Page 11 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Lara

T he Matterhorn hospitality suite smells of fresh coffee and pastry, my stomach rumbling with envy. Waitstaff bustle between linen-draped tables, offering croissants and tiny espresso shots to drivers, engineers and VIP guests.

Reid walked me up to the door and with a squeeze to my shoulder, peered down to look at me. “I’ve got some pre-qualifying press to do, but Posey will be here soon.”

“Go, get out of here. I’ll be fine.”

His lips go to my forehead and I close my eyes, relishing in it. When he’s gone, I grab a plate with croissant and fruit, as well as a flat white, and nab a high-top table in a corner. I keep my eyes sharp and spot her the minute she walks in.

Posey Evans. I’ve seen a picture of her—several, actually. Google her name and she’s all over the place now since starting a high-profile relationship with Lex Hamilton, one of the world’s best drivers.

Our eyes connect and she waves at me, pretty as a picture with her glossy brown hair and hazel eyes.

As she gets closer, I note the smattering of freckles across her nose—just like mine—making her look even friendlier than her megawatt smile suggests.

She’s wearing a casual jeans-and-blazer combo that somehow looks effortlessly stylish, even among a sea of branded team gear.

“Hey, you must be Lara!” she says brightly as she greets me.

“That’s me,” I say with a small laugh as she pulls me into a friendly, brief hug. There’s no awkwardness, despite the fact we’re meeting for the first time.

“Reid said you might appreciate some company this morning,” she says, and then glances back at the food line. “I’m starved, so I’m going to grab something. Be right back.”

I’m not sure when Reid put this all together but as we were leaving the hotel this morning, he told me he’d arranged for me to meet Posey for breakfast. “Figured you could use a friend to hang out with today to watch qualifying,” he’d said, and I was utterly charmed by his thoughtfulness.

When Posey returns with a bowl of yogurt and granola, as well as an espresso shot, she hops up onto a stool. “This is like a blind date, isn’t it?”

Her American accent is adorable. I’ve spent time traveling the States with my job and I’d peg her as from the southeast. “It was nice of you to take me under your wing.”

“I don’t have anything else on my agenda today so I’m looking forward to some girl talk. I mean… I’ve really come to love racing, but I can only hear so much about tire compounds and DRS zones.”

I laugh without reservation, deciding that I instantly like this woman.

We chitchat about our careers as we dive into breakfast. I’m fascinated by Posey’s occupation as a romance writer.

I read all about her undercover operation to sneak into Crown Velocity FI pretending to be a sports reporter so she could get an inside view of their operation.

It wasn’t to write an article but rather so she could write authentically about the sport in a romance novel. Talk about having lady balls.

“Are you pretty much traveling with Lex full time?” I ask.

“Being a writer, I can do that anywhere, so yeah… where goes Lex, so too do I,” she chirps.

“Sounds like a wild ride,” I say, genuinely intrigued.

“It is—no pun intended—but I love it. Well, I guess I love Lex, so I love anything involving him. What’s your story?” she prompts.

I toy with my coffee cup, nerves flickering. But then I exhale slowly. “It’s a little messier.”

“I don’t scare easy,” she says warmly.

And I tell her.

About growing up next door to the Hemsworth boys. About Lance—the charming, golden boy everyone loved—and how that charm soured into control. About the jealousy. The manipulation. The slap. Reid coming to my rescue and the way he’s facilitated my path out of this mess.

Posey’s face hardens as she listens, her eyes flashing with protective anger on my behalf.

“I’m so sorry,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“I know,” I whisper. “It just took me a little too long to figure out how to extricate myself from it.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then leans in. “Your tone is guarded when you talk about Lance. But you sound different when you mention Reid.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Posey smiles knowingly. “I mean it sounds like your heart’s been tangled up with someone else for a lot longer.”

The heat rushes to my cheeks but I don’t think to lie about it.

My truth is nothing to be ashamed of. “I… there’s history,” I admit.

“Reid and I—we kissed once when we were fifteen. Then we slept together one summer after uni. But he pulled away after. Said he needed to focus on his career. We never really talked about it again.”

Posey arches an eyebrow. “And now?”

“And now I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’m messed up. I’m trying to figure out how to stand on my own two feet again. The last thing I should be doing is thinking about falling for someone.”

“But sometimes,” she says, “the right person is the one who helps you find your feet, not kick them out from under you.”

I stare at her, stunned by how easily she’s put words to something I haven’t dared acknowledge out loud. “Sounds like something a romance author would say.”

“Just because I write romance fiction doesn’t mean it can’t be real. Besides, I think this is more than just romance. It’s about history and connection.”

Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts through the air. “The two prettiest girls in all of FI racing.”

Reid.

He strides toward our table, his smile bright and genuine, but there’s a slight tension behind his eyes. He’s already in race mode.

“You surviving her?” he teases Posey, nodding at me.

Posey laughs. “Barely. She’s a firecracker when she warms up.”

I roll my eyes. “Not the one who pretended to be a reporter to sneak into Crown Velocity,” I quip, knowing instinctually that Posey will laugh at my dig. Because I’ve learned enough about her over the last hour to know that we’ll be fast friends.

Reid leans down and presses a light hand to my shoulder. “I just finished one press interview and now I’ve got a briefing, then qualifying. Just doing a quick check-in… good up here?”

“I’m good,” I say, meaning it.

His hand lingers before he straightens, and I miss the comforting warmth when it’s gone. “Posey, you’re officially hired to keep her out of trouble.”

“Consider it done.” She grins. “Do you mind if I show her around the paddock and take her over to Crown Velocity? I’ll deposit her back here before qualifying starts.”

Worry clouds Reid’s eyes and even I’m a little unsure. His attention focuses on me. “I haven’t seen Lance today, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t around.”

“I don’t think he’d do anything stupid like try to touch me or anything. Worst-case scenario, he’ll probably try to talk to me, and I will tell him to go away.”

“I have mace in my purse,” Posey offers, and Reid chokes on a laugh.

“They let you in through security with that?” I ask.

“No, but Lex gave it to me this morning. Even he worries about me walking around, and while chances of us encountering danger are slim, we could drop an asshole in a nanosecond with it.”

Reid chuckles deep in his chest and points a wagging finger at Posey. “I like you a lot. Lex got lucky.”

Posey winks and once again, Reid turns to me.

“If you run into trouble, and he won’t leave you alone, I want you to walk into the nearest garage and ask them to call security.

I doubt Lance would be stupid enough to do anything to prompt that because he is here working, but if you promise you’ll do that, I think you’re good to explore, as long as you’re with Posey.

The only time you can be without her is here at Matterhorn. Lance isn’t allowed in here.”

“Okay,” I say with a gusty sigh of relief. I like the idea of this type of freedom. Plus, I’m not afraid of Lance, only of the uncomfortable confrontation that will inevitably come.

Reid stuns me by leaning down and brushing his lips over my cheek. With a wink, he disappears back into the fray, leaving me warmer than I should be. My fingers press to my skin that tingles from his kiss.

Posey watches me for a second, a glint in her eye. “You’re doomed, you know that, right?”

I laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah. I know.”

After Reid leaves, Posey grabs her coffee and stands. “Come on. Let’s make some bad decisions and call it a tour.”

And just like that, we’re off. She leads me through the paddock like a seasoned insider—introducing me to team personnel, mechanics and a few PR reps who all seem to know her and treat her like family.

We duck into the Crown Velocity garage where Lex is reviewing telemetry, and Posey sneaks a quick kiss before dragging me out with a playful “Eww, data.”

I meet a few of the engineers and get a peek at the sleek chaos of a top-tier operation.

We wave at a handful of drivers, dodge camera crews, and grab ice-cold lemon waters from a sponsor’s hospitality tent before looping back around toward Matterhorn.

I’ve never seen this world from the inside before—never really lived it.

But with Posey, it’s fun. Easy. I forget the angst of the last few days and enjoy the moment.

When we finally return, laughing over something absurd she said about pit crew uniforms, I think maybe—just maybe—I can start to breathe again.

Posey and I say goodbye back at the Matterhorn VIP suite as she’s going to watch qualifying from Crown Velocity.

“Thank you for hanging out with me,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “You managed to make me forget about all my worries for a few hours.”

She squeezes me hard and then leans back, an impish smile on her face. “And planted plenty of ideas in your head that maybe this is your and Reid’s time, I hope.”

I blush but play it off. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, I would,” she says with a giggle and then she’s off.

I head out onto the balcony that overlooks pit lane.

I lean against the railing, eyes fixed below just as a car comes barreling in—brakes locking up for a split second before it slips perfectly into its box.

The precision of it stuns me, even after all these years growing up in the orbit of this sport.

Watching it from above is an entirely different perspective.

It’s mind-boggling the way the pit crew launches into action like a machine with a hundred moving parts and one brain.

The front jackman is the first to strike—sliding low and fast under the nose, lifting the car in a single, fluid motion. Another jackman mirrors him at the back, hoisting the rear end while the tire crews descend in unison.

Eight men. Four corners. Air guns scream to life, a symphony of torque and timing. One man at each wheel yanks off the used rubber while another instantly fits the fresh compound. The movements are practiced, balletic—every step executed without a single wasted breath.

A crew member crouched behind each tire braces the car, keeping it steady like a human anchor.

I blink and it’s over.

The tires are locked in. The jacks drop. The car kisses the asphalt with a hiss. And just like that— gone . The driver slingshots back into pit lane in under three seconds.

I let out a slow breath.

It’s not just fast. It’s not just impressive. It’s beautiful.

A perfectly timed dance, every man in sync, every hand exactly where it needs to be. No one yells. No one flinches. The trust, the muscle memory—it’s astonishing.

I’ve been around racing my whole life. I’ve watched from stands and screens, read race reports and lap times like bedtime stories. But watching FI up close like this— feeling it from this angle?

It hits different.

And I find myself smiling, because despite everything that brought me here, in this moment, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Qualifying isn’t the race—it just decides who starts where on the grid tomorrow. Every driver goes out on the track trying to set the fastest lap they can. The quicker your time, the better your position at the start of the race. One lap can make or break your whole weekend.

The tension builds with every lap time flashing on the big screens—purple, green, yellow—the seconds slicing thinner and thinner.

I split my attention watching Reid’s red-and-white car as it screams past the areas of the track I can see, then crane my neck to watch the large-screen TV on the side wall of the balcony when I can’t see him.

Other members of the executive team surround me and it’s fascinating to be a part of this.

They’re kind and include me in their conversations, and I can tell that Reid told them I’d be here and that I was important to him.

I’m so focused on the track and TV and the activity surrounding the VIP and pit lane that I almost don’t notice him at first. It’s only when I turn to glance at the sector times on the big screen that I see him.

Lance.

He’s standing a few meters away, just inside the VIP suite, his eyes locked on me.

My stomach drops. I know he’s not allowed in here and I look around the crowded suite. There must be at least thirty people, so I know I’m physically safe.

I’ve got two choices. Call security or confront him, and I choose the latter.

I step off the balcony into the interior lobby, weaving through tables, and Lance moves closer. He appears casual like he’s just here to chat. Like everything between us hasn’t shattered.

“Lara,” he says, voice heavy with feigned regret. “Thank you for talking to me.”

I come to a dead stop with a table between us that’s thankfully empty. “I’m not going to talk to you. I only came over to tell you to leave. You’re not allowed in here.”

His mouth tightens, anger simmering below the surface. “Please. Just a minute.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Lance. What you did is unforgivable and we are over. We can work out details later so I can move my items out of our apartment, but now isn’t the time.”

He leans in, letting out an angry hiss. “You’re making a mistake.”

I stare him down, every bit of my prior fear burned away by sheer exhaustion. “The only mistake was staying as long as I did. Especially after you cheated on me.”

Before he can say anything else, a security official approaches.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

Lance glares at me one last time, but he leaves—shoulders stiff, ego bruised.

My shoulders sag and I’m trembling, but proud.

“Are you okay, Ms. Candlish?” the guard asks.

“Yes, thank you for asking him to go. I appreciate it.”

He tips his head to me, and I return to the balcony. Something new flushes through me and I realize I feel lighter. I made my position clear to Lance, and I can’t see how he could even want to talk to me again. Like it’s… over.

And I can move on.