Meanwhile, near the marble staircase leading to the prep area, Eric, who was trailing behind Frederick, suddenly paused, thinking he saw a familiar figure. Regaining his composure, he quickly caught up. “Sir, I think I just saw your wife.”
Frederick replied without looking back, “I’d suggest finding an exorcist if you’re seeing ghosts.”
Eric froze. …That really looked like her, he thought, mentally going over what he’d just seen. Sure, it was a bit far, and he hadn’t gotten a clear look, but the silhouette looked strikingly similar to her.
But then he reconsidered. There’s no way. Leah was the quintessential L.A. socialite — refined, graceful, poised. She wouldn’t be caught dead at a raucous racing event, let alone in the racers’ prep area.
Must be exhaustion, he concluded. It’d been
