The host protested for a few moments before the men handed her a slip of paper and disappeared out one of the side exits.
Alex decided to see if she could get any answers. She eased up next to woman and offered her a drink.
“You look like you could use one,” Alex said. “Besides, it keeps that British guy in the back from getting another one.”
The woman offered a quick smile before holding up her hand. “We just had one of Giovani’s biggest fans cancel because he thought there was a security threat to him. Everyone has entered the metal detectors, so I don’t know why they were so paranoid. Someone told him there was a credible threat.”
Alex shrugged. “Well, that’s a shame. Mr. Giovani looks like he’d be fun to meet.”
“You interested in meeting him privately later?” the woman asked. “I do have a request for someone to meet him later on, which I’ll fulfill.”
“Sounds tempting, but I’m spoken for.”
“Oh, it’s not like that. I just thought you might want to get your picture taken with him. He’s quite the gentleman.”
Alex sighed. “Well, in that case, you don’t have to ask me twice.”
“Good,” the woman said. “Just follow me out back, and we’ll meet him in the tunnel underneath the stands.”
Alex resumed her duties and waited a few minutes to find a quiet corner to alert Hawk. “There’s been a change of plans.”
* * *
FALCON SINCLAIR followed his two bodyguards down an empty breezeway beneath the stands. The grimy dirt on top of the concrete crunched beneath his feet. While he was worried about scuffing his brown leather Kiton wingtips, he was more concerned with the idea that someone was trying to target him. For all the people he paid to owe their allegiance to Obsidian, he shivered at the idea of getting caught so close to unleashing his plan. Once everything was completed, he’d be untouchable, a fact he was banking on.
“Are you sure this was necessary?” Sinclair asked. “After all, no one has anything on me.”
“Boss, you’re the one who pays us to keep you safe,” one of the men said. “We have our sources, and if we get the feeling that something is off, we’re not going to let you walk right into it.”
“And I appreciate that,” Sinclair said. “It’s just that this seems ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who has to get your picture taken with Antonio Giovani. We can turn around now.”
“No, no,” Sinclair said. “Giovani is a master in the way he races. Whenever I get a chance to meet with a genius, I never pass it up … even if it means walking through such filth.”
“You’re the boss.”
They came around the corner, and Sinclair found himself face to face with Giovani.
Giovani offered his hand. “Mr. Sinclair, are you aware that your voice carries quite a distance under the grandstand.”
Sinclair drew back and scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I heard everything you said about me,” Giovani said as Sinclair tenuously took the driver’s right hand. “And coming from you, it’s enough to make me blush. I don’t even care if I win the race tomorrow, my week here is complete.”
“You’re too kind,” Sinclair said. “But I guess you know how I really feel.”
“I do,” Giovani said. “And it’s very flattering.”
One of the bodyguards took a picture of Sinclair and Giovani. The two men discussed the upcoming race as well as the ongoing season. Giovani then steered the conversation back toward getting an opportunity to ride in one of Sinclair’s spaceships.
As they were winding down their chat, the public relations agent approached them with another woman.
Sinclair’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute,” he said, holding up his hand.
“Take the boss,” one of the bodyguards said to his colleague. “I’ll handle this.”
The public relations agent furrowed her brow. “Is there a problem?”
Before Sinclair could answer, he was turned in the opposite direction by one of his guards and ushered away from the meeting.
“Don’t look back,” the guard said. “We need to move right now.”
* * *
ALEX WATCHED SINCLAIR hustle off under the protective wing of a bodyguard, while one of the burly men she’d seen earlier confronted her escort about bringing someone else to their get together.
Giovani took a step back, his head swiveling as if he was watching a tennis match. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“And neither do I,” Alex said. “I just wanted to get my picture taken with you and—”
“This is unacceptable,” the guard said as he stamped his foot. “Your office knows Mr. Sinclair’s protocol.”
“No one seems to be in danger here,” the woman said. “It was just a favor I was doing for a hard-working fan who spends most of her time stuck behind the scenes.”
“That doesn’t matter. This isn’t how we do things. Your boss will be hearing from Mr. Sinclair’s office.”
The guard stormed off, glancing over his shoulder several times as he sprinted down the walkway to catch up with his boss.
“What was that all about?” Alex asked. “And who was that guy?”
“That was Falcon Sinclair,” Giovani explained. “He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
The public relations agent stared at them as they walked away, a tear trickling down her face.
“Don’t worry about him,” Giovani said, putting his arm around the woman. “I’ll make sure you don't lose your job over this. That was an overreaction on Sinclair’s part and his entourage. You did nothing wrong.”
“Thank you,” she mustered between sniffles.
Giovani turned toward Alex and smiled. “Now, what about that picture, Miss—”
“Carter,” Alex said. “Bethany Carter.”
The two posed for the picture, which the woman took on Alex’s phone.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carter,” he said as Alex retrieved her phone. “And if you’re interested, there’s a private event at my hotel this evening. I’d love to see you there.”
Giovani handed her a hotel business card with a room and phone number.
“Thanks,” Alex said.
Giovani strode off, looking back over his shoulder to flash a smile and a wink at Alex. Once he
