Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Posey

T he low growl of Lex’s Lamborghini Urus fills the quiet countryside as we wind through the picturesque lanes of the Cotswolds. The scenery here is breathtaking, a stark contrast to the sleek, high-tech world of Crown Velocity. Rolling green hills stretch out in every direction, dotted with quaint stone cottages that look like they’ve been plucked straight from a storybook. There’s an uncharacteristic break in the gray, cloudy skies, and the early-morning sun casts everything in a golden light, making the landscape look almost ethereal.

I glance over at Lex, who’s driving with one hand on the wheel, his other arm resting casually on the console. He’s effortlessly cool, as always, in a light blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. His cream-colored slacks fit him perfectly, accentuating his athletic build. Aviator sunglasses complete the outfit, making him look every bit the part of the charming yet mysterious bad boy of FI.

We’re on our way to a team get-together at Spencer Montgomery’s estate, an event he holds every year before the race season begins. It’s going to be a perfect day weather-wise with what these English consider a warm end of winter day. It’s projected to be in the upper fifties, which to this Southern girl, is still quite chilly. As we were leaving the house, Lex laughed at my long wool skirt with knee-high boots, a thick fuzzy sweater and my trusty parka to ward off the chill. Lex merely had a suit jacket to wear over his shirt, now haphazardly draped over the back seat.

As we drive, I can’t help but reflect on the last three days since Lex moved into the Airbnb with me. It’s been… intense, to say the least. Every morning, we’ve been at Crown Velocity headquarters bright and early, but only after we share a cup of coffee along with scrambled eggs and bacon that I’ve taken to cooking for us. It’s simple fare but Lex eats it up like a starving madman and has proclaimed me the best egg chef he’s ever known.

I admit only that adding a little of the coffee cream to the scramble is the part of the secret but the other is to cook them slowly over the lowest flame.

Lex has been spending a lot of time in the simulator, focusing on the Bahrain track. Watching him work has been a revelation. The level of precision and dedication that goes into every decision, every adjustment, is mind-boggling. The engineers are like wizards, tweaking the car’s setup based on the data Lex provides, and it’s all so intricate, so exact.

In the afternoons, Lex and Ronan review simulation data with the engineers and strategists, making final tweaks to the cars. I’ve been shadowing Lex during these sessions—at his insistence, no less. I’m learning more than I ever imagined about the sport and honestly, it’s enriching my book so much.

And then there are the workouts. Watching him lift weights or run on the treadmill while I limp along on the elliptical produces a weird mix of feelings. It’s hard not to lust after such a fine specimen of a man but it does pull into focus my perceived inadequacies of being merely ordinary.

Every night he’s stayed home with me rather than head to London to go out with Ronan. We cook dinner together, talk about current events, friends and families and our work. Because I spend so much time learning about FI racing, Lex insists on having equal time to learn about the romance industry. He asks good questions about the business side of things, but he’ll pepper in something to try to embarrass me.

“How do you market your books?” he asked last night.

I went into a long explanation about social media, newsletters, paid advertising and my new (and most favorite) part of my business, selling directly to my customers through my webstore.

He asked follow-up questions one after another, leading me deeper down a comforting rabbit hole until he zinged me. “Do you write your sex scenes from personal experience? I mean… how do you research that?”

He snickered as I threw a pillow at him from the couch, and I laughed when it smacked him in the head and knocked the bottle of water out of his hand.

But eventually the evening always winds down with us parting ways. I say good night, leaving Lex in the living room to watch TV or surf on his phone. I retire to my room, sit in my bed and bang out some of the most creative words I’ve ever written. I’ve shot them back to my beta readers across the pond and their feedback has been so enthusiastically positive that I know I made the absolute right choice to come here. Not only to learn but to immerse myself in the world, a chance that I know will make this new series a success.

I’ve also been able to observe Lex and Ronan during a string of interviews with major sports networks, social media content creators, and photo shoots. Lex is a natural in front of the camera, exuding charm and confidence. Ronan’s more egotistical, although I suppose some women might find that charming. I find it cringy and try to limit my interaction with him.

One afternoon, I spent half a day with Harley, watching her juggle a million things at once. She’s a force of nature, managing everything from team logistics to sponsor meetings. It was inspiring to see a woman command such respect in a male-dominated sport, and I left that day even more impressed by her than I already was.

Of course, the more I’m impressed by her, the more guilt I feel for duping her, but it’s going to be my cross to bear forever.

Today, though, is a day off. A chance for the entire team to relax and bond. Lex said it will be the grandest, most over-the-top event I’ve ever seen with no expense spared. There’s going to be skeet shooting, live music, catered food and an open bar.

“Does Spencer really do this every year?” I ask as we round a bend, the massive estate coming into view in the distance.

“He does,” Lex replies, his voice light with amusement. “It’s ostentatious, sure, but that’s Spencer for you. The guy’s worth hundreds of millions of dollars, so he doesn’t exactly hold back.”

Any follow-up questions are forgotten as the beauty before us steals my breath. The long, winding driveway is lined with perfectly manicured hedges and ancient towering trees, their branches still bare from the winter cold, creating a natural tunnel that leads to the main house.

The estate itself is a sprawling three-story manor, built from honey-colored limestone. The stonework is impeccably maintained, with ivy creeping up the walls. The large, mullioned windows reflect the midday sun, glinting a welcome. The roof is adorned with steep gables and chimneys, the architecture an absolute marvel.

The front of the house has a circular drive, centered around a beautifully sculpted stone fountain. Red-jacketed valets wait in a line to take the guests’ cars elsewhere to park. As we exit, I see off in the distance that the grounds extend far beyond the main house, with glimpses of additional outbuildings and a far-off view of a private woodland. A few horses graze in a fenced paddock to one side of the property, adding to the pastoral charm. It’s a setting so idyllic, I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave.

“Is Spencer married?” I ask as we walk toward the stone steps leading to the front door, curious about the man who’s managed to keep such a tight-knit, successful team.

“Not a chance,” Lex says with a chuckle. “Confirmed bachelor, through and through. I think he likes the freedom too much. Can’t imagine him settling down.”

“Bad boy just like you?” I tease.

“I think relationship averse, but it’s just a vibe,” he clarifies.

Upon entry into the grand foyer, we’re directed straight through to the back of the house where we step out into an incredible terraced garden of neatly trimmed hedges, rosebushes waiting for summer blooms and large white tents filled with food and drink.

The booming sound of gunshots causes me to jump and Lex laughs, pointing off to one side where there’s a setup for skeet shooting. A large group—mostly men—are already gathered, waiting their turn.

Servers circulate with trays of hors d’oeuvres, offering everything from delicate smoked salmon canapés to tiny, artfully crafted desserts.

I’m boggled by the opulence of this lavish party and display of wealth, but there’s an undeniable sense of romantic and nostalgic decadence.

It’s all very Gatsby-esque and I’m here to soak it all in.

“Posey.” I turn to see Maeve bouncing over to us, her curly red hair catching the light. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress that perfectly matches her sunny personality, complemented with a light blue wraparound shawl to stay warm.

Lex touches my elbow, and I feel it all the way through my body. I glance up at him. “I’m going to head over to shoot some clays.” He nods that way. “Come join us. It’s a lot of fun.”

He’s gone by the time Maeve reaches me.

“How are you, love? Did you settle into your Airbnb?”

“I did, thanks,” I reply, smiling at her.

“Then we must get together for that drink soon,” she chirps.

“I’d love that.” My eyes slide from her over to where Lex has joined the group around the skeet range. Spencer is there, as is Ronan and other people I’ve met over the past week. Harley has a gun in hand and looks like a natural.

Maeve follows my attention and nudges me, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You and Lex sure are joined at the hip.”

I feel a blush from the roots of my hair spreading all over my head and creeping into my face as I stammer, “Well, he’s my Crown Velocity liaison for the article I’m writing.”

“Of course he is.” She nudges me again. “Just poking a bit at you. But I suppose if you have to be tethered to one of the drivers here, he’s better than Ronan.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

I can immediately tell Maeve did not mean to open the door to my line of questioning and given her position as the communications manager, she’s not about to say a bad word about anyone at Crown, most especially to me. She’s about to backpedal.

“Oh, they’re both fine fellas,” she says brightly. “It’s just Lex is a little more outgoing and willing to do press-related stuff. So he was the natural choice.”

I suppress a laugh since I think Lex got stuck with me because he had to be brought into line and the threat of a negative article was Harley’s power over him. While he hasn’t come out and said it, I think he’s probably on thin ice with this team.

When Maeve doesn’t elaborate further about why Ronan wouldn’t be a good choice, I don’t push the issue. I have my own suspicions but it’s not really all that important. I hopefully won’t have much interaction with Ronan and if I do, at least Lex is trying to make him be nice.

We chat for a while, catching up on the last few days. Maeve is just as delightful as she was the first time we met, and I’m grateful to have her as a friend here. She’s the kind of person who instantly makes you feel like you belong. At one point, she introduces me to a few more members of the team within the marketing department, all of whom are just as welcoming. It’s easy to see why Crown Velocity is so successful—there’s a real sense of camaraderie here.

“Have you spent much time with Harley?” Maeve asks as we stroll past a group of guests.

“I have, actually,” I reply, thinking back to my time with her. “She’s amazing and I don’t know how she manages everything.”

“Right? She’s involved in every aspect of the team, from logistics to sponsor meetings. It’s really inspiring to see her in action. I’m so lucky to work for her.”

“It seems she’s got a lot of respect in the sport, which I assume isn’t easy to come by as a woman.”

Maeve nods. “It definitely helps that she’s raced cars herself. She’s been in the thick of it and understands all the pieces of the puzzle.”

“I noticed there aren’t any females in FI, and I know Harley was an anomaly as a female driver in the States. Is there just no room in the sport for females? I mean… seems to me they can drive just as well as men do.”

“I’ve asked that same question myself and it’s a complicated answer.”

“I’m all ears,” I assure her.

“Well, it’s a combination of a few things. Historically, motorsport has always been seen as a male-dominated field, with old stereotypes suggesting that women weren’t suited for the physical and mental demands of racing. It’s hard on the body and many think women aren’t physically capable of withstanding the rigors of the sport.”

“Ridiculous,” I scoff. “Harley proved a woman can do it. Female fighter pilots face the same g-forces that drivers do.”

“Oh, for sure,” Maeve says, her curls bouncing with her fierce nod. “But another big factor is how drivers move up through the ranks. Most start in karting at a really young age, but not many young girls have had the same opportunities or support to progress through the junior formulas. And it doesn’t help that motorsport is incredibly expensive, and finding sponsors as a female driver has been much harder, so women just get discouraged from trying.”

“That’s depressing,” I mutter.

“It is, but there’s one female driver in FI2 who’s setting the track on fire. There are rumors that she might get picked up next season by an FI team.”

“Really?” I exclaim, excited about the prospect of a woman in this egocentric field. “What’s her name?”

“Francesca Accardi. Look her up.”

“I will,” I say, making a mental note. I’ve got story ideas swirling through my head now of a female formula driver for my series.

Maeve’s phone dings and she pulls it out of her purse, frowning as she reads the screen. “Sorry… I have to make a call. It seems a press junket for tomorrow is going to be delayed.”

“No worries,” I assure her. After she steps off, I look around for Lex.

I find him still standing with the group skeet shooting and while I intend to check it out, I’m famished. I walk into one of the tents that has tables laden with food and grab a plate.

I’m halfway through the buffet, adding only one of each item that looks appealing, when I sense someone standing very close behind me.

“Enjoying the party?” Ronan asks, his voice smooth but with an undertone that makes me uneasy.

I whirl around, heart racing, and force a polite smile. “It’s lovely. Spencer really knows how to throw an event.”

Ronan steps closer, his eyes flicking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “You know, Posey, I’ve been thinking… you’ve been spending a lot of time with Lex and I’m trying to figure out why.”

I blink, taken aback by the unexpected comment. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not like the women he normally shags.”

I don’t know a lot of British slang, but I know that one. “Now wait a minute,” I say, completely incensed. “I’m not shagging Lex and even if I were, it’s none of your damn business.”

Ronan leers. “If you say so. But I’m thinking, he clearly knows something about you that I don’t.” His tone turns suggestive. “If you wanted to spend some time with me to get an even closer experience to what a formula driver is all about, you only need to ask.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and not in a good way. There’s something predatory in his tone, something that makes me want to back away. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled, so instead I go on the attack. I tap my finger to my chin, look upward as if I’m considering it, then pin my eyes on him. “Um… gross. I’ll pass.”

I don’t wait for his reply but instead set my plate on the table. I quickly exit the tent and run smack into Lex.

His hands move to my shoulders to steady me. “Whoa there. Where are you in a rush to?”

I resist the urge to see if Ronan followed me and instead say, “I was going to take you up on your offer to learn to shoot.”

A delighted smile lights up his face. “Really?”

“Yeah… I mean, looks like fun.”

“Have you ever shot a gun before?”

I stare at him pointedly. “Do you know what a Southern girl is?”

He grins, shaking his head. “I really don’t.”

“It means I know what an over-and-under double-barreled shotgun is, just as I know what a side-by-side is.”

Lex’s eyebrows rise. “I’m impressed. Let’s see what you got.” He then holds out his elbow and without overthinking it, I slip my hand into the crook. As we walk toward the range, I glance over my shoulder and see Ronan standing outside the tent, watching us thoughtfully.

For a fleeting second, I consider telling Lex about the encounter, that it left me a little uncomfortable, but I decide against it. I might be overreacting, but even if I’m not, I don’t want to cause waves between the guys. They’re teammates and it would serve no purpose to open this can of worms. I resolve myself to keep my eyes on the prize.

Eleven more days until the race in Bahrain and then I’ll have all the information I could ever need to write a kick-ass formula race romance series.