Page 63 of Off the Grid

Am I fucking dreaming?

Is this for real?

But before I can do or think anything else, an FIA official meets me at my car. He directs me to the scale in a neutral garage area. They note my weight, which will be added to my car’s, to make sure our combined total meets the minimum weight requirement.

“Riggs.” I head toward the calls of my name when the official FIA business is done and walk into the Moretti garage. My crew greets me with a raucous round of applause. I may have overshot my pit marker by a few centimeters when I came in to box and scared the shit out of them, but they’re still here. Still excited that I earned points for the team.

I’m welcomed with pats on the back and praise, but when I make it through the crowd, I come face-to-face with Mr. Moretti himself. Carlo is leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets and a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Congratulations on your first race in Moretti red,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. “You did us proud.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” I nod. “I’ll only get better.”

He smiles. “I know you will.”

I turn to go . . . I have no idea where I’m supposed to be next so I’m more than grateful when I hear, “Excuse me,” cutting through the noise. Anya fights her way through the throng. “Congrats. Great first race. That only means more people want to talk to you than the norm.”

“Sure. Fine.” Adrenaline still races through my veins. I could talk to the whole world right now and I wouldn’t be tired.

“You say that now.” She chuckles. “The job is only three quarters of the way done. We have a presser. Photos. Then the team debriefing.”

I nod, already having been briefed on what to expect. “Sounds good. I . . .” I meet Camilla’s eyes from across the chaos of the garage. She’s standing there in her typical baggy jeans and oversized Moretti polo shirt. The expression on her face is unreadable.

“Oh,” Anya says when she sees who I’m staring at. She glances at Camilla again before looking back toward me and makes an indiscriminate sound of disapproval. “Just a thought. It’s probably not the best idea to piss off the boss’s daughter.”

“I know.”

Why would she be mad . . . oh. She must have seen it.

That’s the only reason she has to be pissed at me. That I can think of at least.

And truth be told I completely forgot I’d scheduled the social media post. I did it days ago without thought. The last meeting we had, she’d told the team what she was hoping to implement after this race. I simply was trying to preempt it and give her a taste of what they were asking for.

But I may have gotten so caught up in race week and all that comes with it—that I forgot about the post.

“Do I even want to know what you did? What kind of mess I’m going to have to try and fix for you?”

“Nope.” I flash a grin at Camilla before turning back to Anya, the high I’m on bigger than anything I’ve ever had before. “I can clean up my own messes just fine.”

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Camilla

The track is dark.

The city lights in the distance and the full moon overhead provide enough light to make out shapes—the water barriers and their reflective tape, the chain link fences, the red curbs of the chicane—of the racetrack below me.

I don’t know why I came back here. The paddock has been or is in the process of being broken down so they can be stored in cargo containers and shipped to the next track alongside the cars themselves. The stands have been cleaned up of the trash the crowd left over the duration of the race. Yet, I found myself sweet-talking the security at the gate to enter the facility and make my way up to the press box.

Was it perspective I needed?

A chance to decompress and pat myself on the back for overcoming my anxiety and being here this week?

Elise can go for me, Dad. I have so much to do, it’s not smart for me to leave the office.

Yeah, that didn’t fly. And in hindsight, I’m glad it didn’t.