By Sunday, P10. Another point. Marcus slapped his shoulder in the garage, actual grin. “Good weekend, mate. Keep building.”
* * *
That evening, contract talks in the small conference room. Just Marcus, the commercial director, and his manager on speaker. Numbers flew: pay bump, points clauses, image rights if the fan stuff kept improving.
Marcus leaned in. “We like where you’re heading. Points ticking up, press isn’t calling you the ice-man anymore. But we need to know you’re all-in on the off-track side too. Team sellson personality these days.”
Lucas kept it steady, echoing what she’d drilled into him. “I’m not gonna turn into some TikTok guy. But yeah, I’ve been too quiet. I’m working on it. Garage sees it, fans are starting to. I want this seat. I’ll deliver.”
Marcus held his gaze a second, then nodded. “Good enough for now.”
No signature yet—lawyers still circling—but the vibe changed. No more Laurent whispers in the room. He’d bought time.
After everyone cleared out, Lucas sat there a minute staring at the draft. Relief.
He grabbed his stuff and headed for the corridor. Spotted her near the exit—headset off, coat on, looking tired but calm.
She glanced up. “How’d it go?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, kept a bit of distance like always lately. “Leaning yes. Thanks to what you gave me.”
She gave a little shrug, that small smile creeping in. “You pulled it off.”
He nodded, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat. Silence wasn’t bad, for once.
He cleared his throat. “See you at the factory next week.”
“Yeah. Safe flight.”
He turned to go, then stopped. “Mia?”
“Yeah?”
“If I sign… we keep this going. You and me.” He made himself look at her.
“And… sorry about Miami. I was wasted. Shouldn’t have shown up like that. And I shouldn’t have gone quiet on you after. I just… didn’t know how to face you. So I didn’t. That was shitty.”
She blinked, surprised, but didn’t flinch. “It’s fine. We don’t need to—”
“Nah, it’s not fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward. “Just… won’t do it again. Either part.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He gave a quick nod and started walking. But halfway down the corridor he caught the way she’d smiled—small, real—and something hot twisted low in his gut, same as that night. Pulse kicked up. Shit. He’d thought burying it for a weekend would kill it. Turns out it was still right there, waiting.
The season rolled on. Contract secured. For now.
???
CHAPTER NINE
Lucas
The summer break arrived like a mandatory pit stop for the soul.Three weeks of nothing—no simulators, no debriefs, no media pen. Lucas spent most of it in the mountains near his parents’ holiday home in the French Alps, running trails until his lungs burned, trying to shake the itch that had settled under his skin. The contract was signed. Seat secure. But every quiet moment brought Mia back: her steady voice in the plane cabin, the way her eyes had held his when he’d almost crossed the line in Miami, the careful distance they’d both maintained ever since.
He kept telling himself it was nothing. A drunken misstep. Too much tequila, too much adrenaline, too much everything.
Back at the factory in late August, he noticed her first. She was quieter in meetings. Her usual clipped efficiency edged with something tighter. He caught her once in the corridor, phone to her ear, voice low and strained: “Yes, I understand the numbers. I’ll handle it.”
