Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 10: Lauren (Part 1 of 2)

I'm not even back from the hotel's in-house salon for two minutes when there's a knock at my door. It turns out to be a porter with a rolling rack full of luggage.

"May I, señorita?" He motions inside with a friendly smile.

I step aside and let him make the delivery, eyeing the stuff he unloads. Celia had promised to take care of my wardrobe for the fundraiser dinner, but the Balenciaga logo on the garment bags and boxes the man is stacking on the bed means my agent not only shot for the stars, but also that she'd delivered the freaking moon.

"Gracias," I say, barely able to keep from jumping up and down before I shut the door. Running back to the bed, I unzip the topmost bag and gasp.

Bruh, I'm dead. The black, satin gown is sleeveless with a subtle boat-neck cut. The front of the full skirt is short—falling just above my knees, I'm guessing—but the hem becomes longer as it wraps around the back. At its lowest point, the shiny fabric would probably just about brush the floor, even if paired with heels.

Oh my god. Shoes!

I drop the dress on the bed and grab a shoe-sized box. Yanking off the lid so fast it falls to the floor, I find a pair of bright yellow, strappy heels. I hug them to my chest and spin around. Celia is a genius. Black and yellow are Cadmium Racing colors. She pulled off the outfit without having me look like a bumblebee.

Conscious of the time and the need to keep my fancy up-do and makeup intact, I take a super-fast shower. Afterward, I quickly touch-up both and get dressed. Besides the gown and shoes, Celia also sent a pair of matching yellow drop earrings, as well as a black and white wool jacket. Looking at the finished product in the full-length mirror, I have to admit I'm gonna slay tonight. Snapping a pic of my reflection, I send it to my agent along with an emoji blowing a kiss. Dad would probably want to see a picture too, but he can wait until the party's over. He's not used to seeing me in much else other than sweats or leathers. There's no need for him to worry about how dope his little girl looks when he's on the opposite side of the world.

My phone rings as I'm putting on the coat. "I'm heading to the elevator now," I say, seeing Nigel's name pop up on caller ID. In a few minutes, I join up with him and Nicola—the team manager in black tie and the press officer in a long-sleeved, silver cocktail dress—in the lobby.

"About damned time." Nigel sticks his hands in his pockets and nods toward the door. "Let's get going."

"Don't we need to wait for Seb?" I look around, but apart from a couple checking in at the reception desk, the modern lobby of our boutique hotel is empty.

"He's already gone ahead," Nigel says, ushering us toward the exit.

I glance over my shoulder. "Didn't you say you wanted us to all go together?"

"Did I? I don't recall, but Seb's a big boy. I'm sure he can make it there on his own."

I kind of want to ask why that assumption doesn't apply to me or Nicola, but the revolving door only has space for one person at a time. When we're all together again on the other side, there's a waiting taxi ready to take us across town, so I drop it. Whatever. It's just a car ride, and this way, at least we're not cramped with three in the back seat of this tiny, European car.

Traffic is heavy, and judging by how often Nigel checks his watch, I suspect we're going to be late. It turns out, I'm right. Only a couple of nicely dressed guests are still getting out of their cars when we get to the venue, and even inside the ballroom, almost everyone is seated.