Page 103 of Start Your Engines

“Thank you.” Connor coughs and blushes. “And you don’t need to thank me. Senna is a good influence on me. I’m a lucky man…I mean, friend…friend man.” He stares at the table as Mum grins. “I’m a lucky friend who is a man.”

Talk about revealing everything. But I don’t care. He loves me. Connor fucking Dane loves me, and I love him, too. I can’t wait for this meal to be over so I can tell him.

“Anyway,” he continues, “Senna is a considerate but ball-busting boss. She cares about the entire team. She knows everyone by name. She asked one of the interns what they wanted for their future and put things in place to make it happen. She asks about the pit crew’s kids and makes sure that, where possible, they can be home for birthdays. She’s put the family back into Coulter without losing an inch of professionalism and performance. There’s not a word for how incredible she is.”

My legs tremble. “You saw that?” I whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “I didn’t think anyone knew the things I did.”

“She’s astounding,” my mum says. Her smile as her eyes flit between me and Connor makes me lift my chest. “No matterwhat she’s done, she’s always pushed and tried to be the best without forgetting the people around her. She was the same as a driver, always ensuring you and Niki ate the right things before races and had your equipment together.”

“It’s a shame not everyone realises how amazing she is,” Connor says, glancing at my dad, who stops speaking and stares back. I squeeze Connor’s thigh. This isn’t the time for a fight.

“They know.” My mum sighs. “But they don’t always understand.”

Silence descends. Then the waiter brings port to the table. I glance at Ralf, who gives me a nod. It’s like the nod of comrades going into battle. The port course is when Dad does business. He’ll wait for an entire meal, giving polite conversation, but when the port comes out, he goes for the gullet.

I lean back in my chair. He fixes me with his stare.

“Why are your drivers doing so badly at the moment?”

Connor tenses beside me, and I squeeze his thigh under the table. This is my fight. I nod to Jacs, who says something to Tawny about the toilet. I don’t want her here for this. I’d already warned her this might happen.

“We tried an upgrade. It didn’t work,” I reply flatly. I turn to Ralf to engineer another conversation.

“Well done for trying it,” Ralf says under his breath before adding louder, “Hawaii was lovely.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you fired Antoine and made Connor the lead driver?” Dad glares at Connor, who eyeballs him.

Jacs scowls at my dad from the doorway of our private dining room before jostling Tawny out. Ralf laughs to ease the situation, and Mum grumbles at Dad about ruining dinner. Connor grips my hand under the table. I offer him a brief smile as a thank you. He knows this is my fight, but I don’t doubt he has my back.

“I thought you wanted to meet me to apologise for your behaviour this year. I wouldn’t have come here if Niki hadn’t told me to,” I seethe.

Dad leans back in his chair, his arms wide with his trademark power stance, but I’m not backing down.

“Come on. This is a business chat.” I lift my chin high and curl my lips. “I’m not sure leading a team is for you. You were fantastic at marketing, but leading a team isn’t a job. It’s a calling.”

I grip the table. “I can’t believe you.”

“What? You should be used to boardroom chat.”

I grind my teeth. “We’re not in a boardroom. We’re at a family meal. A family you’ve hurt with your demands. Your son pushed himself to crash and then left the country to get away from you.”

“Niki left for other reasons.”

I’m relieved Ralf, Mum, and Connor are quiet as we battle.

I pin my dad with my stare. My skin itches at the fight. In a boardroom, I’d have research to hand, and my heart wouldn’t be invested or on the precipice of hurt with history thrown at me. But it’s different with Dad, and it always was.

“He left because you created expectations he couldn’t meet, that no one can meet, not even you. And you’ve tried to do the same with me. When was the last time Coulter Racing, under your helm, reached the top six in the Constructor’s Championship?”

“Hold on?—”

“Five years ago,” I snarl. “And you still told me you’d sell the team if I didn’t get it to the top six.”

“You didn’t,” my mum says, frowning at Dad.

“It was her idea,” Dad replies, thumbing in my direction.

“You pushed me there.”

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