Redline | L.Norris

twenty

The final week of summer break brought Isla back to the outskirts of Salzburg, not for racing, but for the part of the job she liked least. The Sponsorship Gala. Hosted each year, the event was a polished, high-profile affair designed to keep the money flowing and the brands happy. It had the glitz of Monaco but none of the heart. Just flashes, speeches, and too many men in expensive suits who believed their checkbook entitled them to something more.

Isla stood in front of the hotel mirror, adjusting the thin strap of her black dress for what felt like the hundredth time. It was sleek, tailored, and approved by the Red Bull PR team weeks ago. She looked like someone who belonged at an event like this. But her stomach churned as she checked her reflection again. The smoky eye makeup made her look older. Sharper. Not like herself.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, scrolling through the last message from Lando.

You've got this. Deep breath. Don't let them get in your head.

She stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the reply button. Then she locked the screen and set the phone down.

There was a knock at the adjoining door between her room and Max's. She opened it to find him already suited up—dark navy tux, hair still a little damp from the shower. Of course, he looked relaxed. This sort of event didn't faze Max. He was used to it. Had grown up alongside this world just like she had.

"Wow," he said, giving her a once-over and a low whistle. "You clean up alright."

Isla rolled her eyes but smirked. "You look like you're about to give a TED talk on how to drink champagne."

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe. "Kelly's already downstairs. She's on some mission to find gluten-free canapés before the sponsors get to them."

"Touché," she muttered.

But then he sobered slightly, his expression softening as he studied her face. "You okay going alone?"

She shrugged, keeping her voice light. "It's fine. It's not like I don't know everyone there."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Her gaze flickered to the floor. She didn't answer.

Max didn't push. He just exhaled and said, "I'll keep an eye out for you, yeah? If you need to disappear, signal me. One long stare and a raised eyebrow."

"I already do that to you every day," she replied dryly.

He grinned, then knocked gently on the doorframe before turning to leave. "That's my girl. See you down there."

By the time she stepped into the grand ballroom, Isla had her face on. The practiced smile. The confident posture. The carefully measured energy that let people think she was perfectly at ease.

The venue was massive, glass chandeliers glittering overhead, ambient lighting shifting gently across the walls in Red Bull's signature colors. There were cameras, waiters with trays of wine, and a sea of people in gowns and tuxedos making idle conversation over the hum of classical music.

Max was already in the center of it all, Kelly on his arm like she'd stepped out of a Vogue cover shoot. He caught Isla's eye from across the room and gave her a small nod, subtle, reassuring. She returned it and moved toward the edge of the crowd.

The hardest part wasn't the questions or the forced conversations. It was the touches. The well-meaning, casual gestures. A hand on her back to guide her through the crowd. A brief touch on her shoulder from someone trying to get her attention. The closeness of unfamiliar bodies pressing in too tight.