With my arms stretched overhead, I savor the way my back pops and releases.
When I bring my water bottle to my mouth, I realize it’s empty. Again. So I stand and head toward the bathrooms and bottle refill station.
I might as well pee while I’m up. Especially if I’m going to chug another twenty-four ounces.
Headquarters is quiet, but light glows beneath the closed doors of a few offices, so it looks like I’m not the only one working late.
As I step up to the bathroom, I grasp the door handle and push. The door moves too easily, and I nearly trip over the threshold. Then Alaric appears before me. A sexy, disheveled version of Alaric.
“Sorry,” I squeak out, righting myself and shifting back slightly to give him space to vacate the bathroom.
“Evangeline. What are you doing here?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he’s the one who hired me.
But as I take him in, I stop myself.
His hair is standing up at odd angles, and the whites of his eyes are slightly bloodshot. The man is exhausted. It makes sense, I suppose. He’s probably been here since early this morning. Then he was out in the garage and on the pit wall for hours this afternoon.
“What are you still doing here?” he repeats, the question sharp.
“I’m working,” I tell him, resisting the urge to duck and break eye contact. “What areyoustill doing here?” I mimic.
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret the sass infused in them.
Thankfully, rather than give me a disapproving look, he fights back a smile.
Internally, I high-five myself. Look at that. I’ve provided him a bit of levity when he’s visibly stressed.
“I’m also working.” With that, his disapproving scowl slips back into place. “It’s late. You’re already expected to work long, unconventional hours on race days. You shouldn’t still be here tonight.”
I plant one hand on my hip, examining his soft brown eyes. “I’m still here because I want to be. I like the quiet, and the work is interesting.”
There’s no point mentioning that I’d rather be here, distracted and busy, than back in my hotel, acutely aware of my own loneliness. For as exhausting as “live” nights are, at least they’re not isolating.
A ripple of gratitude flows through me. Being here, in Australia, working for this team and being among all my friends means so much more to me than I’ve really allowed myself to acknowledge until now.
Swallowing down the lump of emotion in my throat, I lick my lips, gathering the words to vocalize this to him. “Alaric?—”
“You can call me Ric,” he says softly.
Ric. That’s how Luca refers to his dad, which I always thought was odd.
I scrunch my nose. “I like Alaric.”
“Very well.” He offers me a kind smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Thank you. For earlier,” I tell him. “With the head chef? You didn’t have to?—”
“I did,” he says, his tone sharp but not unkind. “And I wanted to. You deserve to be fully considered, Evangeline.”
His words slam into me, the sincerity behind them nearly taking my breath away. I’m not sure anyone has ever fully considered me before. Maybe it’s pathetic, but it’s a simple truth.
Desperate to protect my ego and refrain from melting down in front of this man,again, I ignore his kindness completely.
“You can call me Evan,” I say.
He smiles then. It’s real, genuine, making the skin around his eyes crinkle slightly.
