Page 3 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

There is nothing but dead silence in the conference room as Caleb’s words hang in the air.

Arthur is still purple, staring at him with a shocked expression on his face.

But he recovers himself and quickly begins speaking.

“Caleb, you have more important things to do than give a tour of the motorhome. You have the drivers’ press conference and—”

“I’m well aware of my schedule today,” Caleb interrupts, his voice cold and deadly calm at the same time.

“I’m also aware of the fact that you haven’t apologized for being a misogynistic, mansplaining arse to Ms. Foley.

I’m waiting, Arthur. And I’m willing to wait for however long it takes you to realize what a wanker you’re being. ”

Then he folds his arms across his chest, fixing his eyes on Arthur with laser-like precision.

That look says everything without saying a single word. Caleb Collings is furious.

And he’s furious on my behalf.

“He’s not wrong about that,” another voice says. I look back at the conference table, where Mason Clark is leaning casually back in his chair. “You were a misogynistic, mansplaining arse.”

Now I’m the one who is stunned. I have not only one, but two of the top drivers in F1 championing on my behalf.

I did not have any of this on my bingo card this morning.

Okay, so dealing with some sexism and dismissiveness? Yes, I knew that could very well happen.

But Caleb Collings and Mason Clark coming to my defense? Definitely not.

Arthur pauses for a moment. I smile. He must be hating life right now, and I, for one, am glad he is.

“Ms. Foley, please accept my apologies,” he says, the color of his face now going from eggplant back to tomato.

Ha! Arthur is the eggplant parmesan of facial expressions today.

“Accepted,” I say simply.

He clears his throat. “Um, shall we do the tour now?” he asks meekly.

I’m about to reply yes, but Caleb speaks first. “No. I told you, Arthur, I’m doing the tour,” he insists.

With a jolt, I realize he’s serious. “Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t want to encroach on your time.”

Caleb shifts his penetrating stare from Arthur to me. When his eyes meet mine, I feel a shiver whip down my spine.

“You’re not encroaching on anything. If the communications and social media team tells me I have time to ride a space hopper ”—he stops and gives Arthur a bombastic side-eye if I ever saw one— “then I think I have more than enough time to give a reporter a tour of the motorhome.”

“A space hopper?” I ask, confused. “What’s that?”

Mason types a few things on his phone and then holds it up to me. “This. It’s a ball you bounce on,” he interjects.

“Oh! A hippity hop!” I say, understanding now.

“Well, whatever you call it, they wanted us to race them on the track for content,” Mason says cheerfully. “I was game for it, but someone else refused.” Then he flashes Caleb one of the cheekiest grins I’ve ever seen.

Ooh, I wish I could ask Caleb about it. That sounds like it would have been fun content.

“Are you ready?” he asks, ignoring Mason’s pointed remark.

“Yes, thank you,” I say. I turn to Catherine as Caleb escorts Chip and me out of the conference room. “Thank you, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” she says.

“Catherine, can you join us for a moment?” Caleb asks.

She nods and joins us in leaving the room. He shuts the door behind her. “Catherine, write this up for HR as soon as you get back to your desk,” he commands.

“That’s exactly what I was going to do,” she says, nodding.

Whoa. He’s taking this seriously, I think, surprised. Caleb was nice enough to stand up for me, but I never expected him to take it this far. Most people wouldn’t, even if it’s the right thing to do. They don’t want to be involved. Or get HR involved.

But doing the right thing is what matters to this F1 driver.

That says a lot about his character. He doesn’t have to mess with this. Getting involved in this issue will be a thorn in his side.

Yet Caleb Collings doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “I know you don’t have to do th—”

“Of course I have to do this,” Caleb interrupts, looking down at me in surprise. “I’m not letting Collings Motors be associated with that behavior. If I didn’t say anything, that would make me complicit with Arthur, and I’ll be damned if I do that.”

Whoa.

I don’t know much about Caleb—he’s very driving-focused in all his interviews and doesn’t do much social media content for Collings Motors—but what he’s doing right now?

This speaks VOLUMES about the kind of man he is.

“I’m going right now,” Catherine says. She turns to me, an apologetic look passing over her beautiful face. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I promise this isn’t representative of Collings Motors.”

“Thank you,” I say, shaking her hand again.

“Would you like a place to secure your tote?” she asks, looking at the bag slung over my shoulder. “I would be happy to lock it up for you at my desk.”

“Would you? I would be so grateful for that.”

“Not a problem. Caleb can bring you to my desk after the tour.”

I take out my phone and mini microphone, which is like a tiny box cube. Then I slip my tote off my shoulder and hand it to Catherine. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, accepting my bag. She descends the stairs, leaving me with Caleb and Chip.

“Right. A tour of the motorhome,” Caleb says, shifting back to the original reason why I’m here this morning. “How would you like to start?”

“I’d like to start outside, if that would be possible, so Chip—oh, this is my assistant for the day—Chip Smith.”

“Pleasure,” Caleb says, nodding at Chip in acknowledgement before shifting his attention back to me.

“Anyway, I’d like to start with me entering the motorhome from the outside,” I say.

“So you can give me all your impressions, explanations, et cetera, and then I can go back and film. Catherine has already shown me around, but I’ll gather more information and interesting details from you as we go through the motorhome, then Chip and I will be ready to shoot. ”

Caleb studies me for a moment. “Would it help you if I was part of the tour?”

I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

A playful smirk begins to form at the corners of his mouth. “You know, I show you around, answer questions, Chip films it.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you saying you want to be a part of my story?”

“If you want me to, yes. I’m willing to go on camera for you.”

WHAT? It’s all I can do not to give one of those dramatic gasps of complete surprise.

“But you don’t do this type of content,” I point out.

He lifts a brow. “Have you studied my content, Ms. Foley?”

I flash him a winning smile. “I study all F1 drivers’ content, Mr. Collings. Not just yours. But it doesn’t take me long to go through your content because all you do are the drivers’ press conferences.”

It’s true. Caleb sits on that couch on Thursdays when he’s required to do so, answering questions given to him by the international media.

When he gets on the podium, he talks to the media after the race, and of course, he’s filmed with the other drivers in the cooldown room.

He makes the required media appearances.

And that’s it.

From watching these things, I know Caleb is guarded. He’s most comfortable answering questions about racing. But when a reporter asks him something not related to racing? Caleb gives a monosyllabic answer … or refuses to answer at all.

And he’s nearly nonexistent on Collings Motors’ social media channels outside of racing interview clips. I’ve always wondered why.

If I can get him to do this tour with me? On camera, answering questions? It would be a complete coup for The Downforce Network.

It might be just the thing to get me a position with them covering F1.

“You know I don’t do these things,” Caleb says, interrupting my thoughts. “But I’m willing to do it for you.”

As tempting as it is to immediately agree to this before he changes his mind, I can’t. Not when I suspect I’m the reason he’s agreeing to do something he obviously loathes doing.

“Are you offering because of what happened in the conference room? As much as I appreciate it, please don’t feel like you have to do anything further on my behalf, Mr. Collings.”

“Caleb,” he says firmly. “Call me Caleb.”

“All right. You do not have to be on camera giving me a tour, Caleb. What happened back there has been resolved to my satisfaction.”

“Really? Because it hasn’t been resolved to mine. Yet,” he says, his mouth drawing tight.

“Regardless,” I say, wanting to move on, “you don’t have to give me an interview.”

He studies me shrewdly. “You mean that, don’t you, Isla?”

Why do I feel my pulse quicken when I hear my name roll off his lips?

I quickly bat that uncomfortable realization away. “Of course I mean it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Then it’s settled. I’m doing it.”

I’m getting an interview with Caleb Collings.

I glance at Chip, whose eyes have widened in surprise. Adrenaline surges through me. This could be a complete career-making moment for me.

All because of Caleb.

“This is my first time reporting on F1,” I tell him.

“I report on high school sports here in Miami as a freelancer, and cover things like pickleball or polo. I get assignments, but never big ones. The Downforce Network caught some of the F1 work I’ve done on Connectivity Story Share, and this is my trial for them.

The fact that you’re going to be a part of this story is huge for me—incredibly huge—and it could open some doors.

So thank you for this. I appreciate it more than you could ever know. ”

Caleb stares down at me. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for some strange reason I find my breath catching in my throat.

“Then let me give you a tour,” he says simply.

“I don’t have an extra wireless mic,” Chip says, getting my attention. “You’ll have to pass the mic back and forth.”

I nod, looking down at the small wireless microphone in my hand. “Understood. We’ll make it work.”

“Let’s head downstairs,” Caleb says.

I fall into step beside him. “I promise my questions will only be about the motorhome. Nothing personal.”

A low chuckle escapes his lips. “You do know your F1 drivers. You know I won’t answer if you ask me anything else.”

“Well, I already know not to ask you to ride a space hopper,” I say cheerfully. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough, I see an eye roll.

“Stupidest idea ever,” he declares.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think it would have been fun for viewers. I’d ride a hippity hop on TV.”

“Hippity hop.” Caleb chuckles again. “What a weird name for it.”

“Because space hopper makes so much sense?” I challenge.

“More sense than a hippity hop,” he counters.

We reach the landing and take another flight of stairs, heading down to the ground floor. More people have entered the dining area, and Caleb greets a lot of them before we make our way out of the motorhome.

“All right, how do you want to do this?” Chip asks.

“I’m going to need a moment to rewrite the intro in my head,” I say. “Start with a shot of me doing the intro, then I’ll bring in Caleb, and then you can shoot us as we enter the motorhome, and we’ll bring the viewers along for the insider tour.”

“Sounds good,” Chip says. “Just remember, whenever Caleb answers, you’ll need to pass the mic to him.”

I wrinkle my nose. That will ruin the flow a tiny bit, but it will be worth it to have Caleb providing his commentary. “Give me a few minutes to get my thoughts together, and then I’ll be ready.”

Chip nods at me.

“Take your time. I’m in no rush to get back to that meeting,” Caleb says, smiling at me.

I step away from both of them, concentrating on revising my open to include Caleb. This is the only part I have scripted. Of course, I had some questions in mind, and doing the walk-through with Catherine gave me some more ideas, but other than that?

We’re going to have a natural conversation. Hopefully.

I mean, the fact that Caleb is willing to do this is huge. I’m getting access to him nobody else gets. But I have no idea how he’s going to be on camera with me. Will it be short, clipped answers like he gives in press conferences?

That wouldn’t be great TV.

But hopefully the fact that I even got Caleb on camera will mean something to The Downforce Network.

I turn back around and draw in a breath of air, then exhale slowly.

“Are you ready?” Caleb asks.

Am I ready?

“Yes,” I say confidently. “I am. Let’s do this.”

What I am about to do—talk to Caleb Collings on-air, without the aid of a mandated drivers’ press conference or media duties—is almost monumental, because he NEVER does this.

And my gut tells me my life is going to change because of it.