Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Charlie

Everyone stops talking and watches me walk into the meeting. Being late for the meeting I called grates on my nerves.

Or maybe it's the fact I can't stop thinking about my response to Anton's kiss?

Ha! Anton's kiss ? Anton, period.

I'd primed myself for an all-out battle when we finally came face to face, but not this kind of battle. Not a battle to keep my clothes on and my hands off him.

How the hell do I decipher the sheer sexual attraction I immediately felt for him? Was it merely chemical? I'm an aerodynamicist. I understand numbers. And numbers had nothing to do with the way my body, heck, my soul, responded to Anton.

All I can do now is pretend it never happened and focus on what I'm here for—making the cars better and faster.

As long as Anton doesn't say anything.

If he does?

He won't. I don't know why, but my heart tells me he was just as astonished and rocked by our kiss as I was. And as perplexed by what it meant.

He won't say anything to HR or anyone else at Equis. I'm sure.

I hope…

I cross to the wall-mounted monitor, spine stiff. From the corner of my eye, I see a few mouths twitch. More than one team member glances at the person sitting next to them, as if sharing a secret.

Shit. What do they know? Did I read Anton wrong? Has he already bragged about snogging the owner's daughter?

Prickling heat crawls over my scalp and I stop, running a slow look over everyone in the meeting. Everyone's there who's meant to be, watching me, waiting. Everyone except…

My stomach clenches.

Anton is not here.

Carson Willoughby, Team Principal and all-round amazing boss, clears his throat. "Everything okay, Charlie?"

A tight, sour sigh tries to burst from me. Instead, I plaster a broad smile on my face and nod. "Yes."

He slides a look to the only empty seat in the room, grimaces, and shakes his head. "Let's start. If Laurant?—"

"I'm here." Anton hurries into the room, throwing everyone but me an apologetic smile. More than one set of eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry. I had an important thing to do."

"More important than learning how I will make your car out-perform everyone else?" I snap.

He swings his ice-blue gaze to me, and my heart smashes up into my throat. It's like he's connected to every fibre in my body, every thought in my mind. How do I survive this?

"Oui." He nods, holding my stare as he lowers himself into the only empty seat, directly in front of where I'm standing. "But I know you don't believe that, so…" He rests his ankle on his knee, crosses his arms over his chest, and smiles up at me.

I bite the inside of my lip to stop letting out a soft groan.

How is it possible to want someone so much after barely a heartbeat in their company?

And yet, I do. It makes no rational sense.

Sucking in a wobbly breath, I tear my gaze from Anton, sweeping it instead over the rest of the team.

Everyone looks at me like I'm about to peel off my skin to reveal an alien underneath.

I flick a look at Anton. He smiles again, raises his eyebrows, and dips his head: you got this.

Scowling, I turn back to everyone. I don't need encouragement or support or prodding from Anton Laurant.

But you like it. It makes you feel warm.

It does. Which is really irritating. In a weirdly nice way.

"Okay, everyone." I give Sergio a little nod, and he hits a key on his laptop. The large screen on the wall fills with the data and equations I've been analysing since I joined Equis, as well as the schematics of the Equis F1 car. "This is how we're going to improve the FW downforce and control the consequent upwash, to benefit the lift-drag ratio."

Everyone sits forward in their seats.

Except Anton, who leans back, threading his fingers behind his head, foot bouncing. Watching me. An emotion burns in his eyes, hot and hungry. He wants me.

My nipples pebble. My pulse quickens. But my stomach clenches. Will he still want me after I reveal everything he insists is right about his car is wrong?

Do I want him to?

The memory of our kiss scorches through me, and I pull in a steadying breath. I do. I really do.

The next forty minutes I lay out precisely the modifications to be done before P1 to both cars, specifically Anton's. I need the data from the first practice session to evaluate and refine them, so I can get more data in P2 and P3.

But as I speak, as I explain the adjustments and setting changes, as I lay out the rationale and science behind each one, a shadow falls over Anton's face. Tension replaces his almost conceited calm, and he soon sits forward on his seat, elbows resting on knees, head hanging, as if the floor between his feet presents something far more important.

"Okay," I say, as I'm about to round it up and ask for questions. Anton hasn't looked up for the last two minutes. Everyone keeps flicking nervous glances at him. Sergio glares at his hung head. "So you can see?—"

Anton rises to his feet and, as if he's alone in the room, strides out.

Every set of eyes snap back to me.

Heat crawls up my throat and over my face. My stomach rolls.

Sergio throws up his hands. "Sono così stufo di questo idiota."

Someone grunts. Whatever he said, they seem to agree with him.

"Fuck this," I mutter, and storm out of the meeting. I'm not putting up with this shit any more. Anton's going to regret the day I was born.