14

“Okay, three long burnouts to your grid spot.” Tae’s voice crackled in Will’s ear as he rounded the last corner in his warm-up lap. “And as always, ramp up rather than coast.”

“Copy that,” Will replied as he performed the obligatory maneuver, then settled into his grid spot, waiting for the start of the race. Engines snarled all around him, and sweat prickled on the back of his neck. It was a hot day in Melbourne.

Ollie Hayes had stumbled out of a helitaxi at the track just an hour ago. The crew had the part installed and the car sorted with just thirty minutes to spare. Not exactly the kind of anxiety he needed before he climbed behind the wheel, but it had all worked out, thanks to Mira. Not only was she persistently occupying a corner of his mind, but now she’d saved his ass, too. He’d have to make good on his promise and take her out properly in Melbourne … if she’d let him.

He’d been running on pure adrenaline since yesterday, but now, as he awaited the rest of the field to assemble behind him, calm settled over him. This was the moment when everything would come together. He could feel it in his bones.

Everybody always assumed that the nerves were the worst when he sat in the car, engine revving, waiting for the lights to go out and the race to start. But not for him. All his anxiety and self-doubt … that stuff plagued him off the track. Once he got behind the wheel, about to race, that’s when all that noise in his head stopped and everything seemed so clear. He was in the right place, doing the thing he’d been put on earth to do.

As the lights went on one by one, he checked his revs, breathing slow and steady. The last light blinked on and he pulled the clutch and raised the revs. And then the lights went out— go time —and he let it rip. The car flew forward up the straight, pinning him to his seat with enormous force.

Tae launched into a rapid-fire assessment of every car’s position on the track. Part of Will’s brain tracked that, envisioning the cars moving behind him, while the rest of his brain focused on what was ahead.

Once the race started, it was like time slowed down and he didn’t. It was almost as if he could see moments into the future, envisioning gaps between cars before they appeared, sensing who was about to miss their braking point, who would misjudge the apex of the turn. On the track, he found his superpower.

René Denis, the reigning world champion, was making a massive run up the inside, trying to catch him. As the grip came on, Will pinned him against the grass border, shutting him down, then he banged up the gears, smooth on the throttle, no wheelspin that might give away his carefully won pole position, and easily put a car’s width between him and René by the entry to the first turn. This was Will’s favorite part, the first few laps when the engineers and strategists let you maximize the car and race flat out. Soon they’d reign him in to play a strategic game of managing fuel load and tires for the rest of the race. But right now it was pure racing, just him and the car seeing what they could do.

René was still closer than he would like, but he got to work wrestling tenths of a second out of his opponent, one precise maneuver at a time. By the end of the first lap René was still cooling his heels behind him and Will was still holding first place.

Tae spoke into his ear. “I’m going to need you to manage your brake temps a bit, Will. Can you add some lift and coast into Turn Thirteen?”

Will cursed under his breath. If he was nursing his brake temps, it might give René room to gain on him. “You’re killing me, Tae,” he replied.

“Actually just trying to keep you alive,” Tae replied.

Will went to work doing what he could to save the brakes while not losing too much time to René.

“Box, box, box!” Tae barked a few minutes later.

He flew into the box and landed dead on the marks, the jacks perfectly synced, and the Lennox pit crew leapt in to replace his tires.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

Omar should be giving him the thumbs-up to go by now.

“What’s happening?” he barked into his headset.

“Rear right wheel jammed coming off,” Tae said. “Almost there.”

“Fuck!”

All those precious tenths he should be gaining on René started flowing in the opposite direction, cutting into his hard-fought lead.

At last they dropped the car, Omar gave him the all-clear signal, and Will rocketed out of the pits with the engine pegged on the limiter. If he drove flat out, and if nothing else went wrong, he could still hold René off.

Then Tae put an end to that. “Still marginal on the brakes, Will. You’re going to need to manage to the end.”

“The hell I am. I’m getting it back.”

Tae sighed. “You can chase, but only as far as the brake temps allow. We’re not burning up the brakes.”

He chased hard, only backing off when Tae insisted to hold up, but as he screamed down the final straight, René was still out in front by an agonizing two seconds. Two seconds too many, in the end, as the checkered flag came down with René Denis in first and Will in second.

When he pulled to a stop on the track after his cooldown lap, the entire Lennox pit crew rushed to surround the car. Paul himself reached a hand down to help him out, grinning wider than Will had ever seen him. “Smashed it, Will. We’ll get the brakes sorted and then there’ll be no stopping you, mate.”

“Glad to hear it because I don’t intend on letting anybody ahead of me next time.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Paul clapped him on the back.

Tae was next, giving him a fierce one-armed hug. “I am really going to enjoy being race engineer for the Formula One world champion.”

Will held his hand out to shake. “I’m buying your drinks tonight.”

Tae grasped his hand. “Deal. Now go get on that podium.”

“La Marseillaise” began to play over the loudspeaker as Will’s eyes swept the crowds below. René, to his left and on a slightly higher podium, waved at his pit crew in Allegri-red jumpsuits below. They all screamed and waved back, celebrating their first-place win. Will hoped they enjoyed it, because after today the only national anthem he wanted to hear on the podium was bloody “God Save the King . ”

It was annoying to know he could have taken first if not for the brakes, but honestly, second place felt pretty great. In his entire F1 career, he’d never made podium. To be standing up there just two races into the season was nothing short of a miracle. He could get used to this.

Will waved to the Lennox pit crew, clustered together below. They were all grinning, celebratory, sensing that they were now on a team that was in the running for the championship. Paul, standing off to the side with Tae and David, raised his hands and applauded Will. Paul had taken a huge chance on him, and it felt great to vindicate that choice.

Mira was down there, too, right behind her father. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled up at him. God, she looked beautiful. A race official stepped up to shake his hand and give him the second-place trophy. He raised it high overhead in triumph, then he pointed from it to her. This was hers, just as much as it was his. She threw her head back and laughed, and that felt almost as good as finishing on the podium. Then René blasted him with a spray of champagne and he was lost in the chaos of his first Formula One podium finish. It would absolutely not be his last.

There wasn’t much time to glory in his success after the race. Will had been launched straight into interviews, press conferences, corporate events, and finally, a cocktail party. At this point, his face hurt from maintaining his smile for so long.

He had just extricated himself from the wife of one of his corporate sponsors and was calculating how soon he could leave when two feminine hands covered his eyes from behind and a warm body pressed up against his back. His momentary hope that it was Mira fizzled when a throaty voice with a lilting Italian accent purred in his ear.

“Surprise.”

When he turned, she slid her hands away from his face, leaving them to rest on his shoulders.

“Francesca. This is a surprise.”

Francesca made her living as a spokesmodel for some sponsor or another, one of the ubiquitous hot women peppering Formula One races. He’d hooked up with Francesca once, back in his first season. He wasn’t surprised to see her, but he was a little surprised that she’d sought him out. They’d crossed paths at a few races over the past three years, but Francesca had chosen not to remember him, not when there were more successful drivers to pursue. But here he was, back in F1, and here she was, suddenly very happy to see him again.

“You were fantastic today, Will,” she said, running her fingertips down the lapel of his jacket.

“Thanks.” Over her shoulder he scanned the room for Mira. He’d been hoping he’d run into her at the after-party and convince her to go do something fun. They’d made a deal. If he got on the podium, she’d celebrate with him, but now she was nowhere to be found.

“Will, I seem to have lost my drink someplace. Isn’t that sad?” He pulled his attention back to Francesca. After all, she was putting on quite a show with the dramatic pout. She was undeniably gorgeous, with long dark hair and sexy dark eyes. Her tight red dress left little doubt that every inch of her still looked as delectable as he remembered.

“So sad,” he agreed.

Waiters were everywhere. All he had to do was raise a finger and one swept in with a full tray of champagne flutes. Francesca plucked one off and took a sip, eyes on him the whole time.

“Mmm, delicious,” she moaned, licking her lips deliberately. Had she been this blatant last time? “Will, how have you been?”

“Fine. Brilliant, really.”

Francesca ran a hand up the back of his neck and slid her fingers through his hair. “Yes, I’m sure you are. Shall we go someplace a bit quieter and find out?”

He blinked in surprise. So this was an option, if he wanted it. Although it was a little surprising that Francesca was throwing herself at him, an invitation like this was nothing new. In F1, “pussy was plentiful” as the guys back in Juniors used to say. Even after he’d fallen down the rankings, he’d still had plenty of options for female companionship whenever he’d wanted it.

Did he want it with Francesca tonight? He stared down at her, the gorgeous face, the inviting cleavage, the killer body. This would be very easy, and no doubt a lot of fun. An interest of a sort stirred in his gut.

But not with Francesca.

He knew what he wanted and whom he wanted it with, and it made him annoyed with himself. Was he really about to blow off some no-strings sex with a hot brunette who’d spend the evening making him feel like a hero, to go find Mira, the only girl in F1 who was explicitly off-limits? Yes. Yes, apparently he was. What the hell was he doing?

“Uh, Francesca, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“You can’t?” She probably wasn’t turned down very often.

He scanned the crowd over Francesca’s shoulder, desperately searching for an escape. He spotted Violet. “I see someone from our PR department frantically waving me over. You know how it is. I’m sure someone wants a word.”

In truth, Violet was chatting up a bartender, not paying Will the slightest bit of attention, but Francesca didn’t have to know that.

“Why don’t you take my number so you can call me later?”

“I’ve got it already.” Will patted his cell in his jacket pocket. He absolutely did not have her number.

“So I’ll see you later?”

She hadn’t wanted to see him during his three demoted years, so he didn’t feel all that bad for stringing her along now.

“Absolutely.”

She leaned up to kiss him, but he didn’t notice in time. He jerked back, but she still planted a peck on his lips. He didn’t look back as he slipped away from her and disappeared into the crowd.

“Violet,” he said, when he finally reached her. “You’ve got to save me. Make sure I look very busy for the next ten minutes.”

She gave him a bored look. “Why?”

“I’ve got a particularly persistent spokesmodel on my tail.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to save yourself, mate. I’m about to shove off.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking Mira out to a club. We’re celebrating.”

Okay, so a deal apparently wasn’t a deal. She’d already made plans with Violet. That left him feeling something unfamiliar. Forgotten. Huh. “You guys are celebrating the race?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Celebrating her genius, you numpty. You’d have started from the back of the grid today with shit brake ducts if it wasn’t for her.”

“Right,” he said, suitably chastised. “So you’re going out dancing?”

“Yeah, she’s making all kinds of noises about being too busy, but I’m not letting her wiggle out of it.”

Wiggle? Jesus Christ, what was Violet trying to do to him.

“What club?” He absolutely hated how desperate he sounded.

“This place called The Slide. I hung out there a bit when my ex was touring Australia. Hey, if you’re not busy banging your spokesmodel tonight, you’re welcome to tag along.”

Tagging along. He might be debasing himself, but he didn’t say no. At least she’d be there.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come.”

She eyed him with naked speculation. “Really?”

He pointed in Francesca’s direction. “I’m desperate, Violet. And I need to thank Mira, right? How about I buy the drinks?”

“Well, then, you’ve got a date. Meet us in our lobby at eleven.”