Kill me. Right now.
Tom’s expression is completely impenetrable. ‘Like… Instagram?’
I don’t care what people think.
I hate that. It’s all so superficial and hollow. For appearances’ sake.
That’s it. My timelines, my strategy, my pride, my career longevity, gone.
When I come to, Tiago’s rattling things off on his fingers: ‘—podcast, YouTube, Substack… Did I miss anything? In short, she’s a one-woman conglomerate. It’s pretty fucking impressive.’
I stare vacantly at him. What did he say?
‘That sounds amazing,’ says Tom, brighter. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ I mutter, still beyond confused.
Tom braids his fingers together over his plate. ‘What are you doing with F1 Academy?’
‘I’m an Ambassador, so on a race weekend I appear in their digital content, speak on panels, and network with sponsors and content creators. Outside of race weekends, I consult on their comms to elevate their image and help the ladies with their personal branding.’
Of all my brand work, this feels like one of the special ones. I’m not an idiot, I know they want to work with me because I’m dating – or trying to date – a driver, but the work revolves around inspiring women. Their values feel so suspiciously closeto mine that I can pretend, just for a second, that they chose me for me. It’s a glimpse into what my career could be if I took my own advice and rebranded. If the world saw me as anything more than ‘his girlfriend’.
But it’s career suicide.
Enough daydreaming.
‘Do you love it?’ Tom asks. It feels like an important question to him.
I take a sip of water. ‘It’s the best. Empowering women is my true love.’
We hold eye contact for a long moment, and he smiles crookedly back at his food.
‘That wasgreat,’ I say, pulling Tiago into a gap between the Alpha Prime and DFK units, ignoring the heat of his chest licking my fingertips. I whip my hand away.
‘We make a pretty awesome team,’ he replies through a chuckle.
I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve got a way to go yet – Tom didn’t exactly ask me out – but we’re one step closer.
‘You were… thank you.’ Finally, I don’t need to dig deep to reach for sincerity.
‘Don’t sweat it.’
I suddenly realise we’re close, very close, squeezed between the two suites, a giant plant shielding us from prying eyes. I can smell him. It’s not unpleasant.
‘You were great in there. He was hanging onto your every word,’ Tiago remarks, gaze locked on my lips.
‘Mm.’
They burn under his scrutiny, the urge to shield them dizzying. Before I can take a breath, he’s closing in. I let him, lostin the promise of closeness and pleasure. I haven’t felt such a tug of desire in so?—
And then I remember myself.
My hand whips out before I can think to instruct it. It contacts his cheek with a satisfying clap.
‘Fuck!’Tiago bursts out, recoiling with a hand glued to his face. ‘What was that?’
‘What was thatto you too!’
