Free Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) by Colleen Masters

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