“You ever think about what happens after all this?” he asked, eyes still on his screen.
Mia paused mid-type. “After racing? Or after… this job?”
“Both, I guess.”
She leaned back, stretching her arms overhead, the motion pulling her shirt tight across her chest for a second. Lucas’s gaze flicked there—quick, involuntary—then back to her face. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Sometimes,” she said. “I’d like to stay in the sport—maybe move up to comms lead somewhere. Or go freelance, travel more. See places that aren’t just circuits.” She glanced at him. “You?”
“Win a championship,” he said without hesitation. Then softer: “Then… figure out who I am when I’m not chasing lap times. Maybe that’s the harder part.”
Mia studied him—the way his shoulders carried the weight of expectation, the quiet vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re more than just a driver, Lucas. I’ve seen it. The way you listen in meetings, the way you thank the team, the way you actually understand the numbers, not just your result.”
He looked at her—really looked. “Coming from you, that means something. You’ve seen the worst of me—stiff answers, bad moods after qualifying—and you still make me sound human.”
“Because you are,” she said simply.
A beat passed. The office felt smaller, warmer, the air humming with unspoken tension. Lucas’s gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction too long, the memory of Abu Dhabi flickering inhis mind—the heat of that kiss, the way her body had pressed into his. He felt the pull again, low and steady, his thigh brushing hers under the desk as he shifted.
His phone lit up—Sienna, a photo this time: her in a cute café, captionFound this place earlier today. Wish you were here for the best flat white ever. Missing you!
Lucas smiled faintly, typed a quick reply, then set the phone face-down.
Mia noticed but said nothing, the charged moment simmering just beneath the surface.
“She’s in London tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Wants to do dinner.”
“Sounds nice.”
“She’s… uncomplicated. Easy company.”
Mia nodded slowly, her voice a touch huskier. “And that’s what you need right now?”
“I thought so.” He met her eyes, the intensity building again, his hand inching closer to hers on the desk. “But… I’m not sure.”
The admission hung between them—honest, unguarded. No push, no expectation. Just truth.
Mia reached over, squeezed his forearm briefly. But this time, her fingers lingered, tracing the vein there lightly, feeling the warmth of his skin. He turned his hand, catching hers—palm to palm, warm, steady—his thumb brushing her wrist in a slow circle that sent sparks up her arm.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she murmured, her breath catching as their eyes locked, the air thick with what they weren’t saying.
They smiled—small, real—and went back to work, the silence now laced with heat, threaded with something new. Something growing, undeniable.
* * *
Mia
They worked side by side for another hour, the only soundsthe soft click of keyboards and the occasional murmur about a caption or a lap time. Every time their elbows brushed or their knees touched under the desk, Mia felt it—a small jolt, like static, that made her hyper-aware of the warmth of his arm next to hers, the faint cedar-and-soap scent that clung to him after his shower.
She kept stealing glances when she thought he wasn’t looking: the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, the small scar on his knuckle from some long-ago karting crash, the way his fingers flexed absently against the edge of his tablet like he was still gripping a steering wheel.
She liked this version of him—quiet, focused, unguarded. Liked that he’d stayed, brought her coffee, asked her real questions. Liked that he hadn’t pulled his hand away when she’d touched him.
But Sienna’s photo still glowed faintly on his locked screen. A reminder.
Mia exhaled slowly, forcing her eyes back to her laptop. She couldn’t afford to let this—whatever this was—derail her. Not when she’d fought so hard to carve out a place here. Not when she still woke up some nights with the ghost of Oxford in her throat, the memory of being dismissed, disbelieved, erased.
She needed this job. Needed the structure, the purpose, the people who saw her work and valued it. Dana’s fierce loyalty, Claire’s quiet trust, even Jax’s easy banter—they’d become her people. And Lucas… he was part of that now, too. Part of the reason she stayed late, part of the reason she smiled at 2 a.m. when a post got traction.
