Page 15 of Downforce

The invisible fist clenches my heart tighter.

In our profession, he could be right.

So what do I do about it?

Win. Every practice. Every qualifier. Every race.

And when I do, let everyone know it’s because of Charlotte Madigan.

It’s a start.

CHAPTER NINE

Charlie

I’m not hiding from Anton.

At least, I’m telling myself I’m not.

Of course, in the last twenty-four hours, since leaving his motor home in the Paddock, I’ve been…nowhere near where Anton would likely be pre-race.

Given itisrace weekend and we’re all essentially meant to be onsite and on-call from yesterday onward, it’s been a tad tricky.

I’m not hiding from him though. I’m not.

I’m trying to convince myself two people can’t fall for each other within an hour or so of finally meeting, especially when said two people were adamant they basically despised each other before that.

My engineer’s brain refuses to accept it’s even conceivable.

The problem is my heart, my soul, heck, every part of meexceptmy engineer’s brain says it’s not only conceivable but that it’s happened. My engineer’s brainlikessolving problems, but on this one… Well, it’s thrown its hands up in confused disbelief.

So I haven’t gone anywhere near where the drivers might be, sticking to the monitor banks and data systems in the Equis garage.

Despite all the side-eye looks and raised eyebrows and—in Sergio’s case—asking me outright what’s going on with Anton and me, everyone on the team is focused on the practice sessions.

The practice sessions.

My pulse quickens. The modifications we made to Anton’s and Nigel’s cars have exceeded my expectations, especially Anton’s. I don’t know if he argued against them yesterday afternoon after we…after I left his motor home. I have no clue if he even returned to Equis’s Paddock HQ. As far as I am aware, he was seen talking with RPR’s Australian driver, Ricky Daniels, and Martin Verhoeven from Barnett Racing, and then… Well, after that, I refused to focus on anything but the cars. I worked through the night, slept—at least, tried to—somewhere between two a.m. and six a.m. this morning, and returned to the garage at seven.

Did my heart kick into overdrive at the sight of the white roses in the water jug on my station in the garage? Yes. Did my stomach flutter and my breath catch at the thought Anton had brought them here for me? Yes, and yes.

Did I linger on them?

No. I had to focus on the cars and not the confusion that was Anton.

Work. The cars. Making them faster. That was my mission.Ismy mission. Nothing else.

You’re not fooling yourself. You know that, right?

Scowling, I drill my attention down on the data coming in from Anton’s and Nigel’s cars. The Monaco street circuit is narrow and nasty, and over-taking opportunities are almost non-existent. The cars have to get in front and stay there.

And with only two and a half minutes left on P3, both cars are driving like a slick dream. Anton has consistently clocked the fastest times, making it look easy. As long as nothing changes or goes wrong in the Qualifiers tomorrow, I think Anton and Nigel will destroy the competition.

I can’t wait to see Anton’s smile when he finishes P3.

Wait. I’m not thinking about him. I’m focussing on the car. I’m only interested in the data. I’m?—

“What thefuckhave you done?”

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