Page 52 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

We exchange hellos and head inside, where we are met by a member of the Hoffman Racing team and quickly led upstairs and outside to the private deck of the motorhome. Here, VIP clients are mingling and enjoying cocktails on this sunny day.

We’re given a table in the corner of the rooftop terrace, with one chair and a sofa, for the interview.

Soon the crew is setting up, and Michele does a light touch-up of my makeup.

I feel at ease and ready to go. I’m dressed in a fabulous outfit by E.

Hay—wide-legged jeans and an asymmetrical black top.

Melody puts on my mic, and Michele goes inside to put some makeup on Xavier before we get ready to shoot.

Before long, the door to the terrace opens, and Xavier walks out with the communications coordinator for Hoffman Racing. For a moment, you can feel the energy on the terrace shift. Everyone murmurs. People stare at the top driver in the world as he makes his entrance.

I study my interview subject as he flashes that famous smile and waves to the VIP guests who cheer and clap as he makes his way across the terrace.

There is no doubt about it—Xavier Williams is a fantasy-type man.

He’s around six feet tall, with that lean and sculpted frame F1 drivers must have to fit into the cockpit, and a neck built by driving.

He has wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and the perfect amount of stubble shading his jawline.

I clock the tattoos on his hands and full sleeves on both arms, which are slightly visible from the rolled-up sleeves of his light-blue dress shirt.

Combine those lethal looks with his aggressive, elbows-out, sometimes controversial driving style that often ends with him on the podium?

Xavier is incredibly hot in that total bad-boy way.

“Isla,” he says, flashing me a brilliant smile as he extends his hand, “pleasure to meet you.”

“Xavier,” I say, shaking his hand firmly, “thank you for sitting down with me today.”

I review what kind of questions I’m going to ask him during our shoot as he’s fitted with a mic. “I’m not going for anything serious with this interview,” I reassure him. “We’re just here to talk about random stuff and have fun.”

A slow, lazy smile passes over his face. “I’m all about fun.”

I chuckle at that. I’m sure you are, I think to myself.

Once his mic is good to go, I take a seat in a rattan chair, and Xavier takes a seat on the sofa.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Bring it,” he says, his eyes dancing at me.

I can totally see why Hadleigh watched Connectivity videos of this man on a loop. There’s something about him. That IT thing.

But I plan to bring out a ridiculous side of him, if all goes according to plan.

“Xavier, thank you for sitting down to chat with me today,” I say. “I’m excited to have the opportunity to talk with the reigning world champion.”

“My pleasure,” he says.

“You’re the only American on the grid right now.”

Xavier runs his index finger over the corner of his mouth, which shows off the intricate tattoo of a compass covering his right hand. I nearly burst out laughing when I picture Hadleigh drooling when she sees this, but I somehow manage to remain professional.

“Las Vegas born and bred. Sin City,” he adds with a wink.

Oh, he SO knows what he needs to do to go viral on TikTok.

“How often do you go back?” I ask.

“I do spend time there in the off season,” he says. “It suits me. I like the energy of the Strip at night. It’s always fun.”

I remember all the images of him at the top-tier clubs in Las Vegas from the last break, often spinning with the DJ. Partying in the luxurious pools with lots of gorgeous women. Or DJing poolside with girls.

“You’re known for your mad DJ skills,” I say.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “I love to DJ. I love EDM music. But I’m good with an open format, where you mix it up with different kinds of music.”

“Monaco is where you live full-time. So do you DJ there?”

He chuckles. “Occasionally.”

“If you had to pick another F1 driver to spin with you, who would it be?”

“Ooh, interesting question,” he says, running his fingertips along his jaw as he considers it. “Not Caleb. Grandpa is ready to go home when the party starts. I’d end up spinning by myself.”

I chuckle because I can see it. Not that I’ve ever been out with Caleb, but I think it’s because so many people are wanting a piece of him all day—from the media to sponsors to fans to the team—he just wants to be in a space of quiet when his responsibilities are over.

And the last thing my man would want to do would be spinning at a posh club. In fact, I can only picture the scowl on Caleb’s face if he were asked to DJ with Xavier, and I repress a giggle.

“So who would you ask?”

“Andre,” he says, referring to a driver from Portugal. “He has a similar taste in music. That would be mega.”

“What is your favorite racetrack?” I ask, switching gears.

“I actually like this one a lot,” Xavier says. “It’s on an island, which is different, and you have opportunities for overtakes, which I love. On the rare occasion I need one, that is.” He flashes me a knowing, smug smile.

I definitely see why you either love Xavier or hate him, that’s for sure. You either think he’s confident or arrogant and cocksure.

But I like him. Xavier is open about who he is, and what you see is what you get—with no apologies.

“What about the groundhogs here? The track here is notorious for groundhogs appearing during the weekend. And that’s dangerous for both them and the drivers.”

“Oh my God, the groundhogs,” he groans. “I almost hit one during practice last year. It would have crushed me. I love animals.”

“Would you consider a groundhog tattoo as tribute to the ones who have lost their lives on this track?” I ask.

Ah-ha! I’ve finally caught him off guard with a question. His eyes widen in a “what the hell kind of question is that? ” look. But Xavier recovers quickly. “Solid no ,” he says, a low laugh escaping his chest.

“What are your tattoos right now?”

“On my right arm, I have a Spartan warrior on a stormy sea,” he says, extending his forearm, where I can see a sailboat and rough waters. “That meets up with the compass on my hand. I have another Spartan warrior on my left arm, full sleeve, with the shield on my hand.”

“You have a thing for Spartans,” I say.

He chuckles. “They represent the warrior mentality I like. And discipline. I’m very disciplined when it comes to my driving.”

“But you don’t want to represent groundhogs?”

He quirks a brow. “Do you have a thing for groundhogs?”

“No. I have a thing for owls.”

“Why the owl?”

“I like the way they can turn their heads. Two hundred seventy degrees, if you’re interested in specifics. But they can’t turn their eyeballs in their sockets.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

“You’re full of bizarre information,” Xavier says.

“I like bizarre information. Speaking of that, what is your favorite type of bread?”

“We’re going from groundhogs to ink to bread ?”

“Yes. Please keep up. For a world champion, you’re a bit slow right now,” I tease.

He bursts out laughing, and I know this interview is going just as well as I hoped it would.

“All right. Favorite bread: sourdough.”

“Oh, inspired choice,” I say. “Toasted or untoasted?”

We go on to talk for a half-hour before he has to head to the next thing on his schedule.

Xavier was a good sport. I asked him a few more racing questions, like his thoughts on running a wet race—no surprise, he likes the difficulty of competing in the rain—and what track provides him the biggest challenge.

I mix in a few more silly questions, and then we wrap up.

Once our mics are off, we get ready to say goodbye. He gently takes my elbow in his hand and dips his head so he can whisper in my ear, “I see why Caleb broke rules for you.”

Ooh!

I wish I could ask him to tell me more, but we’re surrounded by people, and his media person is waiting to steer him to his next obligation.

Xavier disappears, and soon I’m walking out with the crew.

We part ways in the paddock, and I feel happy.

I’m here in Montreal. Working another Grand Prix.

And not only that, but doing something I completely love.

I’m interviewing the top drivers in the world, and I’m also creating my own content.

Continuing to grow by doing fun features that educate fans.

I love my job. I couldn’t have dreamed of a better career situation if I tried.

Then I glance over at the Collings Motors motorhome and think of Caleb. I broke a whole lot of my own rules to fall in love with him.

As of this moment, I have Caleb, and I have my career. But I know my career dreams could be shattered. All of this could disappear as fast as it came now that the truth is out.

I swallow hard. Nothing is guaranteed to me from the network. They could cut me, I know that. It all comes down to a very important meeting next week in London.

And all I can do is hope I’ll have both Caleb and my career by the end of it.