Page 10 of Faster
Chapter Five
Every time Liam saw Micaela Cartwright in the flesh, he cursed himself for hiring her.
The glittering lights on the super yacht, the very fine scotch, and the hundred other women who were more appropriate for him to look at had all faded away when he’d looked at her.
He’d spent plenty of time castigating himself for how much he liked looking at her when she’d dated his son, but apparently not enough.
She was too young for him. She’d dated his son. And now, she was his employee. There wasn’t a universe—not even in motorsports—where a relationship between the two of them would be possible.
And it wasn’t even a relationship he thought about. They were both in the same professional world, but he doubted they had anything in common beyond that. No, he was obsessed with her in a way that made him want to tear off his skin every time they were in the same room.
He’d had to work so hard to be nice to her at the gala the night before, because he felt like an angry bear woken from hibernation a few months too early when he’d seen the tasteful flashes of skin that showed in the dress that Paola had selected for her.
And then, he’d wanted to find his son to tear his head off.
How could he be so stupid as to cheat on her?
And it wasn’t just the way she looked. Liam had dated some of the most beautiful—age-appropriate—women in the world after his first wife had left him for someone who wasn’t obsessed with cars driving in fucked-up circles for most of the year.
Someone who could give her more than four weeks in the summer and four weeks at the holidays.
Micaela hadn’t even wanted that from Brent. She’d wanted to be part of the same world, and she’d clawed her way through the ranks, despite how opposed most of the old men in the paddock were to seeing her there.
And that was probably the issue. Brent knew that Micaela was faster than him. He’d seen the numbers from that test session in Silverstone. Didn’t matter that they were top secret. Very little stayed secret among the teams that made up the grid.
Liam reminded himself of that as he watched Micaela zip up her racing suit.
He had to fight not to turn his body toward her from the pit wall, and sweat dripped down the small of his back despite the temperate winter weather in the desert.
She moved efficiently, pulled her balaclava and helmet on with determination.
And then, she looked at him. He didn’t grimace at her, and he didn’t smile. Though he was tempted to do both.
She tempted him with her talent and excitement and passion.
It didn’t hurt that she had green eyes that seemed to see everything, down to his very soul.
Her wavy, blond, surfer-girl hair was tucked into her fireproofs and completely covered, but he could still see the glint of the sun hitting it in the desert heat.
She was heaven to look at, and he was going to hell for looking at her. He barked a couple of orders at the head engineer, knowing he’d have to apologize later. He’d spend years atoning for his actions when it came to Micaela Cartwright at this pace.
He should talk to her, make sure she wasn’t nervous about getting in the car for testing. It would be the first time she drove this year’s car, and everyone in the factory was excited about where they were in development.
They’d secured an influx of funding from a financial firm that wanted to seem more cool and less monstrous, so they could spend all the way up to the cap this season. The numbers from the wind tunnel were excellent.
Although the team had shocked everyone by installing themselves in the midfield from their first season—even on a shoestring budget—this car should shoot them into the stratosphere. If the numbers were right.
And they could never be sure.
There was more to the lump in his throat than just her performance. He was nervous seeing Micaela get in the car that he built. Would it work for her driving style? Was every single part installed correctly? Would she be safe?
He should be worrying more about his son.
Brent had shown up this morning at the track looking as though he hadn’t slept.
His trainer had assured him that he’d spent the night in the hotel room, but it’s not like Adam couldn’t be paid off or even fired if he didn’t toe the line that Brent ordered him to.
But Liam didn’t worry about Brent. He’d seen him drive a Hot Wheels Range Rover into a wall at its admittedly slow top speed, smash it to bits, and get out of the wreck giggling.
He was resilient. And he’d learn to deal with his jealousy over Micaela having a seat and possibly becoming the team’s number one driver as a rookie.
Liam saw great things for Micaela. As she slotted herself in the seat and looked at her engineer for last-minute instructions, he reminded himself that none of those great things included touching her.
Micaela vowed to herself, quietly, that she would never forget the feeling of dropping into her seat for the first time.
In some of the lower series, the ones with spec cars, all of the seats were designed for boys—or people without meaningful curves.
She’d had to wedge herself into a seat made for someone her size but narrower.
This seat, however, had been made specifically for her.
The Panther engineers would listen to her feedback about the car, which they hadn’t always done at Lupo when she was their reserve driver.
She’d spent hours in the simulator, only to have some fifty-year-old man not believe her when she said that the balance of the car was wrong for a particular track.
That guy had gotten yelled at when Ethan spun into the gravel during practice, but Micaela had only been able to give the guy an “I told you so” look or two. She’d had no power within that team.
Technically, she didn’t have much power in this team either. She was just a rookie, and still just a girl. But she didn’t let that stop her from feeling a little bit special when her very own engineer did the radio check.
There was nothing like driving this particular car.
She couldn’t imagine a bigger rush than feeling all of that power around her body as she hurtled across the track.
Maybe that’s why they hadn’t wanted girls to do it for so long—they were afraid they’d get a taste of this kind of wild autonomy and never be able to let it go.
She was aware of every breath, maybe even every pulse, as she took her first slow lap, weighed down with big, metal screens that served as sensors.
She knew this was more about the car than her in the car, but her heart leaped when her engineer, Frankie, said in a rolling Scottish accent, “Go ahead and take a fast lap.”
As soon as she turned down the final straight, she changed the engine settings and went full throttle. The force of it seemed to move the organs in her body and she felt like she was seriously airborne for a moment. But she wasn’t flying, and she was totally in control of her own body.
It didn’t matter that she was hot, her neck ached as she fought to hold up her head against the g’s going around the first corner, and everyone was watching for her to make a mistake. She was totally free at that moment.
Maybe she’d always been too focused on her goal of making it here that she’d never considered why drivers had a history of risky and reckless behavior off the track.
But she knew it for sure now. They were monarchs in the car.
Someone else might hand them the keys to this kingdom, but they were untethered by the regular rules of physics when they were behind the wheel.
It was so heady that she couldn’t imagine giving up that kind of power.
Maybe she could forgive Brent for behaving like an asshole when things in her life had gotten real. Who wanted real when you could have this make-believe world where everything happened at your whim? Where, as long as you focused, you were on top of the world.