A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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LILY
When we board our flight to Austin, I immediately claim a table, declaring the need to spread out in the back of the jet. Seeing Max sprawled on my sofa, looking cozy with a plate of cookies and a carton of milk, inspired dangerous thoughts in my mind.
When we met, I figured we'd grow old together. Go on vacations and do laundry and fight over why he didn't put down the toilet seat. But in the end, I couldn't handle his lifestyle — the Formula World lifestyle — and I left him, figuring that we'd have been the perfect couple in another lifetime.
And now, here I am, on the Team Onassis plane, living the Formula World life, with Max next to me. Only in a far different capacity than I ever imagined.
He starts to take the seat across the table from me. That's something I always loved about him — that he seems to fit in anywhere with just a rakish smile. He never seems awkward or ill at ease, whereas I'm a bundle of anxiety.
"Swamped with work," I say, covering the table with my laptop, notebooks, pens and almost the entire contents of my purse. I wave my hand over all my stuff.
He surveys the table with a scowl, probably because he's an orderly kind of guy. I used to gently tease him about this, back when we were together, about him being a stereotypically orderly German.
"Orderly desk, orderly mind," he'd say, and glare at my mess. Exactly what he's doing now.
"Guess I'll leave you alone," he murmurs. He's holding a little paper bag filled with my cookies. He insisted on bringing them with us. What a weirdo. As one of the richest men in the world, we could've stopped at any number of gourmet bakeries in Miami, but he wants those lumps of chocolate chunk cookies.
He turns and takes a seat closer to the cockpit, with his back to me. Thank God. A reprieve from his intense, sexy self. It's only now that I can exhale.
It's not like I'm lying about the amount of work I have. I do have a ton of things to do, mostly emails to various team principals. Others are personal, like to the concierge in my condo building. I plead with her to water my plants and clean out my fridge, and fortunately, she immediately responds and says yes. Mom can't be trusted with the plants.
We take off, and the flight attendant comes to me first.
"Coffee. An entire carafe, please." I say, pressing my hands together in a pleading gesture. The attendant, a beautiful brunette who doesn't look a day over twenty-two, nods and gives me a tight, professional smile.
"How about I put a shot or two of espresso in the coffee as well?" She raises an eyebrow.
"You're a goddess. Thank you."
She then makes her way to Max, and I peek over my laptop screen and watch their interaction. A pang of shame mixed with jealousy shoots through me. Why I'm torturing myself like this is a mystery.
