4

Will absently responded to the friendly hellos and gentle teasing of the Lennox team as he made his way to his seat in the private dining room—the last one to arrive. His eyes were fixed on Mira, all the way at the other end of the table, between Violet and Natalia, the team principal’s girlfriend. Natalia was leaning in, telling Mira something. How did the new girl know everybody already? Hugging Harry, sharing chats with Natalia? Didn’t she start today?

And more importantly, what had happened back there? He hadn’t been the least bit subtle in asking her out, but the anger in her pushback had surprised him. Had he done something wrong? Offended her or scared her in some way? The longer he thought about it, the worse he felt. Stupid dick moves like that were supposed to be in his past. Well, fine. Pen’s replacement might be the best-looking thing he’d laid eyes on in months, but she’d clearly declared herself off-limits. Understood.

He’d reached for his wineglass before he remembered that he’d be back in the simulator tomorrow to work through today’s data. It was a critical part of his job, helping the engineers figure out what they needed to adjust before Bahrain. He couldn’t afford for his reflexes to be any less than a hundred percent, and these days, he had strict rules about alcohol consumption before racing, even if the car was virtual. He slid the glass away and switched to water.

At the head of the table, Paul, the team principal, stood to make his informal greeting, so he pulled his attention away from Mira and put it where it belonged, on his new boss.

“I won’t go on too long, I just wanted to thank you all for your hard work in previous seasons to bring us to this moment, and to thank you in advance for the work you’ll put in as this season progresses. Even under FIA restrictions, today was very informative, and we’re very optimistic about this year’s car. I hope at the end we have won another constructor’s championship or maybe even a world driver’s championship. Before I let you get on to dinner, I wanted to welcome our newcomers.”

Paul looked down the table and met Will’s gaze. “As you all know, we’re fortunate to have William Hawley on board to drive alongside Matteo. I’m sure he’ll do great things for us this season.” That last bit was half reassuring, half threatening, just like Paul himself. He could be your best mate, easy, personable, friendly. But when Lennox Motorsport was on the line, he was a dragon. A dragon you did not want to cross.

His introduction was met with an enthusiastic round of applause from the table, one he hoped he could earn. Across the table, Matteo raised a glass to him. “In bocca al lupo,” Matteo said. Will didn’t speak Italian, but he recognized the phrase. Into the wolf’s mouth , the Italian version of break a leg , meant to convey the opposite. But the spark in Matteo’s eyes made him think maybe he was literally wishing him into the wolf.

Matteo was his teammate and partner, but also his rival, and they both knew it. Although he’d never won a world championship, Matteo had a generous handful of podium finishes to show for his nearly ten years at the top of the sport, and he’d spent most of those years driving for Lennox. He was their guy. They were always going to put Matteo’s needs first. Unless Will proved that he deserved the team’s resources and support.

“Some of you have known our other newcomer for years,” Paul continued. “Others met her today as she toured the facility. I’m delighted to have my daughter, Miranda Wentworth, joining us to replace Penelope for the season. Mira,” Paul said, pausing to smile down at her, “welcome aboard.”

More applause greeted that announcement, but Will barely heard the cheers. Miranda Wentworth. Mira Wentworth. Paul’s daughter. The team principal’s daughter .

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Now that little inside joke Mira— Miranda —and Violet had exchanged earlier today made total sense. He’d offered to help her understand Formula One when her father was practically a living legend in the sport. They’d been laughing their asses off at him. And he’d entirely deserved it.

Then, as if insulting her intelligence regarding racing weren’t bad enough, he’d asked her out. Her reaction to that made sense, too. Who the hell did he think he was, coming on to the team principal’s daughter , for fuck’s sake? No wonder she was so pissed off.

It was all he could do to keep a polite smile glued to his face while everyone at the table toasted both of them. His eyes flicked over to her, and as if she could sense his gaze on her, she stole a glance at him. Her grin remained fixed, but there was something in her eyes and the slight cock of her eyebrow that was knowing. She was enjoying this moment. In no small part, he imagined, because she’d just proven what a giant ass he was.

He wanted to disappear from the restaurant, find a bar, and drink until the embarrassment of the day faded from memory. But that was out of the question.

Paul had given him a chance to drive—his last real chance. If he blew it, an F1 world championship would likely stay forever out of reach. He’d spend his career like he had the last three years, bouncing around Indy Car, Formula E—every place but the top spot at a top Formula One team.

He shot one more look down the table at Mira, her profile outlined in gold from the candles dotting the table. She smiled up at her father, a bigger smile than she’d aimed in his direction, and a dimple appeared in her cheek that he hadn’t seen before. That simmering attraction bubbled up a little hotter in his chest.

No. She was Paul’s daughter . Anything involving Miranda Wentworth would be a mistake. From here on out, there would be no screwups. Will Hawley would be a model citizen and dream driver. Anything less could wind up costing him everything.