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CHAPTER THIRTY

ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX | FRIDAY | FREE PRACTICE

It’s Friday and the circuit simmers with anticipation. Reece’s schedule is jammed with strategy meetings and fan interaction events when his phone buzzes just as his daily briefing with Coy ends. It’s Claudia.

Need a quick yes or no. Can you take someone out for a hot lap?

He thumbs a reply.

Depends. Who?

Your wife.

A grin spreads across his face. Maiken’s spending another day in the hospitality unit. She’s now friends with the staff, utterly at ease among people whom she’s barely known two weeks.

He types back.

Absolutely.

A minute later, Claudia appears at the office door. “Coy, I’m stealing him.”

Nitro’s team principal dismisses Reece with a wave of his hand. “Do what you must.”

Reece follows her through the hospitality unit to the dining room where Maiken is perched on a stool, chatting up the kitchen staff.

Claudia delivers the official request in person. “Several sponsors are doing on-track media content today, and AetherX asked to shoot a hot lap with Maiken in the passenger seat. You both game?”

“Definitely.” Reece doesn’t hesitate.

Maiken’s eyes widen. “Wait. You’re letting Reece drive with me? On the track?” Her sweet grin goes wicked.

He laughs because he can see the gears turning in her mind. He points to his chest. “I’ll be behind the wheel, Mrs. Speed Demon.”

Claudia laughs. “Does this mean it’s a go?”

Mai lights up like a spotlight. “Oh, hell yes!”

Ten minutes later, they’re walking out toward a black McLaren coupe, polished to a mirror shine under the desert sun. Cameras are mounted on the car’s interior and exterior, ready to catch every angle of the experience.

He helps her don a helmet and settle into the passenger seat, then he goes around to the driver’s side as a technician buckles Maiken’s harness and closes her door.

Reece secures his own helmet and seatbelt. "Excited?"

It’s a stupid question. His honeybee is buzzing with adrenaline. She nods, smile huge. “Are you gonna drive like a maniac?”

He smirks. “Always.”

“Outstanding.”

Cameras catch everything. She doesn’t mind. She’s too amped.

“I scream, you brake, right?” she teases as he starts the car and revs the engine.

“Look, I scream, you let me drive, yeah?” Reece shoots back, grin sharp, and she laughs.

They’re starting from the track and the car has street tires, so Reece pulls away from the crew and stomps on the accelerator.

He flies down the straight with the kind of fearless control that builds over a lifetime of racing.

Maiken? She has the kind of fearlessness some people are born with. She laughs and screams and throws her hands in the air like she’s on a roller coaster. “Go faster!”

Reece grins. There’s nothing better than this, except sharing it with her.

He takes her challenge personally. They hit the next corner with surgical precision, the tires kissing the apex, the g-forces pushing them around in their seats.

“Oh my god!” She’s having so much fun, laughing and shrieking. “This is insane!”

He downshifts and powers through the next apex. “You love it.”

“I really fucking do!”

Every flick of the wheel is second nature. He calls out a few data points just to show off. “That was two hundred thirty kilometers per hour.”

She yells, “That’s all?”

He laughs and indulges his wife. Full throttle. Precision braking. Controlled chaos as he drifts through corners. Drifting is fun. He can’t drift in an F1 car.

They near the end of the lap and Reece glances sideways. “We go again?”

“Floor it, RP!”

He does.

“I can’t believe you do this every weekend!” she shouts over the roar of the engine.

“Top speed’s three hundred forty-one km/h down the straight. You want to feel it?”

“Hell. Yes.”

He obliges.

She raises her arms. “Wheeeee!”

Reece maxes out, then brakes hard and takes the car through the final sector's long curves before whipping it into a controlled donut at the end of the lap. Smoke coils around them. Maiken laughs and claps. Her glee is pure and infectious.

When they finally roll back to the starting grid, he climbs out and opens her door. The cameras are waiting, PR coordinated to counter all the crap Graham’s throwing their way. Her helmet comes off, blonde hair wild, cheeks flushed.

“That was fucking amazing!” She’s giddy and so beautiful she leaves Reece far more breathless than any drive could.

He offers his hand. “Sooo you liked it?”

She grins, grabbing it. “I want ten more laps and a permanent pit pass.”

“For you, honeybee? Anything.”

Two hours later, it’s FP2 and Reece is back on the track and absolutely flying.

The PNW Nitro car responds like it’s wired into his nervous system. Every flick of his wrist, every featherlight press of the throttle translates into raw velocity. He roars through sector 2, DRS wide open on the long straight.

Misho’s voice crackles through the radio: “Purple sector. Keep pushing.”

He’s already on it.

The curbs blur. Brake. Downshift. Apex. Full send.

“Another tenth,” Misho adds. “You’re the benchmark, RP.”

When he finally rolls into the garage, the car purring beneath him, he feels the edge of perfection sharpened and earned in every limb.

The crew crowds in. A few fist bumps. A shoulder clap. He pulls off his helmet and balaclava, sweat dampening his hair.

At the back of the garage, Maiken stands behind a bank of monitors beside Ona, headset still on. Her blue eyes meet his, wide and electric, and the grin that stretches across her face does something to his nervous system that he’s never felt before and is grateful to experience now.

After he goes through his cooldown process with Ona, Misho finds him and hands him a tablet. “Debrief ready when you are.”

The meeting is quick. His setup’s dialed in and there’s no reason to fiddle with it.

So an hour later, he’s in the hospitality unit with Maiken, Coy, Misho, and Ona, scarfing down salad, Samak Mashwi , and rice while discussing the day.

Maiken’s next to him, legs curled under her, somehow managing to look elegant even while demolishing grilled hamour.

Then Claudia enters the suite and makes a beeline for their table.

“Your hot lap video just dropped.” She turns her tablet to display the paused footage.

Maiken sits up straighter. “So soon?”

Claudia nods. “Prioritized by special order. Team socials pushed it five minutes ago, and it’s already going viral.”

She taps the screen to start the video.

The footage begins with Reece helping Maiken into the McLaren. A fast, funky soundtrack plays underneath as they banter.

"Excited?"

She nods, smile huge. “Are you gonna drive like a maniac?”

He smirks. “Always.”

“Outstanding.”

The edit cuts to a wide shot from inside the car. Her face lights up with glee as he tears through corners, and she yells, “Go faster!”

The engine roars and tires squeal as the footage cuts to an outside shot of Reece drifting the car through a corner.

Back into the McLaren’s interior. “Top speed’s three hundred forty-one km/h down the straight,” he calls. “You want to feel it?”

“Hell. Yes.”

He grins, one hand on the wheel, casual as fuck as he buries the speedometer on the straight.

She raises her arms. “Wheeeee!”

The video ends on an exterior shot as he does donuts, then cuts to Maiken climbing from the car, helmet in hand, and smile wild and beautiful.

“That was * BLEEP* amazing!”

Mai’s radiant and flushed, laughing at the footage, obviously remembering the thrill.

“Comments are already rolling in,” Claudia adds. “People love you guys.”

Coy smirks over his coffee. “She makes you look likable, Reece. That’s a PR miracle.”

Maiken fake-gasps. “Are you saying I’m the more photogenic Pritchard?”

Reece nudges her knee under the table. “Never been a question, has it?”

His phone buzzes. Then again. Then again. DMs. Mentions. Texts.

He ignores them and looks at her — this wild, smart, gorgeous woman in his team’s hospitality unit, winning over the world one high-speed thrill at a time.

God, does he love her for it.

They’re winding down. The post-practice buzz is softening into fatigue and wrap-up chatter, and the hospitality unit hums with contentment.

Maiken’s curled into the corner of the booth, sipping a lemon soda and still scrolling through hot lap reactions with a smug little smile that’s doing something dangerous to Reece’s self-control.

He taps the table twice. “Helmet’s still in the garage.”

“I’ll grab it.” Ona shifts like she means to stand.

He shakes his head. “No, you’ve been running since six a.m. Sit. I’ll be back in five.”

He heads out of the building and crosses the paddock, nodding at a few staffers on the way, and steps into the garage. The air still smells like hot rubber and a good day. A couple of the mechanics are bantering as they straighten the space, leaving everything ready for tomorrow.

His number one mechanic, Miguel, daps him up as he passes. “Mega job today, boss.”

“That’s down to you lot.” Reece pulls his helmet backpack off the shelf where he stores it and slings it over his shoulder.

“Gonna dial it in again tomorrow?” another mechanic asks.

“Too right.” Reece strides back across the garage. He’s looking forward to making love to his wife and getting a good rest. P3 and qualies are tomorrow. Tonight? Everything feels easy, like the day’s been dipped in gold.

Until he steps back out to the paddock and looks up to see the last person he expected or wanted to encounter. His steps falter, muscle memory kicking in as he braces for impact.

She’s standing there, just outside the main thoroughfare, arms crossed, gaze on him. Platinum blonde. Polished. Still favoring designer neutrals and the kind of heels made for headlines.

Peony Jones-Musgrove.

His stomach drops and his hand tightens on the bag strap. Not because he's still hurt, but because her presence feels like donning old skin that no longer fits.

What the fuck is she doing here?

She smiles and it’s not warm or kind. Just... sharp. “Reece.”