“We’re done here.” Blood pressure skyrocketing, I stand, preparing to leave before I do or say something I’ll regret.
He scoffs. “It’s like that, then.”
I shift to extend my hand, then think better of it and slip both into my pockets. “Good luck this season. My sincerest hope is that you achieve everything you’re aiming to do and that you’re proud of yourself at the end of the day.”
Glaring, he shakes his head. He hates me in dad mode. He hates me in my professional capacity, too. I can’t win.
Though after his flippant, disparaging remarks about Evangeline, I don’t know if I want to.
Softer, I add, “I love you. I’m always cheering for you and am here when you need me.”
Rather than reply or even acknowledge my words, he takes a step back, like he’s ready to exit.
Figuring I can’t make things any worse than they already are, I add, “Please do the right thing by her, son.”
With a grimace, he turns and stalks out of the suite.
CHAPTER 12
EVANGELINE
“Oh my god, I almost forgot to tell you guys. This morning, Matty Olsenn almost ran me over with his scooter.” Silas leans forward and grins, looking expectantly from me to Marisol as if this is the best moment of his life.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He pretends to flip hair that doesn’t exist over his shoulder. “I mean, I would have preferred if he’d hit me and then performed the necessary CPR.”
Marisol chortles, shaking her head.
“Did he at least apologize?” I press.
Matty’s a two-time world champ in Formula 1 and was the champion in Formula 3 and Formula 2 as he rose through the ranks. He’s always been the fastest of the Elite Eight, with the kind of ego and hyper-focus that makes him disinterested in hanging out socially. I don’t know him well, but I would hope he’d take more care around the paddock.
With a shrug, Silas grins. “He did shout ‘watch it’ in that sexy Norwegian accent as he zipped past me.”
“I don’t think almost getting run over by a Formula 1 driver is something you should be excited about,” Marisol teases. She pops a green grape into her mouth.
Our coworker waves his hand. “Ladies, please. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to work in this industry? I’d let Matty Olsenn run me over, throw it in reverse, and hit me again if it’d make him happy.”
I snort out a laugh.
Marisol angles in, waggling her perfectly arched eyebrows. “If we’re swapping driver stories, Heath held the door for me this morning.”
I fight back a smile. I love how excited the two of them are about this sport. Though it hits me now that I haven’t mentioned how close I am with some of the people they seem to idolize.
“Where do you want to set up and work this afternoon?” Silas asks, arching back in his chair, the move causing several popping sounds along his spine.
The cafeteria, where we’re finishing up lunch, is on the main level of Granata’s headquarters. It was super busy when we arrived, so we were fortunate to find a table at all.
Though we have individual tasks to complete this afternoon, we’ve spent the last two days working together, so his question isn’t surprising. It makes sense to stick together as a team.
We have our own desks in Mauricio’s office, but our supervisor has encouraged us to move about headquarters and work where we’re comfortable. Our weekday hours are flexible, too, and he’s given us permission to work from the hotel sometimes. The accommodations are nice since we’ll be working long hours on race weekends.
“I would love to snag one of the tables outside,” Marisol says, staring wistfully through the tinted glass toward the front of the paddock.
I hold back a wince; outside is not my preference.
The grassy patio area in front of Granata’s hospitality is nice enough, with umbrellas here and there to combat the afternoon sun. But the paddock itself is always buzzing with activity, meaning it would be nearly impossible to stay focused if we set up out there.
