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“The materials data?” He quirks his head.
“Yes, the build sheets, the chemical processes, information on all of the polymers and…”
“I’m afraid that is all proprietary, Emily,” he shakes his head and sits up on the couch from his relaxed position.
“Proprietary.”
“Yes, it means the information is…”
“I know what proprietary means,” I interject a little too quickly.
Shit, that was defensive, and I practically barked at him. I’m a little edgy about being one of the only women in the paddock at all, and I have a short fuse for people assuming I’m an idiot because I happen to have tits. “Sorry, what information can you share then?”
Olivier stands. I guess coffee time is over. “I’ll be happy to send you all the information available, mon cher.”
I take my cue to leave and stand up. Shit got awkward quick.
Cheesemaking and proprietary information, ugh.
“My card,” Oliver passes me his business card. “Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions or concerns. I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, Emily. Welcome to the paddock.”
He smiles warmly at me again, and now I’m not sure if he’s upset with me or not. I hate feeling awkward like this. Sometimes I wish I could flip my own switch and stop thinking so much.
“I don’t have a business card yet, but I can give you my email?” I say as we head to the door.
“Your email?”
“For the tire information.”
“Oui, right. I’ll get it from Edmund.”
“Okay, thanks. Nice to meet you, Olivier.”
He nods and holds the door open for me, and I make my escape.
Cheesemaking.
Good lord, Emily.
Nine
“So hard to find my way, now that I'm all on my own. I saw you just the other day, my, how you have grown.” - Van Morrison - Brown Eyed Girl
Cole
“Why do you give them your number?” Dante asks me as my phone lights up again and again on the coffee table between us. “Rookie mistake.”
I sit forward on the couch on the rooftop deck of the motorhome and grab the phone. I haven’t looked at it all day. But now qualification is over, the sun is about to set, and things have quieted down the for day. And I need to deal with this.
I come up here to the rooftop to relax. It’s one of the only quiet places available around the track, but the constant lighting up and buzzing is getting old, and this is a problem that isn’t going to go away on its own.
I glance through the thirty-six messages and roll my eyes.
“Stage-five clinger,” Dante says as he throws his feet up onto the table across from me.
“Seriously,” I groan and dial the number.
Of course, she answers on the first ring and embarks upon her tirade.
