For once, the streets are quiet.

There's the distant buzz of city traffic, but mostly all is quiet and calm here near the water where the race is about to begin.

The billionaires have the cops tied around their finger so tightly, it's a wonder there are still any left to fight crime in the city.

If the police would put as much energy into stopping the bad guys as they do in shutting down the streets of NYC for this race, then we'd all be a lot better off.

I don't know why I’m criticizing them, though. I live for this scene. Racing through the streets of an otherwise busy city gives me a rush like none other. Even though it's not me in the driver's seat, it's my technology that makes these cars go fast.

And when I'm not testing out my improvements, I'm happy to be on the side-lines witnessing my creation. It's a gift to be able to see my plans move forward into action.

As much as this race thrills me, there's always one person I'm trying to beat, and that's Braden. He's the winner nearly all the time, and that sheer fact annoys the fuck out of me.

I'm better than him. My car should go faster.

Half the time, I blame my driver. Half the time, I blame myself for not keeping up with Braden's secret technology. I wonder what he's gonna bring tonight?

This is uncommon territory for me, though. I've been at so many races, and yet none like this. I've never been here when there was a shred of hope that Braden would notice me.

Needless to say, most of the other people who have money and a monetary stake in this thing are wondering the same thing. And all the socialites are here, hoping they'll be the lucky one to score Braden for the night.

This is the kind of drama I need to separate myself from. I need to keep my head in the game and remember that I'm making money off of this, nothing more.

Any business in the world would hire me for my pure ingenious strategies when it comes to making cars go fast. But I'd rather be here. And that says a lot.

Braden Masterson drives up. My heart sinks a little as I remember what he did to me the other night. He left me hanging in the ballroom and I still don't know what to think about that.

Am I just wanted as his little whore? Another person in a sea of women who have their eye on Braden? Or do I mean something more to him?

It's dangerous territory to think you could ever be something real to Braden, and I don't plan on going there so easily.

He stares at me through the windshield of his car as he pulls up. For a moment, our eyes lock. There's an unspoken connection already.

He and I both know what happened, but only he knows what it meant to him. And that's what I'm dying to find out.

I look away and tend to my driver. I'm making sure he knows the ins and outs of what I've done to this car to make it as fast as fucking possible.

The race is about to start, and Braden tosses me an arrogant smile and a wave as he peels out of his spot. Something about the way he did that is different from the last time. I can't put my finger on it, but I know something is different with his car.

I watch the race from my favorite position, on the side-line by the water. The cars jet past several times, and with every turn, I can tell that something is off about the propulsion of Braden's car. It doesn't sound normal.

Now I'm surer than ever that he's upgraded his technology. I start to take serious notes about the thrust timing versus that of the NOS and the flame injection. I have a gut feeling those aren’t just for show.

He could be way out at the beginning of the first part of the race, but then, as things progress, Braden keeps his distance in the middle of the pack.

I know this is intentional. He's not fooling me. I know he has a secret plan for winning this race. There's something different about his car and he's gonna show it off at the end.

I scribble furious notes on my pad about what's going on so that I don't forget. I'm gonna get to the bottom of what Braden's done to his car.

With every pass, I get a little deeper handle on what his car's doing. And then at the very end of the race, he comes tearing around the corner and I see that his propulsion is definitely different.

It's like a jet coming around. I don't know how he’s even able to take that sharp turn.

He screeches across the finish line and I'm not surprised in the least.

Everyone else is shocked and they take it as a major turn of events. They saw him hanging back and they took that as evidence. He played them all.

But, to me, it's so obvious. He had that race in the bag from the beginning.

Braden wins, and I can only imagine how much cash comes into his pocket with that. People are congratulating him and they're getting ready to attend the usual gala, which is basically an upscale excuse for rich people to hobnob with each other and to congratulate themselves on running this town.

I, however, am deep into my notebook. I can see by the light of the full moon what I've written down. To my surprise, my pad is just covered with the words thrust, ejection, hard and fast, over and over on the page.

God, was that what was I thinking about?

Maybe Braden's car and his technology reflect his personality. All of these words describe him, and when I think of that, my stomach clenches in an aching kind of yearning for him.

I try to push those thoughts out of my mind and re-establish my resolve for staying away from him. It's not a good move to enmesh your personal and professional life.

I turn my head to the crowd and see him walking towards me. I quickly stuff my notebook into my purse and try to find my backbone, to fortify my resolve to say no to him.

He walks up to me ever so confidently. So fucking Braden. Has he ever had a day in his life where he questioned himself?

He strides over like he has a right to the roadway as he approaches me.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and intense, and I melt from the mere sound of his voice.

So much for resolve. I'm putty.

He pulls my chin up so I'm forced to meet his eyes. He comes tantalizingly close to kissing me. My mind goes blank.

What was I thinking before this?

No fucking clue.

The world dissolves into a blur. All I see is Braden, his crystal clear eyes peering into my soul.

I try to pull away. As much as I fantasize about this, I'm not ready. He's too intense.

But my current reality is just me and him. Time stops, and I see only him. I want only him.

I forget the world and that I'm among competing co-workers, including the racer that Braden just beat. My racer.

He's so close, I can smell the musk of his cologne. A pure, primal adrenaline rush rocket through me just from being around him.

It's far more intense than even what goes down on this makeshift racetrack. It's more intense than the buzz of billionaires around me—the money, the parties, the glitz, and the glam. Braden adds up to so much more than all of it because he's deep and he's real.

I think he's gonna kiss me. I'm waiting for him to kiss me, seeing that he's already so close. But again, he taunts me.

He pulls away enough to whisper.

"Meet me at the restaurant called Bailey's in an hour."

I look into his blue eyes that are suddenly ocean deep and I nearly melt.

But I collect myself enough to muster a reply.

"I can't go. I don't have anywhere near enough time to get ready for a place that fancy."

That’s quite true. I'm dressed head to toe in my leather gear. I would look like an oddball at the upscale, members-only place he plans to take me.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll have a limo sent to you with a fantastic dress inside."

Is he for real? Wow. He really is a control freak. Does he want to dress me now?

"Besides," he says, "I like the smell of the race on you."

He walks away, and I'm left in a kind of stunned daze. Where does my moral obligation go when I'm around him? Why can I keep it together for one goddamn second?

I snap back to reality and see that my entire crew is staring at me. Gaping, really.

I know what must be going through their minds. They think I've sold out. They think I'm Braden's latest toy.

Well, he may have some kind of power over me that even I don't understand, but I certainly don't intend to be one of his many escorts.

I attempt to cover up the interaction by telling my crew, "There's more to racing than what you guys see. He’s up to something. I'm gonna get to the bottom of whatever Braden's hiding in that car to make it go so fast."

They appear to take me at my word, even if they don't really believe it. They know I'm honest, and they know I don't mess around with racers. But at the same time, they know what they saw.

Fuck. I may have to cover this up big time.

Dating a racer, especially Braden, is not a good look for me in front my team.

But it won’t stop me from meeting him.

I sulk and contemplate what the fuck I’m doing as I wait for his limo.