. “I’m sorry, I’m just taken aback is all. Forgive me, but I was expecting
you to be a man!”

“Mama!” Siena laughs.

“Well, Ainsley is a boy’s name, traditionally,” Camilla
justifies herself.

“It’s true,” I reply, “Don’t worry. Every single teacher
I’ve ever had has made that same mistake. I mostly go by ‘Ace’ anyway.”

“Well. It’s wonderful to have you here, Ace,” Camilla tells
me. “We need a little more estrogen on Team Ferrelli, in my opinion.”

“Here, here!” Bex cheers, waving over a waiter who’s bearing
a tray of champagne flutes across the room. We each take up a glass of
sparkling wine, and I try to remember the last time I had a sip of champagne.
Was it really that one New Years Eve when my parents let me try a little, even
though I was too young? Man, I do need to get out more.

“To all the new talent on Team Ferrelli this year,” Siena
says, beaming around the circle. “We’re gonna have a great season!”

“Cheers!” everyone choruses, clinking the delicate flutes
together.

I tip back my glass and take a sip of the bubbly booze. Wow.
That is way more delicious than I remembered. Then again, I was barely fifteen
the last time I tried it. It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed
since then. I’d only just gotten serious about racing around that time. And
now, a decade later, here I am—rubbing elbows with F1 royalty. Not only that,
I’m an honorary member of the royal family myself. I sip happily on my
champagne, amazed at how everything has played out.

And this leg of the adventure is only just beginning.

“Come on,” Bex says, tugging on Charlie’s hand. “I want to
dance, hubby.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies, draining his champagne and
joining his wife on the dance floor.

Siena and Harrison follow suit, smiling at each other like
newlyweds, though they’ve already been married for a couple of years now, not
to mention having a kid together. They are truly an inspiration, those two. If
I ever get married, I hope to be half as happy as they seem to be as a pair.

“What do you think, Alfie?” I ask the little man standing beside
me. “Want to cut a rug?”

“Huh?” he says, cocking his head at me.

“Want to dance with me?” I clarify, offering him my hand.

“Yeah!” he cries out enthusiastically, all but dragging me
away from where Camilla stands, smiling.

“You’re a natural with him,” she winks at me, turning away
to strike up a conversation with some other team members.

I let Alfie lead the way as the soulful eight-piece band
wails into their next number, “Mustang Sally”. The little dude sure knows how
to get down. Siena and Harrison laugh out loud when they see me and Alfie
dancing together. What can I say? The kid has moves.

Little by little, the rest of the dance floor fills up.
Jeez, how many people are invited to this shindig? Despite all the fun I’m
having, my nerves start to pick up once more as I think about Siena’s impending
announcement. Better soak up these last couple hours of relative anonymity
while I can.

I stick by the handful of people I know at the party,
letting them introduce me to others, but not mentioning my place on the team.
The most incredible appetizers are passed around as we mingle, and I help
myself to the open bar, too. My favorite drink of all time is a good dirty
martini, and the bartender on hand makes an excellent one. Lucky me.

Despite the newness of my surroundings, I can feel myself
getting more and more comfortable as the night wears on. Sure, that probably
has a little something to do with the martinis, but hey—what’s wrong with a
little liquid courage?

“Having a good time so far?” Siena asks after a couple of
hours have gone by.

“A blast!” I reply happily, snagging a piece of bruschetta
from a passing tray.

“The band is about to wrap up its set,” she tells me, “The
DJ is going to start spinning next. I’m gonna let him go on for a while, then
grab the mic to thank everyone for coming. That’s when I’ll make our big
announcement!”

My stomach does an honest-to-god backflip. “Cool...” I
manage to squeak.

“Don’t worry, you’ll hardly have to say a word,” Siena
assures me. “I’ll do all the talking. I just want everyone to get a look at
this season’s lineup! Of course, I’ll have to locate my delinquent brother
before I can do that—Oh speak of the Devil! The prince has arrived.”

I spin around to follow Siena’s gaze and nearly drop my
drink as I spot Enzo Lazio at the top of the staircase. He’s wearing a
perfectly cut suit of Italian wool, wingtip shoes, and an emerald green tie.
His dark eyes survey the party, taking in the scene with satisfaction. He scans
the crowd nonchalantly, taking note of the various guests. If I didn’t know
better, I’d think he looked downright bored.

That is, until his eyes alight on me.

The whole world grinds to a halt as that bottomless gaze
lingers on my face. The blasting music cuts out, the rest of the guests fade
away, and for a moment we’re the only two people on the face of the earth. Or
at least, that’s how it feels. I gasp as Enzo lets his eyes rake down along my
body. And something tells me it isn’t my gown he’s admiring. My breath catches
in my throat, and I feel my knees turn to rubber. Siena lays a steadying hand
on my shoulder, and the spell is finally broken.

“You OK, Ace?” she asks, concern furrowing her brow.

“What? Me? Yeah! Totally,” I babble. Out of the corner of my
eye, I can see that Enzo is descending the marble staircase, headed our way. My
adolescent nerves get the better of me, and I find myself totally at a loss.
“Think I just hit this martini a little too hard. I’m gonna go get a glass of
water, OK?”

Before Siena can say a word, I’ve darted away into the crowd.
Away from my chance at meeting Enzo, at long last. I have no idea what’s gotten
into me, why I’m so terrified to meet him all of a sudden. I’m going to have to
say hello eventually, if he’s going to be my mentor this season. But eventually
doesn’t have to mean right his second. Right?

I’m suddenly distracted from my worries as I find myself an
inch away from colliding with another party guest head on. I leap back just in
time, but still manage to step on the bridge of his foot with my deadly stiletto.

“Oh god—sorry,” I say quickly, steadying myself, “Are you
OK?”

The person I’ve run into smiles down at me with an open,
friendly expression. He looks to be about my age, with light blonde hair and
clear gray eyes. His face is boyishly handsome as he gazes down at me.

“I’ll live, don’t worry,” he assures me, “I think these
shoes only cost about twenty bucks. I’m not outfitted for these fancy sorts of
parties.”

“That makes two of us,” I smile, relieved that I didn’t
break any of his toes.

“You seem to be doing pretty OK,” he observes, noticing my
fine gown. His voice is lightly accented, but I can’t say from where.

“Oh, I’m just borrowing this,” I assure him, adding in a
conspiratorial whisper, “I’m a total newbie to this kind of thing, too.”

“Glad to find another rookie!” he grins, holding out a broad
hand to shake. “I’m Nils, by the way.”

“Ainsley,” I reply, giving his hand a firm pump. I’m
surprised to find it a bit rougher than I’d imagine for someone his age. “It’s
nice to meet you, Nils. Do you mind if I ask where your accent is from?”

“Oh, I’m Swedish,” he tells me, taking a sip of champagne.
“And I’m assuming, by your own accent, that you are not Italian either?”

“Caught me,” I laugh. “I’m from America. New York City,
actually.”

“I love New York!” he says enthusiastically. “Great clubs
there, right?”

“I’m the wrong girl to ask,” I reply. “Not really into the
clubbing scene myself.”

“What scene are you into then, Ainsley?” he asks, interest
sparking in his gray eyes.

“F1 mostly,” I say, with a glance around the room. “Though
this is looking more and more like a club by the minute.”

As if on cue, the DJ starts to spin his first track. Almost
immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifts from sophisticated to sexy. Oh
boy. Siena’s bound to make her announcement any time now. I take a hearty sip
of my martini at the thought of it.

“So, do you work for one of the teams, then?” Nils asks me
over the pumping bass.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say distractedly, “I, uh, work for Ferrelli
actually.”

“Wow. That’s great!” he replies, clearly impressed. “I work
for Hendricks, one of the teams based in Sweden, myself. My older brother Sven
got me into it when I was still a kid. I was on his pit crew.”

“You
were
on his pit crew?” I ask, “Did he retire or...?”

Nils’ eyes cloud over as he replies. “Uh. No. He was pretty
seriously injured, actually.”

All at once, I put it together. “Oh my god...of course, your
brother is Sven Landers?” I ask.

“The very same,” Nils says fondly. “I’m guessing you
remember what happened to him?”

Sven Landers was one of the drivers who was seriously hurt
during the dramatic championship a couple of years ago. That was the same year
Harrison and Siena became tabloid fodder turned crowd favorites. For a few
weeks there, it didn’t seem like Sven Landers and Alexi Rostov, the second
driver involved in a terrible wreck, were going to pull through. But thanks to
an incredible team of doctors and plastic surgeons, both men came out alive, if
not whole. And the driver behind their nearly-deadly accident, Rafael Marques,
has been banned from the sport for life. Good riddance.

“How is your brother doing these days?” I ask Nils.

“Better and better,” he replies. “He’ll never race again,
which I think hurts him more than the burns ever did. But he’s still with us,
thank god.”

“Thank god indeed,” I nod.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still working in F1,
after what happened?” Nils asks me.

“No,” I say simply, “I totally get it. My parents were
killed in a car wreck when I was a teenager. Not an F1 car, but still. No one
could understand why I still loved motor sports after that. It’s hard to
explain, but I know my parents would have been devastated if I’d walked away
from it because of what happened to them. Being around cars now gives me a
sense of power. Like I’m taking something back from fate.”

“That’s exactly it,” Nils nods, “I’ve never been able to say
it better myself, but that’s exactly how it feels. Thank you, Ainsley.”

“Of course,” I smile, laying an encouraging hand on his arm.
“And you can call me Ace, if you want. All of my friends do.”

“Well Ace,” Nils goes on, setting his champagne down on a
passing tray. “I know you don’t really ‘do the whole clubbing thing’, but how
would you feel about one dance?”

Now that I think about it, losing myself on the dance floor
might be just the thing to dispel my lingering nervousness. “Sure Nils,” I say,
setting down my glass as well. “Let’s do it.”

The tall Swede leads me out into the fray. The older party
guests have all moved to quieter areas of the house, leaving the space in front
of the DJ open to us youngin’s. An awesome mashup is blasting from the speakers
as we let ourselves get swept up in the beat. I can’t remember the last time I
let loose and had fun like this, but it turns out that Nils is pretty good company.
And a good dancer, too. I lose track of how many songs roll by as we dance
side-by-side. I’m honestly a bit relieved that he doesn’t try to go all Dirty
Dancing on me. It’s nice to have found a new friend among the assorted F1 types
here tonight.

But despite the lively atmosphere and the good time we’re
having, I know that I still need to brace myself for Siena’s announcement. As a
particularly heavy beat starts pounding through the speakers, I turn to Nils
and excuse myself from the dance floor.