Page 104 of Paparazzi Perfect
Dyson was usually the one being chased. I smirked when on the final lap, the pink Lotus surged ahead and crossed the finish line first. Grinning, I checked my watch. Time was running short for our flight home.
The mystery driver climbed from the Lotus and pulled off her helmet, shaking loose a cloud of pink hair as Dyson tore around the bend.
He crossed the line, spun the Ferrari into a dramatic set of donuts, then pulled up beside her.
Jumping out, he tugged off his helmet and dipped into an exaggerated bow. “Congratulations. You’re one hell of a driver.” He grinned. “So, what’s your name?”
“No names,” she replied with a smile. “That was the deal.”
“Then how am I meant to take you to dinner?”
She studied him for a moment. “Start with zero five and read my number plate. Then you can call me.”
Dyson frowned. “But your plate just says LOTUS.”
“You’ll figure it out.” She blew him a kiss, climbed back into the car, then sped away.
A laugh escaped him as he typed into his phone. “Okay… that’s actually brilliant.”
“Thrashed twice in one day,” I said with a smirk. “That’s gotta hurt.”
“Nah. Best loss I’ve ever had.” He grinned. “I’m definitely calling her.”
We headed back into the clubhouse, grateful for the blast of cold air. Dyson tossed me a drink from the cooler. “Do you think it’s too soon to call her?” he asked immediately.
“For normal people, yeah. For you? Probably not.”
He laughed and planted a playful kick against my thigh before we made our way to the airport. After handing over the keys at departures, we cleared security and split off toward our gates.
“See you soonish,” Dyson said, pulling me into a quick one-armed hug.
On board, I shut the suite doors behind me and let the hot shower steam the exhaustion from my body. A short while later, dressed in airline pajamas, I collapsed into the recliner and fell asleep almost instantly.
Hours later, I wandered up to the lounge bar and wrapped my hands around a fresh drink. A smile spread across my face as I took a sip.
Every second that passes takes me closer to Ivy.
27
SECOND CHANCES
GOLD COAST, AUSTRALIA
IVY
I checked my watch. For the millionth time.
Thanks to Ally, Sass’s sister, I had a video interview for a modeling position with the agency she worked at—ModelMe—and the call was scheduled for noon.
My fingers tapped against the table. It was five past twelve. I was about to check the time again when my phone launched into its disco ringtone.
Breathe.
You got this.
“Hello?” I said, trying to calm my nerves.
“Hi, Ivy.” The voice was bright and friendly. “It’s Ginger, from ModelMe.”
