Page 73 of Racing for Redemption
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because there’s this underground band playing next month that’s supposed to be amazing, and—”
A yawn interrupts me before I can respond, catching me by surprise.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s not the company, I promise.”
“Get some sleep,” he says gently. “I’ll keep watch, so no creeps try to pry open the car doors and snatch you.”
“I’m not going to fall asleep in the car,” I protest, even as my eyelids grow heavy. “That would be unprofessional.”
“Because sitting in a parking lot with your driver at three in the morning is the pinnacle of professionalism?”
“Point taken,” I murmur, slowly drifting off. “Just for a minute…”
I wake with a jolt to sunlight streaming through the car windows. For a disoriented moment, I don’t know where I am. Then, I see William in the driver’s seat, and the memories of the night before come flooding back.
But something’s off; we’re not in the same parking lot. I recognize the building outside the window—it’s my apartment building in London.
“You drove us back?” I ask, voice rough with sleep. “Are you insane? Did you drive drunk and exhausted?” Concern floods me as I study his face for signs of fatigue.
He chuckles, looking far too alert for someone who should be running on fumes. “Relax. I caught a couple hours of sleep, too. But someone”—he pokes my arm gently—“snores like a chainsaw, so it wasn’t exactly restful.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I donotsnore.”
“You absolutely do. It’s cute, though. Like an angry kitten.”
“Oh fuck. I’m mortified,” I groan, covering my face with my hands.
“Don’t be.” His voice softens. “It’s endearing. I wanted to cuddle you.”
I peek through my fingers at him. “You’re just being nice, or teasing me.”
“I’m never just being nice. Brutal honesty is my specialty.” He tilts his head and smiles. "And I was not teasing. I mean it. You looked adorable."
My ears and the back of my neck are on fire.When did he start affecting me this much?
We exit the car, and William insists on walking me to the entrance of my building. The morning is cool and clear, the city just beginning to stir around us. We stop at the doors, neither of us quite ready to end things.
William’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “This was fun,” he says. “I haven’t had fun like this in… I can’t remember how long.”
His left hand twitches at his side, then slowly rises to touch my shoulder. He squeezes gently, the same comforting gesture from the pre-season testing in Barcelona.
“See you in Australia,” he says, “and please don’t turn into a hardass with a split personality when we go back to being driver and Team Principal.”
He moves his hand from my shoulder, catching a stray strand of hair that’s escaped my ponytail. With careful fingers, he tucks it behind my ear, the touch so light, I might have imagined it.
“Bye, Violet,” he says softly, before turning and walking back to his car.
I stand there watching until he drives away, then make my way up to my penthouse in a daze. Inside, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto my couch, mind reeling from the night’s events. I have an online meeting at 10 AM, but right now, my head is nowhere near wanting to focus on that.
Every moment plays back like a movie.
Friend.
He called me his friend. But…
Why does that simple word feel so significant, yet not enough? And why does the memory of his arm around me, his scent enveloping me, his warmth seeping into my skin, make my heart beat faster?
