“Does he know?” Grady asks with a sad softness that makes my insides twist up again. “About us?”
“No,” I insist vehemently, my voice rising. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I need to calm the fuck down. I want to reassure him, not scare the hell out of him. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I would never do that to you. Or anyone, for that matter. I told him being on the pit wall was getting too hard for me, especially after your mishap in Austin and being here at Albert Park, where—”
I trail off, not needing to complete the sentence for both of us to know what I was going to say.
“Fuck, that’s right.” He runs his fingers jerkily through his still damp hair, making it stick up at odd angles. “Christ, I’m a selfish prick. I didn’t even consider how you’d feel being back here. All I could think of is how much it would suck working with someone else.”
I put an arm around him, squeezing him tightly. “You’re not selfish, you’re human. And I promise it won’t suck.”
“It sucked with Marcel,” he says, pouting.
“Well, you won’t be working with him again, that’s for sure. Or anyone like him.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“I have an idea. And if Jacques agrees, I think it will the best possible solution. For both of us.”
He arches a brow. “Are you going to share this fabulous idea with me?”
“I will. Soon.”
“I’m not a child.” He stands abruptly, shoving my arm away as he does. “Stop treating me like one.”
I leap up to join him, almost losing my towel. I grab it just in time and cinch it around my waist. “I’m not—”
“You are. You’re as bad as my father. You don’t even trust me to be involved with decisions that affect my own career.”
He starts for the door, tension radiating through his body. I sprint after him. The comparison to his father has me panicked. Not because I think he’s wrong, but because I’m afraid he’s right. “I’m sorry, Grady. I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t, but that’s how you’re making me feel.” He reaches for the doorknob then turns back to me with a sigh, his face set in a resigned mask. “Look, I need to get ready for qualifying. Can we talk about this later?”
“Of course,” I answer a little too eagerly, happy that, no matter how mad he is at me, he’s willing to keep the lines of communication open.
“Just promise me one thing,” he says.
“Anything.”
“Whatever you and Jacques think you decide at your meeting, nothing’s final without consulting me first.”
I nod. “Fair enough.”
He turns back to the door and opens it a fraction, then looks back at me, his blue eyes soft and hopeful. “See you at this morning’s briefing?”
I give him a tentative, equally hopeful smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We’re both at the briefing a few hours later, but there’s no time for me to give him the rundown of my meeting with Jacques. Or tell him about the phone call I had with the person who I hope—with his approval—will be his new race engineer. When the briefing ends, he’s immediately whisked off to schmooze with sponsors, and I’m called away to deal with an issue with the fuel pressure relief valve, which, fortunately, we’re able to diagnose and fix pretty quickly. Then he’s on the track for his third and final practice session before qualifying starts this afternoon, and our only conversation is over the comms.
“Car is looking good, Grady,” I tell him, determined to remain professional at all costs. “How does it feel?”
“Feels good. The balance and rear-end grip are a lot better thanks to the changes you made to the rear wing.”
“Great. Bring it in and let’s get ready for qualis.”
I don’t see him again until it’s almost time for the first qualifying round. More schmoozing, I’m guessing. Albert Park has been always a popular circuit since it was added to the calendar in 1996, and the sponsors, VIPs, and F1 groupies are out in force here. And as Grady’s gotten more successful, he’s become more in demand. Everyone wants a piece of him. Hopefully he managed to get a few minutes to himself in his driver’s room to regroup and recharge.
When I spot him, he’s in the garage, deep in conversation with Elodie. Whatever she’s saying has him nodding and smiling, so I decide to take a chance and try to get a second alone with him.
“I’m sorry for the interruption,” I say, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “But I need to borrow my driver for a moment before qualifiers start.”
