Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Lex

B eing a driver for Crown Velocity has its perks, one of which is using the company helicopter. The chopper’s blades thrum steadily above, the noise almost hypnotic as we glide through the air toward Silvercrest Circuit. It’s the premier racing course in England and where Crown Velocity will be racing in July at the Silvercrest Global Prix. The landscape below is a patchwork of green fields and winding roads, but I barely notice it, lost in my thoughts.

Not thoughts of my upcoming track time to test our newest upgrades on the car, but rather about Posey. Last night was… incredible. Everything about it—about her—was perfect. Sure, we agreed that this was just a fling, something fun and temporary, but she’s unlike any woman I’ve ever been with. Something delicious about her gets under my skin, and I really can’t figure it out.

She’s so attractive in all the right ways and I get hard just looking at her mouth and imagining what she did with it last night when we had round two, but honestly… it’s who she is inside that has me so enamored. I’ve heard of the concept of beauty on the inside, though I never gave it any credence. But fuck if I don’t see it with Posey. She fucking shines from the inside out.

I lean back in my seat, trying to shake off the swirling thoughts. I should be focusing on the upcoming test, not replaying every detail of last night. But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when all I can think about is how Posey’s body felt against mine, the way she smiled at me afterward like I’d just given her the world.

Ronan sits across from me and I can sense his irritation that I’m not engaging him in conversation. He’s never been one for silence, and right now, my quiet contemplation is clearly getting on his nerves if the expression on his face is anything to go by.

“What’s with you today?” he finally snaps, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing.

I glance at him, then look out the window again, choosing my words carefully. “Just thinking, mate. Got a lot on my mind.”

Ronan’s a friend—a good one by all accounts—but there’s no way I’m telling him what’s really going on with Posey. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I know he wouldn’t understand. The last thing I want is for Posey to become a target for Ronan’s teasing or, worse, his outright disdain because I’m pretty sure he’d disapprove. She’s got enough on her plate without him giving her a hard time, so I keep silent.

Ronan studies me for a moment longer, his frustration evident, but when I don’t elaborate, he huffs in annoyance and moves to another seat. I hold back a smile, knowing that he’ll get over it by the time we land.

I can’t ignore the woman who takes Ronan’s seat though. Harley slides onto the supple leather and her sharp eyes zero in on me. “You’ve been quiet this morning,” she observes, her tone neutral but her expression probing. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, all good,” I reply, forcing a smile. Harley’s the team principal for a reason—she can read people like a book, and I know she won’t let this go easily.

She leans back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, her gaze never leaving mine. “So, how’s it going with Posey? She’s been shadowing you pretty closely. Must be interesting having someone like her around.”

There it is—the opening for a conversation I’m not sure I want to have. But I can’t just ignore her, especially when she’s so invested in making sure everything runs smoothly this season. I tread carefully, knowing Harley’s sharp enough to pick up on any slips. “She’s… enthusiastic. Really into learning about the sport. I think it’s good for Crown Velocity to have someone like her writing about the team.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Harley says with a smile. “I can’t wait to see her article. It will be excellent exposure not just for Crown Velocity, but for FI racing.”

My heart pounds because only I know Posey’s secret—that she’s not a journalist at all, but a romance author doing research for her book. I promised to keep it to myself, and I’m not about to break that promise, especially now. I keep my response neutral. “She’s here to do a job, and she’s doing it well. That’s all that matters, right?”

Harley nods her agreement, her expression softening just a bit. “You’ve been very professional lately, Lex. I appreciate that. I see great things for you this year, and I’m glad you’re keeping your head in the game. That’s what you need to win the Driver’s Championship and I’ve no doubt you can do it.”

“Thanks, Harley,” I reply, moved by her words. Harley doesn’t hand out praise unless it’s earned, and it’s one of the things I like best about her. “I’m focused and nothing’s going to change that.”

She gives me a small smile as she stands. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Harley returns to her seat next to Randall Peterman. As the technical director at Crown Velocity, he’s the second-most important person in the hierarchy under Harley. Randall oversees all the technical design aspects of the car and coordinates all the puzzle pieces.

When I’m alone, I let out a tight breath. It was uncomfortable talking to Harley about Posey and keeping her secret. It goes against my loyalty to the team and I’m on such thin ice lately, it could cost me my job.

And yet… I’d never betray Posey, so I’m going to walk the edge with this secret.

I glance out the window again, the test track coming into view in the distance. Silvercrest was built in 1948, designed to capture the essence of traditional British motorsport. It’s known for its long straights and fast corners, making it ideal for both overtaking and testing the limits of a driver’s skill. I know I may be partial because I’m a Brit, but it’s my favorite track to race on and where we’ll test the upgrades today.

The cars will already be there, waiting for us. They were trucked up earlier this morning while Ronan and I spent time in the simulator, knowing we’d be able to take the helicopter to the track. My thoughts turn back to Posey—how she’s driving up with Maeve, probably full of excitement to see me in the actual car today. I can’t wait for her to see me in my element, to feel that adrenaline rush as I push the car to its limits… and knowing that small part of me hopes to impress her.

But I need to get my head straight. I’ve been thinking about her too much, and it’s starting to mess with my focus. As much as I want her to be proud of me, I have to remember that my job—my career—comes first. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how tempting they might be.

The helicopter lands, and we all disembark, the noise of the blades whipping through the air above. The team’s portable garage is already set up, the cars gleaming under the late-morning sun.

I walk over, taking in the sight of Crown Velocity’s signature colors—a sleek combination of silver, black and a vibrant turquoise green—gleam under the various sponsor logos. The car is a work of art, every curve, every line designed for maximum performance. The body is constructed from the most advanced carbon fiber materials, the front wing meticulously engineered to cut through the air with minimal drag. The tires, provided by our tire partner, are ready to be put to the test, and the engine… well, that’s where the magic happens. It’s a beast, capable of pushing to over two hundred miles per hour, tuned to perfection by our engineers.

I run my hand along the side of it, feeling the smooth surface under my fingertips. This is where I belong—behind the wheel, pushing the limits, chasing that perfect lap.

But before I can get in and see what this baby can do with the upgrades, I need to go inside and gear up. I head into the portable garage where the team’s equipment is neatly organized. Ronan and I alternate usage of a small dressing room to change.

While a crash can result in serious injuries, the evil demon we never want to encounter is fire. Nomex is the name of the game, a flame-resistant, high-performance synthetic fiber that can withstand temperatures of eight hundred degrees Celsius.

Everything we wear is made of Nomex starting with an underlayer of long sleeves and trousers, followed by our race suit. Socks, gloves, racing boots… all made of the life-saving fiber. After putting in my communication earpieces, I tug on the balaclava—also made of Nomex—and ensure it’s secured tightly over my head and perimeter of my face so only from my eyebrows to my chin is uncovered.

I resist the urge to look around for Posey. I know she’s sitting somewhere in the stands, most likely with Maeve, to watch. Instead, I head over to the engineers where Ronan and I have a final briefing on the adjustments that were made based on simulator data. It takes about twenty minutes and then we’re ready to go.

Ronan is up first, taking his car out for a calibration lap. I try to focus on the big screen which shows him on the portions of the track I can’t see but fuck if I can’t help but look around for Posey.

I jolt to realize she’s not but twenty feet from me, just outside our portable garage. No clue where Maeve is. I glance around but everyone’s busy.

No reason I can’t go say hello.

Posey has her eyes pinned on one of the large screens showing the live feed of Ronan’s run. When she senses me approaching, she turns her head my way. Christ, she’s pretty and her eyes light up when she sees me. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. I’m supposed to be focused, but there’s something about her that pulls me in, makes me want to be near her.

My intent is only a quick hello, but as I get closer, something impetuous takes over. “Hey,” I say, my voice low as I reach her.

“Hey,” Posey replies, her smile widening.

“Wish me luck?” I ask, my eyes locking onto hers.

“Good luck,” she says softly, her cheeks flushing.

But that’s not enough. Before I can stop myself, I lean in, my hand slipping around her waist as I pull her close and press a quick kiss to her lips. It’s bold, and I can feel her tense slightly, but I don’t care. She’s too irresistible.

When I pull back, she’s looking around, clearly embarrassed. “Lex,” she hisses with a censuring look. “Someone could have seen that.”

“Relax,” I say with a wink, stepping back. “No one did and now I have a good-luck kiss to propel me forward.”

She starts to chew me out, but I slip my helmet on, cutting off the noise. “I’ll see you after the run,” I call, very pleased with myself and, as always, getting a kick out of the blush I put on her face.

When Ronan is done, it’s my turn and I settle into my car. The HANS—or head-and-neck support device—is deployed, connecting my helmet and seat belts to the carbon fiber safety device that limits my head movement to prevent injuries during high-impact collisions.

Now it’s go time.

There is no turning of a key or pushing a button to start the engine of a formula car. Rather, it’s a precise, coordinated dance between me and the pit crew, and nothing happens without them. Using an external starter motor, they slot it into the rear of my car. That thing is the key to firing up this beast of an engine, which is so finely tuned, it needs an extra boost just to wake up.

As they work at the back, I’m already in the cockpit, fingers moving over the steering wheel like a pianist. I bring everything online—electronics, fuel pumps, hybrid systems—watching the lights flicker on my dash. The engine doesn’t roar to life until all those systems are perfectly synced.

But once the engine fires, the sound flows through me in a powerful wave. It’s a guttural growl vibrating through the entire chassis, a promise of power just waiting to be unleashed. I grip the paddles behind the wheel, engaging the clutch with a precise squeeze. Can’t rush this. One wrong move, and I could stall the damn thing. With a gentle shift into first gear, I feel the car tense, like a predator ready to pounce.

Now it’s just me, the engine and the track.

My first lap out is for the team to calibrate all the upgraded components. Next, I run a few installation laps to check that all systems are functioning correctly, a process dictated by my feel of the car and the engineering team reading real-time data collected by sensors. Telemetry systems track everything from brake temperature to suspension load, and engineers analyze this data to evaluate how well the upgrades are performing.

While all the science and technology can be boggling at times, when it boils down to it, it’s the feel of the car all around me in my tightly enclosed space that enables me to give the best feedback.

“Lex,” Randall’s voice crackles through the headset. “One more lap before you can open her up.”

“Copy that,” I reply, my voice steady. The car responds to every slight movement of the wheel, the tires gripping the asphalt as I push it through the broad turns. The adjustments we made are working—there’s more stability in the corners, and the power is smooth, controlled.

“Feels good,” I say as I push harder, the car accelerating smoothly down the straightaway. “Rear’s holding well through turn three.”

“Noted,” Randall replies. “Watch the braking into the Vale chicane. We adjusted the balance slightly, so it might feel a bit different.”

Chicanes are sections of a racetrack consisting of tight turns designed to slow down the cars, usually before a straightaway. They’re good places to test braking since braking is essential going into one.

I hit the pedal, the car responding instantly, and glide through the left corner with precision before coasting through the right turn. “Brakes feel solid. I’m not losing any grip.”

The laps fly by, each one faster than the last as I get more comfortable with the setup. By the time I pull into the garage, my adrenaline is pumping and my mind buzzes with the thrill of the run.

I climb out of the car, pulling off my helmet as I walk over to Posey instead of to the garage where I’ll chat up the engineers. It’s a legitimate move to anyone watching. She is, after all, writing an article about me and the team.

She watches me as I approach, her eyes wide with excitement. I pull off my balaclava, but when I get close, she holds up her hands, taking a step back.

“Keep your distance,” she says, her voice light but firm. “I’m not going to give everyone a show.”

I chuckle, respecting her boundaries as I stop a few feet away. “Fair enough. But I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

She smiles, and it makes me want to close the distance between us, but I resist.

“What did you think?” I ask.

“I think my heart was in my throat the entire time you were out there,” she gushes. “It was both thrilling and terrifying. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like watching you in qualifying and not sure my nerves will be able to take watching you in a race. It was just…”

She trails off as my smile widens. That’s a whole lot of worries over me, and blimey if it doesn’t feel good. Doesn’t feel like a fling but rather someone who genuinely cares for my well-being.

Posey blushes and ducks her head a moment before saying, “You did great. I was very impressed.”

I want to tease her about her ramble, but instead, I choose to hold it close. I thumb back at the garage. “I’m going to meet with the team and then I’ll be taking the helicopter back. You heading to HQ with Maeve?”

She nods, looking around for the red-haired communications manager. “Yeah… I think she’s around here somewhere. We’re going to grab a drink when we get back to Woking.”

“But dinner with me,” I say. It’s not a request, but a demand.

Posey nods, cheeks pink and pretty. “Okay… see you when you get home.”