‘The insurance company?’ It’s not a whine – I’m a grown ass man – but it also sort of is. ‘Can’t you pick something a bit, you know, sexier?’
His stare’s hard. ‘I told you before: you need to be seen to embrace this team. These are the team’s sponsors.’
‘But—’
‘Do you think she’s talked to Tom yet?’ breathes Isa as her wild eyes swivel back to me. ‘What if their meet cutehappens before my very eyes?’
I swallow the urge to remind her we’re not onLove Island, and no one gives a shit. I turn back to JC but he’s vanished. Fuck!
I don’t want to embrace this team. I don’t want to be sponsored by companies dumb enough to invest in a loser constructor. I don’t want my name associated with scruffy baseball caps and insurance. If I look comfortable at Leone, I’ll be left here fore?—
‘Tiago, right?’
Her British accent dazzles me for a hot minute, and when I come to, I clock whose dainty hand is outstretched.
Does this mean…? Am I…?
Isa’s jaw hangs loose in my periphery and I shoo her toward JC. Over my dead body will my sister cock block this opportunityfor me. She slinks away, mouth still gaping, eyes the size of closed fists.
‘Yeah, hi.’ I flash Jules a smile as I take her hand, feeling better by the second. ‘And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?’
‘Jules Butler. I’m a lifestyle creator and entrepreneur.’
Funny way of saying gold-digging social climber, but I’ll take it.
Finallysome luck. She’s hot, too. I take back what I said. She dazzles like a polished emerald. Soft skin, full lips, piercing dark blue eyes. I can do a season chained to her. No problem at all. Hell, she could be a frog with an accent like that and I’d do it.
She’d put me in the same league as Logan Rogers. That’s currency in sport. I could work with that. Volare could work with that. I’d be back there tomorrow. My partying days would be long forgotten. Isa’s girl crush might be the best thing that ever happened to me.
‘What brings you here, Jules? Big fan of F1?’ I go to take a drink, remember it’s Diet Coke, and lower it.
‘This is actually my first ever race.’
‘You’re off to a strong start, getting in Martinelli’s good graces and schmoozing with the drivers.’
Her beaming smile’s straight up arresting. ‘You better watch your back; I might just be coming for your job.’
‘I’ll say. Tomorrow morning you’ll be on the pit wall. By the afternoon, you’ll be sitting in P2 next to Jack.’
Her hand flutters to her chest. ‘You don’t think I’d be a pole-sitter?’
‘Not drinking that you won’t.’ I nod to her margarita.
Her smile’s shrewd, and it makes me want to know what she’s hiding.
I know I’ve been so resilient all night and I’m buckling at lightspeed, but if there was ever a chick to flirt with, this is she. Our chemistry’s so thick you could scrape it off with a knife.
‘As someone who knows absolutely nothing about motorsport, I thought you handled that tricky qualifying session beautifully,’ she says with sudden earnestness, and it totally disarms me.
‘Th-thank you.’
‘A lesser driver would’ve put that car in the wall. Keeping it on track looked like it took real talent.’
‘Thankyou.’ Nice that somebody appreciates my driving, even if my damn team doesn’t.
‘Your commentary over the radio cracked me up,’ she adds.
I rub my chin, disguising a smile. ‘We’re not allowed to swear, so a lot of what comes out is me catching myself at the last second, trying not to yell “fuck”on repeat.’
