Page 10 of Fast & Reckless
“Let’s start over entirely.” He held out his hand to her. “Hi, I’m Will Hawley. Welcome to Lennox Motorsport.”
Tentatively she took his hand. Warm. Delicate fingers. Pleasant little tingle as their palms made contact.
Nope.Off-limits.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hawley. Miranda Wentworth. Pleasure working with you.”
She began to slide her hand away, but he held on to it for another beat. “It’s Will.”
Their eyes met.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Will.”
There wasdefinitelya spark there. He wasn’t imagining it. But he also wasn’t going to indulge in it.
He released her hand. “I’d better finish getting ready.” He untied the sleeves of his race suit from around his waistand started shrugging into the top half. He didn’t miss it, the lightning-fast once-over she gave his upper body in his skintight undershirt. And okay, maybe he slowed down and flexed a little bit.
She cleared her throat. “You’re suiting up for the simulator?”
He grinned. “We’re still dialing in my specs on the suit. I’m trying a different size today. Tighter.”
“Tighter?” Mira replied.
“Ready, Will?” Paul called from across the room, cutting off his chance for further teasing.
“Yep. Let’s get to it.”
He was glad they were past the disaster of last night. And he could do this—simply be colleagues with someone as gorgeous as Mira. This was the new Will Hawley, professional through and through.
Off-limits.Off-limits.He repeated it like a mantra as he walked up the short flight of metal stairs to the platform where the partial car sat, elevated on its hydraulic legs. There were a couple of techs there, still fiddling with the wraparound monitors that would display the track, like the most expensive, immersive video game ever played.
He tugged his gloves on while Paul prepped him. “Pay attention to the downforce in there today.”
“Bit of a mess yesterday.”
“We saw that. David thinks he’s sorted out how to reconnect the air structures at the back, so we can optimize the diffuser. We’ve added a monkey seat under the rear wing to help connect airflow from the diffuser. You ought to notice a big difference from yesterday, even accounting for those bricks for tires you were on.”
“Got it. Where am I racing?”
“We’re putting you in Melbourne,” Paul called up the stairs. “Since that’s when you’ll have the new front brake duct installed.”
He ignored the flare of irritation at that reminder. He would be driving the first race in Matteo’s car. Fuck it. He’d drive the hell out it. He’d drive Matteo’s car better than Matteo.
Omar handed him his helmet and he glanced down at the room below. Mira was still there, watching him get ready. He cast one more quick glance at Paul, David, and all the other techs milling around the room. Everyone was occupied elsewhere. So he looked back at Mira, grinned, and lifted two fingers to his forehead in a little salute. She bit her lip and dropped her eyes to her notebook. But she was smiling.
So was he as he pulled his helmet on and climbed into the simulator.
7
Press events generally fell to Simone and Violet to manage. But Simone had a full day of conference calls, leaving Violet in need of help managing a day of driver interviews in London. That was how Mira found herself in the back of a chauffeured sedan heading to London at a painfully early hour of the morning. In truth, she didn’t mind spending the day with Violet. During her first weeks at Lennox, she’d been working her ass off, but whenever she’d run into Violet, she always ended up laughing for a least a few minutes out of the day.
“You are a saint,” Mira muttered when Violet opened the back door and handed her a large takeout coffee.
She almost choked on her coffee when Violet joined her in the back seat. “What are youwearing?” She’d never seen Violet in anything other than shredded jeans, band T-shirts, and leather jackets. Today she was in a black skirt suit, and her black hair was slicked back into a low ponytail. She was even wearing a pair of tasteful diamond stud earrings.
“I pull it out for public events. Seems major media outlets don’t trust you when you’re wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Fuck the Patriarchy.’ ”
“You look nice.”
