That is a question I don’t know how to answer. Frankly, I’m notreadyto find the answer to it yet.
I yawn. “Are we done here?”
Ilya’s jaw flexes. “I want to see you drive like that this weekend.”
“Then I want her in my ear.” I bite my tongue as soon as the words are out. I shouldnotbe showing my hand right now, just like I shouldn’t be developing such a keen interest in the intern.
“You want special privileges?Earn them.She’ll be next to Ethan during qualifiers and the race. They’ll be discussing directives before he issues them.”
“You’ll tell him to listen to her.” God, why am I incapable of shutting the fuck up? Ilya’s a smart man, and despite his usually-refined behavior, he’s a shark when he smells blood in the water. Tipping my hand to him, especially when I’ve spent the last two years on the team disrespecting him, gives him leverage that he doesn’t deserve.
Ilya watches me for a few beats, shakes his head, and walks away. Declan and Ethan follow closely behind him, though Declan pauses to clap my shoulder and offer me a nod of approval.
“Elio, get out,” I growl.
Elio looks up, affecting an expression of sheer surprise. “Pardon?”
“Get thefuckout,” I repeat. “I booked the time in this room, and that ismyintern.Leave.”
Victoria pins me with a chilling glare, but Elio simply rolls his eyes. “Just because you did decently well in a simulatorone timedoes not give you the standing to bark orders. You’re being disgustingly…” he grimaces. “You.”
“My apologies. Unlike yourself, I’m incapable of changing personalities to please the cameras every twenty seconds.” I notch my chin at the door. “Go.”
Elio’s jaw flexes. He looks between me and Victoria, eyes glinting with something calculating, making meacheto punch his lights out. “Very well. I’m not known to stay where I’m unwanted.” He recovers with his usual bullshit smile. “Victoria, I’d love to hear more about your work soon.”
Victoria and I watch him exit in charged silence. When the door eases shut behind him, she turns to face me. Her lips pull up into a tentative smile. “Good work,” she says. “That was a gigantic improvement. Honestly, I was hoping to get you bumped up to P19 or P18. You’re…” she clears her throat. “You’re a good driver.”
I’m also rusty as fuck when it comes to certain maneuvers. I foresee a lot of time spent in that simulation chamber between races… and as long as Victoria’s here, I don’t mind that as much as I should.
“Do you—” I cut off to clear my throat. “Do you want to get dinner?” The offer comes out more like a threat, because apparently, years of being nothing but an asshole make me incapable of being nice for even a few seconds. Even to someone who’s just dedicated the last two weeks to me.
She’s assigned to me and my car, yes, but what she’s done is going above and beyond.
Victoria casts me a startled glance. “Um…” she looks back to her laptop. “I need to get all of today’s information inputted and processed, and test iterations through my algorithm to see how close projections were to reality—”
“You can do all of that nerd stuff after.” I don’t know where the sudden urge to spend time with her has comefrom—maybe it’s because she’s proved herself more tolerable than everyone else on this team.
“Is this a…” she frowns. “A thank-you dinner?”
“For doing your job?” I scoff. “Please. It’s a ‘I haven’t seen you eat all day and I can’t have a lawsuit filed against me for abuse’ dinner. Pack your shit and let’s go. I’ll meet you out front.”
On my way out, I hear her mutter,“Charming as ever.”
Chapter Eighteen
Victoria
Asher takes us to another hole-in-the-wall burger joint. Again, he greets the staff by name. Unlike many other sports celebrities who favor fine dining and flashy settings, he seems more at home in small, family-run places. It’s almost endearing.
We place our orders a few minutes after being seated. Asher spends some time answering messages on his phone, probably talking to the woman who managed to screw his head on straight for F1. As soon as our drinks arrive, he tucks away his phone and turns the full force of his attention to me.
His gaze is more than mere awareness; it’s like a physical sensation, and it raises goosebumps on my arms and legs. It takes all of my effort not to fidget or blush.
He’s not into you, idiot. He just wants to avoid a lawsuit.
“Why F1?” he asks.
I blink, meeting his eyes. “Sorry?”
