“Iknow.”
“Julien dragged that car to the podium, braking problems and all. I’m sure you could’ve learned to work with it if you listened to him.”
Damn right.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it,Tio.”
Adam looks up, over at Julien. “So, what do you say? Would you be interested in joining the Red Boar family?”
“Um…”
Julien has never pictured himself climbing the Red Boar ladder. Sure, Fritz seems happy enough, now that he's winning, but the entire company gives off a brutish vibe that isn’t exactly welcoming.
And what would the end game be? Stealing the seat out from under Sam? The guy is frustrating sometimes, but not enough for Julien to eagerly await his downfall.
“Can I think about it?”
Neither Adam nor Rafael answers. They stare at him with similar confused expressions.
Right, well, of course most drivers would want to be placed at the front of the grid—at either of the top two teams. Without an open seat at Ferraro, Julien’s best bet to win races would be at Red Boar.
Still, something is just so irksome about the company.
Julien smiles to ease the tension, but he’s probably just making it worse. “Or, um, can we set up a meeting with my manager? I have a couple of other offers on the table.”
Adam’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Offers that would rival a Red Boar seat?”
Yeah, that sounds ridiculous. “I just don’t want anything to be overlooked.”
Adam nods. “Well, let me know what I can do to make the decision easier for you. Red Boar wouldloveto have our own little Dubois.”
Ew.
“Okay.” Julien stands up. That sounds like a good place to stop. “I need to catch my bus.”
“It was nice speaking with you,” Adam says, his hand extended.
“Likewise.”
When Julien scampers past the dining room full of navy shirts, he avoids eye contact and stares at the floor. Only after he’s safely over the threshold into the paddock does he finally look up.
Unfortunately, he meets Thomas’s passing gaze.
The older brother pauses mid-step, his eyebrows furrowing. Before he can make the connection, Julien jogs away, back towards the garage and the safety of his borrowed driver’s room.
Julien is still a Ferraro driver. That’s where his focus needs to be.
In Spa, Rafael grabs a tray and slides up beside Julien in line for food. “Why do you keep looking at me weird?”
“I’m not looking at you at all.” Julien’s too busy judging the food options. How strict does his diet need to be now that they’ve figured out Rafael’s car issue?
“You kept staring at me during practice.” How did Rafael even see him? “And during the meeting, it looked like you had something to say.”
“I don’t talk during meetings.” Julien can splurge a little. He grabs a plate from the local section. He can’t go to Belgium without eating a waffle, right?
He turns, but Rafael stands between him and the tables.
“I won the last race because you talked during a meeting.” Rafael doesn’t have anything on his tray yet. “What aren’t you telling me?”
