Page 10 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

I stare at him, stunned.

Caleb has just offered me an exclusive interview. In Italy.

Yet here he is, handing an exclusive interview to me on a silver platter.

The word “yes!” wants to fly off my lips. My heart can’t stop racing inside my chest. This interview would be massive, incredible, a complete game-changer for my life.

And there’s another reason, too.

I get butterflies around this man. I love the way he stood up against Arthur’s shitty behavior toward me.

I like the way he’s taken a personal interest in my career.

I found my heart fluttering inside my chest when I saw what he did for me with the french toast this morning, and I like talking to him.

I can’t deny it. I’m drawn to him, the man outside of the driver with his visor down, sitting inside the cockpit of an eighteen-million-dollar race car.

I’m not drawn to the man who speaks with steely determination to his race engineer when he disagrees with a decision.

I’m drawn to the man who is quick with his words and pays attention to what I say.

Which is dangerous for me. I never wanted to be an F1 reporter to have access to drivers. I want to do this because I love the sport. I’m a professional. I don’t want to socialize with the drivers or members of their teams.

Caleb could complicate that rule of mine in the worst way possible.

Then another side of my brain kicks in, and I can’t ignore the question that has crept up to the surface.

What if Caleb is offering this to me with an ulterior motive? Like getting me into bed with him?

As soon as I think it, I feel guilty. I can’t even look at him as the thought rolls around in my head.

But I have to consider it. He’s an F1 driver who never gives interviews, yet here he is, handing it over to me, and I have no major network experience.

There are far more qualified reporters who are deserving of this.

And yes, he can say it’s because I’m different and he admires how I don’t take crap, but it’s a HUGE leap from letting me sit in his car to opening himself up to an interview, which is something he absolutely loathes.

Unless he thinks it’s a way to get straight into my panties.

“Isla?” Caleb’s voice commands my attention. “What’s wrong?”

I decide to get right to the point. “Before I answer, I’m going to be very direct with you,” I say, staring directly into his eyes. “Does this interview come with any kind of strings attached?”

Caleb’s dark brows snap into a confused V. “What? What do you mean by that?”

“If you are expecting something in return for a one-on-one interview or think it’s a guaranteed way to have sex with me, you’re wrong,” I say firmly. “I’m not here to hook up with F1 drivers, no matter how great of an opportunity is dangled in front of me.”

“Is that why you think I’m offering you an interview? So I can try to get into your knickers?”

He says it so genuinely, I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair. “It crossed my mind, yes.”

The corners of his mouth curve upward in a playful smile. “Isla. I can get into knickers without offering to do something I completely loathe.”

Well, then. Okay. Fair point.

“Well, I want to clarify that because I’m only willing to do an interview. Nothing else,” I say firmly.

“Isla, I promise you, there is nothing attached to this interview. I’m doing this because I like you.”

“Do you like me or like me like me?” I ask pointedly.

Caleb looks confused again. “As in properly like you?”

“If that means interested in me, yes.”

Caleb’s intense gaze never wavers from mine. “Yes, I am.”

WHAT?

“That’s outside of this interview, let me be clear,” he says.

“I’m helping you because I like you. I’m helping you because I think you have a bright future ahead of you as a professional journalist covering F1 racing.

But I don’t expect anything from you because I’m agreeing to sit down and talk to you.

Except for the fact that you might get to see me in a different light outside of being an F1 driver. ”

“I already see you in a different light,” I say without thinking.

He quirks a brow. “Oh?”

DAMN IT.

“But that’s irrelevant, Caleb,” I say, putting my hand out in a stop motion. “If I want a career at The Downforce Network, I can’t hook up with or date drivers.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both. It’s a rule I have. I’m a professional. And it’s not professional to date a driver.”

“Even if you are creating fun content? Or working as a content creator? I don’t think other teams would care if you dated a driver whilst reporting what Xavier Williams eats for his pre-race meal.”

I shake my head. “The Downforce Network would not be okay with that.”

“Have you asked them?”

“I don’t have to ask them. I don’t work for them!”

“Yet,” Caleb says confidently. “But it’s something to ask them when you do work for them.”

“I won’t need to ask them because I’m not dating any F1 drivers. Ever. That’s a hard-and-fast rule that I will never ever break.”

Even if you are the most interesting man I’ve ever met , I think ruefully.

Caleb suddenly leans back in his chair, a smile playing on his sensual mouth. I swallow, trying to block out the fact that his full lips are really freaking hot.

“What?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.

“Then I guess it’s up to me to change your mind about that rule—and get you to break it.”

* * *

The sun is shining brightly down on pit lane, which is buzzing with activity under a bright blue Miami sky.

I’m walking beside Catherine since I decided to take her up on her offer to be my guide and videographer this morning, and normally I’d be a bundle of excitement as we make our way toward the Collings Motors garage, where I’m going to get up close and personal with an F1 car and create amazing content for my social media platforms.

But instead, I feel as if I’m in a daze. Catherine is chatting with me, giving me details about pit lane, and I’m retaining them, but Caleb’s declaration is still swirling around in my head.

He likes me.

Properly likes me.

And he’s vowed to make me change my mind about going out with him.

I shake my head, trying to get off this endless loop of thinking about what happened with Caleb at breakfast. I’ve got to focus on what I’m doing in the garage today.

And decide what I’m doing about Italy later.

I didn’t give Caleb an immediate answer to his offer to interview him there. I don’t feel I’m in the right headspace to make the correct decision about it. I told him I’d consider it and give him an answer later today.

Catherine continues talking as we head down pit lane, where crews are working on the cars that are going to practice and qualify for the sprint race that will be run tomorrow. The first practice starts at twelve-thirty, and it’s approaching ten o’clock right now.

I can’t help but be distracted as we walk by the garages.

Each driver has his picture and number over the top of the bay where his car is, and I pass by some I’ve followed for years, both in racing and on social media.

I move past the navy-and-pale-blue cars of Hoffman Racing, their crew dressed in shades of blue as they prep Xavier William’s car, and that of his teammate in the other bay.

“Just so you know, I did clear everything with communications for your visit today,” Catherine says. “Normally Arthur would be on hand to make sure everything runs smoothly, but Caleb told them I was going to be the media liaison today.”

“Oh? How did that go over?” I ask, curious.

She grins. “Let’s just say it’s the one time he’s used our last name to get what he wanted. Mason was fine with it, and because of the whole Arthur situation, everyone thought it was best that I handle it.”

I bet, I think wryly.

“I still can’t believe Caleb is letting you sit in his car,” Catherine says, getting my complete attention. “Caleb just doesn’t do these things. He always keeps to himself on race weekends.”

My stupid blush is back, and my scalp grows hot. I feel even more guilty about my accusation of him leveraging an interview to, as he put it, get into my knickers.

I try to act like I’m oblivious to the rapidly developing pink flush on my skin as we pass by the garage for the red-and-black cars of Drago Racing. “He’s been very generous with me.”

“You mean like offering an interview during the next race weekend?”

I stop walking. “He told you about that?”

“We’re close,” Catherine says simply. “We share a lot of things.”

DOES SHE KNOW HE LIKES ME?

Then I inwardly scowl. Crap. Why am I acting like I am sixteen?

Catherine smiles, and I have no doubt if I could see behind her sunglasses, her eyes would be dancing at me.

“You should take the opportunity. Caleb never gives interviews like what he’s going to give you.

It will skyrocket your career. But the fact that you are taking time to consider it tells me a lot about you. ”

“Like what?”

“You’re careful. You don’t jump into things, no matter how good they appear on face value,” she says as we resume walking.

“I respect that. Especially in this scenario because most reporters would leap at the chance to sit down with Caleb. But you want to make sure it’s right for you.

At least that’s how I’m reading this—am I right? ”

I pause before answering, deciding on how much I should tell Catherine. She’s Caleb’s sister. His assistant. But they’re obviously close, and I suspect she knows he has an interest in me.

And about the conversation we had in the motorhome this morning.

I decide to be as honest and direct with her as I was with Caleb.

“I had to be sure we’re both doing this interview for the right reasons.

I don’t want Caleb to regret giving it to me just because he likes me.

And I had to be sure he understands the only thing I’d be in Italy for is the interview.

I want to think about it before saying yes.

And to be honest? I want him to rethink it, too, after hearing what I had to say. ”