Page 9 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

Caleb moves down the line from me, going straight for the oatmeal and getting himself a bowl.

I watch as he loads it up with fruits and nuts, then puts a drizzle of honey over the top.

I know he has to eat not only to fuel himself for practice and qualifying today, but he has to stay lean for racing, too.

Thank God there’s no such restriction for content creation , I think as I put a piece of banana- bread french toast on my plate.

I follow Caleb to a table, where he puts his plate down, but doesn’t take a seat. “Would you like a hazelnut mocha latte?”

I think of all the sugar on my plate and decide a hazelnut latte would be a bit much this morning. “Actually, I would love a coffee with half-and-half,” I say, taking my seat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, heading off to the barista bar.

I hang my purse over the back of my chair. Then I flick the napkin open and put it in my lap. Nerves make me feel jittery, but I pause and take a deep breath, then exhale slowly.

This is a business meeting.

Caleb went above and beyond with the french toast, however, he’s not only an F1 driver, but a Collings. He can have things like three kinds of french toast made for guests and it’s no big deal.

No big deal.

No big deal.

NO. BIG. DEAL.

Maybe if I repeat it twenty-two more times, I’ll believe it.

Sighing in exasperation, I pick up my silverware and dig in, opting to try the cannoli one first. I cut into it and find a rich, creamy filling studded with chocolate chips.

Talk about a love language.

I take a bite. Oh my. It tastes like the filling of a cannoli is tucked right inside the brioche bread.

It’s rich and luscious, and I think I could be happy just eating a plate of this alone.

I move on to the banana-bread french toast, which is indeed made out of banana bread.

Yum. I take a second bite of that and am about to try the jelly-donut one when a cup of coffee is placed at my side, along with a pitcher of half-and-half.

“Oh, thank you,” I say, smiling at Caleb. I put my fork down and dump a hefty amount of half-and-half into my coffee.

“You’re welcome,” he says, picking up his spoon. “How’s the french toast?”

“It’s definitely speaking to me,” I say, smiling at him. “I’ve tried the cannoli and banana bread so far—both are delicious. Now I have to try the jelly donut before I can declare who gets first on the podium.”

To my surprise, he laughs at that, a smile lighting up his face. “Podium.”

God, he’s ridiculously good-looking when he smiles.

I take a bite of the jelly-donut french toast, the raspberry jam and powdered sugar indeed reminding me of a donut in that one single bite.

I nod, putting my hand up as I swallow, and then blot my lips with my napkin. “Okay, project how they’ll land on the podium, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

I wonder if he’ll think I’m a weirdo for suggesting this. But my gut tells me Caleb needs some stupid fun like this in his life.

“All right. Third is jelly donut. Just because it’s jelly and bread, how exciting is that? It’s got to finish in the third spot. But really, if we had more options, I’d put this at the back of the grid.”

I laugh at that, and his blue eyes light up in response.

“I like the commentary with your projections. It enriches my experience. Go on. Pick second place.”

“Second would be banana bread. Not that there’s anything wrong with banana bread—”

“You’re not mad at it,” I interrupt.

Caleb begins to laugh. “No, I’ve never been mad about banana bread. Disappointed, maybe. Like if it’s dry. Or doesn’t taste like banana. But never mad. I’d have to be more invested to be pissed off at banana bread. And I can’t say I’ve ever been pissed off at a piece of banana bread.”

I can’t help but giggle. Who knew this humor existed underneath his serious demeanor?

“So what put banana bread in second?” I ask.

“It’s banana bread. Good, but you know what to expect. But cannoli-stuffed french toast? Come on now, it’s got the filling of a cannoli in it. That’s got to be first.”

“It is first,” I confirm. “And I ranked my others just as you predicted. This race was uneventful.”

He chuckles, and for some stupid reason, I like the fact that I’m making him laugh this morning.

I take a sip of my coffee and remind myself this is business. “I know you must have a pretty tight schedule today. What time would be best for me to film some content in the garage?”

Caleb finishes another bite of oatmeal before answering.

“I’ve got an engineering meeting at ten, so I can take you down for a bit after we eat.

At quarter to eleven, I’ve got to make an appearance at a sponsor brunch, but then I have about an hour before I need to be on the track for practice.

That’s usually when I grab a snack and do some preparation stuff. Like kicking around a football.”

“What?” I ask, intrigued by this. “What do you mean, kick around a football?”

“Exactly what I said. Before every track practice session, I skip rope, do some neck stretching, and kick around a football. It’s my ritual.”

“This is so interesting. I’ve been following you since you came up, and that information is nowhere to be found.”

Caleb quirks a brow. “You followed me?”

“Not just you. I follow all the drivers in F1 and F2,” I say smartly. “But I never heard about the football before.”

“Maybe you’re just good at pulling out all my secrets, Isla.”

I’m too young to have hot flashes, but shit, I think I’m having one right now. But before I can think too much about it, Caleb is speaking again.

“Anyway, I’ll take you to the garage after we eat and you can get in my car, film some stuff, talk to some of the crew if you want. That will be great content for your channels.”

I nod eagerly. “I’m so excited to have this kind of access.”

“So what drew you to create content for F1?” Caleb asks, taking another bite of his oatmeal.

I cut another piece of the cannoli french toast with my fork. “I’ll only answer if I get to ask you a question in return.”

Caleb stares at me, a serious expression on his face. “Off the record?”

He really doesn’t trust the media , I think. Which makes the fact that he invited me here all the more incredible.

“This whole conversation is off the record,” I promise. “Down to your third-place finish for poor jelly-donut french toast.”

His expression lightens with my words. “Okay. I’m going to trust you.”

“Caleb, it’s up to you if you trust me or not.

I can only give you my word, which I value very much.

I know this isn’t something you normally do, trust someone in the media.

So go ahead. Test me. Talk to me and plant a fake story to see if I report it, for all I care.

Because no matter what you tell me, it’s not going to end up on my channels.

Or The Downforce Network. I can’t exactly take a lie-detector test for you at the moment, but if you asked me to, I would.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your position,” I continue.

“To not only have people discussing your job performance online, but trying to pry into your personal life. Throwing the fact that you are an heir to Collings Motors in your face. Making up lies about you to get clicks or ratings. Or following you when you go out for a run in Monaco or showing videos of you driving around in your car. I’ve never shared content like that on my channels or discussed your life off the track.

That’s not the kind of journalism I want to do.

Nor is it the kind of person I aspire to be. ”

He stares at me, and I can’t quite read the expression in his eyes. A lock of his black hair falls across his forehead, but Caleb makes no move to push it away. It’s like the only thing he’s aware of are the words I just spoke from my heart.

Finally, he says, “I don’t trust people easily. But my gut tells me you’re different, Isla. Not only as a reporter, but as a person.”

Despite everything I’m telling my body to do—as in not respond to this man—it defies me once again with these words.

Because I’m beginning to believe he’s different, too.

He clears his throat. “What assignment do you have next for The Downforce Network?”

“None, so far. I think the one assignment was a fill-in for another reporter. But my hope is I’ll make a lasting impression and get some more work with them down the line.”

Caleb looks at me expectantly. “You did a great job, Isla. They’re idiots if they don’t contact you again. Even more so after you get this exclusive content for your channels today.”

I take another sip of my coffee. Which really isn’t helping the excited feeling in my stomach calm down. “Thank you. I hope so. But if not? I’m still going to create F1 content.”

“Right, that was the question I originally had for you. What got you hooked on F1?”

“Well, obviously so I could meet the drivers,” I deadpan. “Isn’t that why women like F1 in the first place?”

The beginning of a smile plays at his mouth, and I try to ignore how my pulse leaps the tiniest bit when I see it.

“Yes. Because you can’t possibly like F1, for you know, being a sport .”

“It’s so annoying. I get that in my comments on Connectivity all the time. That I’m just covering F1 because I think the drivers are hot.”

“Well, to be fair, some of us are fit,” Caleb says, the smile now becoming mischievous.

“I’m ignoring that comment.”

He laughs. “You should.”

Now I’m the one laughing. But once I stop, I tell him the story of how my dad took me to this very race years ago and I was hooked by everything about it.

The roar of the cars. The speed at which they flew on the track.

The smell of gasoline and the way the force of the cars seemed to reverberate right through me.

“And, of course, the skill of the drivers to be able to take a high-tech car and drive it at insane speeds with a steering wheel that looks like a video-game controller while fighting crazy g-forces. It was just the most incredible thing I had ever seen in sports, and I love sports. I knew my goal right then, even though I know how hard it is and the odds are stacked against me. I want to work in F1. And if that means just creating content for my own channels, that’s fine. ”

Caleb studies me intently with those piercing blue eyes for a moment before answering. “You’re going to make it,” he says firmly.

“There are lots of reporters who want to make it. I’m not saying I’m not motivated to pursue my dream, because I am. But I’m a realist. That’s why I’m doing my own channels.”

“No, you’re going to make it. You’ll be working in F1. Your TikTok channel has more than 400,000 followers. That got The Downforce Network’s attention. They’ll be back. Trust me.”

“You looked at my TikTok?” I ask, feeling that warm flush grow up my neck again.

“You aren’t the only one who prepares for business,” Caleb replies. “I’m an F1 driver. Preparation is everything.”

Yes, I suppose it is , I think. But did that really have to include studying me?

“Your ‘Get Ready with Me’ videos get a lot of views,” Caleb notes before taking a bite of his oatmeal. “I watched some of those last night.”

I freeze. I didn’t think about him watching my videos. Especially ones of me curling my hair and giving my thoughts on F1 racing.

CRAP, THE MAN HAS WATCHED ME CONTOUR MY FACE.

My neck now feels like I’ve sat out on the beach without sunscreen for five hours.

Play it off, I tell myself. Then a reminder sets in.

This is business anyway.

“Well, I hope you got some helpful hints for how to apply bronzer and my thoughts on how Xavier Williams’s aggressive driving is dangerous. I had lots of thoughts on how he forced Mason off the track in Japan.”

“Yeah, you made your thoughts rather clear on that,” Caleb says, grinning.

“But I agree with you. Xavier does some crazy stuff on the track. He’s my best mate off it, and he’s a completely different guy.

Then again, most of us are different when we turn down our visors. You have to be if you want to succeed.”

Ooh, that’s interesting. I’m about to ask him about it when my phone buzzes.

“Oh, excuse me, I’m always checking my phone this weekend in case it’s the network,” I say, turning around and reaching for my bag. I rifle through it and retrieve my phone.

When I see the text, my heart leaps. It’s Ian from The Downforce Network.

“It’s them!” I gasp, quickly opening the message and reading it:

Isla, great work with Caleb Collings yesterday. Got big views on social media. I’ve got another assignment if you want it. Vipera pit-stop practice on Saturday morning, for the website and social media. Are you interested?

“They’ve got an assignment tomorrow for me with Vipera,” I say excitedly. “Covering their pit-stop practice.”

“Don’t reply yet,” Caleb says.

“Why not?”

“Tell them you’ll do it, but you’ll also bring something bigger to the table.”

My heart begins to pound in my ears. “What would that be?”

“Tell them if they’ll send you to Imola, you’ll get an exclusive sit-down interview with me. But I’ll only do it with you, and only if they arrange for you to travel to the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix.”

I sit very still. I can’t believe what Caleb has just offered me.

An exclusive interview that reporters have been trying to get for the past year.

And he wants to do it in Italy.