“Working on it,” Mia said, a slight flush creeping up under Dana’s steady, appraising gaze. “But if it keeps a media headache off the table—or gets him in front of cameras without looking like he’s got a rod up his arse—I’ll learn quick.”
“Too many bloody years in this game, love,” Dana replied, tone light but laced with the knowing edge of someone who’d seen every flavour of driver drama. “Trust me—if you can get Lucas to admit he’s actually fucking human without him biting your head off, you’ll be my new favourite person.” She leaned in a fraction, conspiratorial. “Stick close. I’ve got the best coffee stash in the building—none of that vending-machine rubbish. We’ll need it when the drama kicks off.”
Mia felt something loosen in her chest, the knot of first-day nerves unwinding just a little. Dana’s presence was like a steady hand on the wheel—older, grounded, like she’d already navigated every hairpin this place could throw at you and was happy to point out the safe lines. “Deal. As long as you don’t judge me for taking it black and bitter.”
“Black and bitter’s the only way,” Dana said, mock-serious, eyes twinkling. “We’re practically soulmates already.”
Claire checked her phone, already half-turning toward the door. “Right. I’ll leave you two to bond over caffeine andcontusions. Mia, Dana will walk you through the driver schedule board—it’s gold for your side of things, especially when injuries start messing with media slots. Marcus Lang, Team Principal, isn’t due until later, so you’ll meet him properly this afternoon. Heads-up: keep him on side. He’s old-school, doesn’t suffer fools, and if Lucas keeps rubbing people the wrong way—or ignoring physio—he’s the one who decides how much rope we all get.”
“I’m on it,” Dana called after her, winking at Mia. “She’s already one of us.”
Mia smiled—properly this time—as Claire’s heels clicked away down the corridor. For the first time since stepping into the building, the place didn’t feel quite so foreign.
Welcome to Ashworth.
* * *
Lucas
Half a floor away and ten minutes later, Lucas was navigating the long stretch of corridor past the engineering bays, the faint hum of machinery vibrating through the floor.
Expression carefully neutral. Calm. Controlled. Nothing out of place.
Except it was.
Seeing her again—upright, coffee-free, composed in a way that didn’t ask permission—had unsettled him more than he liked. The memory of their first meeting surged back: the collision, the splash, the split second where wet fabric had clung and revealed the full shape of her breasts, nipples peaked hard like they were begging for attention. He’d looked because he was human. He’d looked again because he’d wanted to taste them.
And she hadn’t given him a thing for it. No fluster. Just brisk adjustment and a look that said this isn’t about you.
Now she stood there in dry clothes, chin up, steady—and his cock had still thickened the second his eyes dropped to her chest. He could feel it now, heavy and insistent, pressing against the seam as he walked. He adjusted subtly, jaw tight.
He dropped his gaze to his phone, scrolling without registering.A habit. Always give people something else to look at so they didn’t look too closely at him.
But she had seen him. Not the polished version. The one underneath.
The way she’d spoken to him just now—measured, unafraid, not impressed—scraped under his skin. Most people treated him like something fragile or valuable. She treated him like a problem she intended to solve.
It annoyed him.
It also interested him, in a way that made his pulse beat low and steady in his groin.
He exhaled slowly and shoved his phone into his pocket, tension corded along his jaw.
Professionalism first. That was the rule. He didn’t blur lines. Didn’t complicate things. Didn’t let himself get distracted by sharp mouths, steady eyes, and bodies that didn’t match expectations.
Especially not with someone who worked for the team.
Because whatever Amelia Brookes was—clever, precise, quietly infuriating—she was trouble.
And he was not about to let himself want trouble.
???
CHAPTER FOUR
Mia
The headlines were still open on Mia’s laptop when she closed it.
