I finish speaking and Frankie’s beautiful, fuckable mouth spreads slowly into a grin that is equal parts proud and smug. Rocco then stands abruptly, his stool scraping against the concrete, and he marches away from the garage, muttering something about water. But there’s a mostly full bottle beside the seat he just vacated.
Dario rolls his eyes and stalks off.
Frankie looks at me again and smiles. It’s brief, but I take it as a win. I wasn’t trying to purposely side with her. I just voiced my honest opinion, but it’s reassuring she thinks like I do. We might end up making a good team on the track, not just in a pool after midnight.
I take this opportunity to get a good look at her outfit. All race team employees wear their team’s clothing on race weekends. Frankie somehow, in a week, had a custom jumpsuit designed. It’s a nice, pristine white with the Mirabella ocean blue trim. It’s form-fitting, clearly custom made to hug every curve, and it’s lowcut. Her perfect cleavage on display. She wears turquoise earrings that match our logo. She looks… like she should be pinned up on my childhood bedroom wall.
“I see you managed to find some race gear,” I say under my breath so no one overhears. “I bet you’re the only Team Principal fans jerk-off to.”
“Does that bother you?” she mutters back out of the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead as she sits back down in her seat at the pit wall.
“I don’t care who jerks off to thoughts of you,” I whisper back and lean my ass on the table in front of her so we can face each other. “As long as I’m the only one you think of when you masturbate.”
Her cheeks pink. “Billy, not here. It’s my first day.”
“I know. I sent you a welcome gift and an apology.” I lean back on my elbows.
“Yes. The pompous panda.” Her smile is so subtle but fucking sexy. “Nice gesture, but do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”
“Billy!” Joaquin, our Chief engineer calls my name and waves me over to where he’s standing at my car.
“Duty calls,” I say begrudgingly and leave her.
We go through all our pre-practice checks and discussions, and then I head back to my room to get into the rest of my gear. Clara follows me back out to the garage. I’m not sure what happens next, I realize.
Bash and Dario always spent the fifteen minutes before a practice giving Antonio and me directions on how to handle the track. Bash always made sure to let me speak my mind too, but generally, they have a good feel for what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Both are former drivers, so I heed their advice even if their time in a car was decades ago. They also do ample homework, studying the track every year before the race. Of course, so do I, including simulation races.
Frankie walks over, and I fight like hell not to let my eyes slip to her perfect tits. “We’re gonna let you do what you want here.”
“What?”
“You’ve run a simulation or two already?” she asks, and I nod. “And I’m sure you remember how things went last year, and they’ve made no modifications to the track since then. So we’re going to let you take this practice and run with it. Do whatever you think feels right, and then we’ll meet after and break it down.”
“Okay…” I sound hesitant but I’m not, so I nod and add, “New strategy and I respect it. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Frankie says with a brief, restrained smile. When she turns away, she adds something I know she knows I can hear. “At least someone appreciates it.”
I assume she means Antonio is pissed about it, which after the practice, I find is an understatement. After I get out of my gear, get a bottle of perfectly chilled water from Clara, and change into a pair of team track pants and a Mirabella T-shirt, I head to the conference room on the second floor. Antonio is already there. He had a shitty practice and spun out on turn three.
“It’s hard with the Chicane right before it,” Rocco is saying. “You have to really manage the brakes, Antonio.”
“This is where it differs from simulation,” he barks and glares at Frankie for a moment before turning back to Rocco. “This is why Bash and Dario’s advice is pivotal.”
“Any damage?” I ask to announce my arrival. Everyone turns to face me.
“Car is fine,” Rocco pipes up. He’s the only person actually sitting at the conference table. Dario and Frankie are standing in front of it, chairs behind them, like they had been sitting at one point. Antonio is pacing back and forth by the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck on the front of the building that is shared with the cafeteria and lounge across the hall.
“It’s just Antonio’s ego that got dented,” Frankie says, and Dario frowns at her as Antonio blows up.
“With all due respect, I’m not going to be patronized by you.”
“Oh come on, Billy did fine,” Frankie argues, and I stare at her, begging her to meet my eye before she makes this worse. Luckily, she must feel my eyes boring into her because she does glance over, and when I give my head the slightest little shake, the kind I hope no one else notices, she blinks. Then when she speaks again, her whole tone has changed and it’s less dismissive. “If you’re more comfortable with a little guidance from Dario pre-practice then we can continue that hand-holding. You can even call my Dad if you want.”
“Great,” Antonio mutters and finally sits across from me at the table.
We go through the rest of everyone’s thoughts on the practice session and our ideas on strategy going forward and I have to say, Frankie knows what she’s talking about. And I appreciate that we were allowed to make our own decisions out there to start, and she’s open to my ideas now. Antonio isn’t me. He’s always craved Dario and Bash’s decision like an orphan in need of a father. I’m not that guy. This is going to work out well for me, I think.
After an hour and a half, we wrap up. Frankie thanks Antonio and me, and without so much as a smile, she leaves and everyone else does too. I head to my dressing room where Clara is blaring Eminem and eating a rice cake. I wrinkle my nose. “You should gnaw on the drywall. Probably tastes better.”
