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She nodded. ‘Rafael was scheduled to appear at several sponsored engagements during the August hiatus. They’ll want to know what’s happening.’
Once again Marco was struck by the calm calculation in her voice. This wasn’t the tone of a concerned lover or a distraught team mate. Her mind was firmly focused on Team Espíritu. In other circumstances, her single-mindedness would have been admirable. But he knew first-hand the devastation ambition like hers could wreak.
Before he could answer a knock sounded on his door. One of his two butlers materialised from wherever he’d been stationed and opened the door.
Russell Latchford, his second-in-command, and Luke Green, the team’s chief engineer, entered.
Russell approached. ‘I’ve just been to see Rafael—’ He stopped when he saw Sasha. ‘Sasha. I didn’t know you were here.’ His tone echoed the question in his eyes.
Sasha returned his gaze calmly. Nothing ruffled her. Nothing except the threatened loss of her job. The urge to see her lose that cool once again attacked Marco’s senses.
‘Miss Fleming’s here to discuss future possibilities in light of Rafael’s accident.’
As team principal, it was Russell’s job to source the best drivers for the team, with Marco giving final approval. Marco saw his disgruntlement, but to his credit Russell said nothing.
‘Have you brought the shortlist I asked for?’ Marco asked Russell.
Sasha inhaled sharply, and he saw her hands clench in her lap as Russell handed over a piece of paper.
‘I’ve already been discreetly approached by the top five, but every driver in the sport wants to drive for us. It’ll cost you to buy out their contracts, of course. If you go for someone from the lower ranking teams it’ll still cost you, but the fallout won’t be as damaging as poaching someone from the top teams.’
Marco shook his head. ‘Our sponsors signed up for the package—Rafael and the car. I don’t want a second-class driver. I need someone equally talented and charismatic or the sponsors will throw hissy fits.’
Luke spoke up. ‘There’s also the problem of limited in-season testing. We can’t just throw in a brand-new driver mid-season and expect him to handle the car anywhere near the way Rafael did.’
Marco glanced down at the list. ‘No. Rafael is irreplaceable. I accept that the Drivers’ Championship is no longer an option, but I want to win the Constructors’ Championship. The team deserves it. All of these drivers would ditch their contract to drive for me, but I’d rather not deal with a messy court battle. Where do we stand on the former champion who retired last year? Have you contacted him?’
Russell shook his head. ‘Even with the August break he won’t be in good enough shape when the season resumes in September.’
‘So my only option is to take on a driver from another team?’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Sasha’s voice was low, but intensely powerful, and husky enough to command attention.
Marco’s eyes slid to her. Her stance remained relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but in her eyes he saw ferocious purpose.
‘You have something to add?’
Fierce blue eyes snapped at him as she rolled her shoulders. As last time, he couldn’t help but follow the movement. Then his eyes travelled lower, to the breasts covered by her nondescript T-shirt. Again the pull of desire was strong and sharp, unlike anything he’d experienced before. Again he pushed it away and forced his gaze back to her face.
A faint flush covered her cheeks. ‘You know I do. I know the car inside out. I’ve driven it at every Friday Practice since last season. The way I see it, I’m the only way you can win the Constructors’ Championship. Plus you’d save a lot of money and the unnecessary litigation of trying to tempt away a driver mid-season from another team. In the last few practices my run-times have nearly equalled Rafael’s.’
Marco silently admitted the truth of her words. He might not sit on the pit wall for every single minute of a race—the engineer and aerodynamicist in him preferred the hard facts of the telemetry reports—but he knew Sasha’s race times to the last fraction.
He also knew racing was more than just the right car in the right hands. ‘Yes, but you’re yet to perform under the pressure of a Saturday practice, a pole position shoot-out and a race on Sunday. I’d rather have a driver with actual race experience.’
Russell fidgeted and cleared his throat. ‘I agree, Marco. I think Alan might be a better option—’
‘I’ve consistently surpassed Alan’s track times,’ she said of the team’s second driver. ‘Luke will confirm it.’
