As a department, we have a weekly data collection quota. One of the collection methods includes in-person listening, which will be done in the grandstands, around the paddock, and even on the pit wall during the race.
Our assignments will rotate each week so that none of us burn out from staring at a screen all day or sitting in the sun surrounded by overly enthusiastic fans. No day will be the same, though the work and goals will be consistent, which tickles my brain in a surprisingly positive way.
By the time we wrap up morning orientation, I’m overwhelmed in the best way.
I can do this. Iamdoing this. All my self-doubt and trepidation have quieted. Between seeing my friends and learning more about my role, I’m finally excited to be here and to get this season started.
CHAPTER 10
EVANGELINE
Ishow up to dinner ten minutes late. My arrival time is by design. It ensures I’m not the first person here and typically works well. Tonight, though, as I approach the doors, I consider turning around. In hindsight, I should have come with Mia and Shelby. Instead, I’m alone, and it’s taking everything in me to place one foot in front of the other as I move through the restaurant.
Luca is here.
Not with my friends, but he’s here, nevertheless.
Dinner plans for tonight have changed a few times this week, and the group only nailed down the location a few hours ago. I have to assume Flynn didn’t know that my ex would be here when he texted the update.
My stomach roils, but I keep my head held high, feigning confidence. As I continue, I desperately search for the restroom. If I’m going to puke, I’d prefer not to do it on my favorite animal-print mini dress. This lightweight, butter-soft modal fabric is a bitch to spot-clean. Scrubbing chunks of my stomach contents out of the fabric is sure to cause pilling.
Hold your nerve, Evan.
Repeating the command in my head, I force myself to keep moving. At least I wore flats. The spike in my adrenaline causes me to shake so viscerally that I don’t think I could handle the challenge of remaining upright in wedges or heels.
I can do this.
I have a right to be here.
I refuse to fade into the background of my own life.
Luca is sitting at a round table ahead. How pathetic is it that just the sight of the back of his head is triggering me?
He’s dining with Prince Marceaux, the reigning world champion. Matty Olsenn from Relic Racing is at the table as well, a two-time world champion from Norway with an ego the size of his team’s motor home. A fourth driver, Dade Cavanaugh, the other veteran from Relic, rounds out their quartet.
It was Dade who locked eyes with me when I walked into the place.
And when he did, he nudged Luca and Matty, then leaned in, whispering and smirking.
With every step forward, my heart rate increases. I doubt they’ll attempt to speak to me. Even if they did, I doubt I’ll hear them over the sound of blood whooshing in my ears.
Hold your nerve. Hold your nerve. Hold your nerve.
Once I’ve cleared their table, I suck in a shaky breath and scan the back of the establishment for my friends.
Despite the bustling restaurant brimming with patrons, my friends aren’t hard to find. A big table filled with famous F1 drivers is hard to miss in any setting.
We typically go for restaurants with private rooms, but with the last-minute change in plans, it looks like a setting like that wasn’t available.
Flynn and Beatrix originally planned to host us at their mom’s house in St. Kilda. They were born and raised here in Melbourne, making this weekend not only the start of the season but Flynn’s home race.
Sadly, Mrs. Turner suffered a stroke last fall. Though she’s made good progress, and lately has had more good days than bad, she wasn’t up for hosting tonight.
I’ll miss seeing her. She has the warmest smile and an eclectic, maximalist wardrobe bursting with color. As I continue my trek, I make a mental note to ask Bea if she’d be up for a quick visit if our schedules allow. I don’t want to overwhelm her mom, especially if she’s struggling, but I’d love the chance to visit if it might lift her spirits.
As I reach our table, a few of the guys rise to their feet to greet me.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Saint envelops me in a hug, and when we pull apart, he kisses both my cheeks.
