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What can you do today to take better care of yourself?

I could stop watching F1 press conferences. Xander Bishop said I have no idea what I’m talking about. Okay, it’s kind of amazing that he knows who I am, but still. Ugh! He was so dismissive. So arrogant. I pride myself on being educated and prepared. I would love to give him a piece of my mind. If I get to talk to him. Which might not happen. I just want him to know that he’s underestimated me.

A s soon as Mia was on the ground in Miami and took her phone out of airplane mode, she was ping ping pinged with texts from her mom.

Don’t let them intimidate you. You are smart and capable. Just do your job.

Five minutes later:

Not that it’s an actual job. I know you work hard and feel passionate about this, but please be realistic. A podcast is not a career.

Especially not with your schooling and your brain. Shoot for the stars, my love! Don’t just do what’s easy.

Eleven minutes later:

Try to squeeze in some fun if you can. Go to a museum?

Please don’t go parasailing. It’s dangerous. I read an article about it. The industry has no oversight.

Three minutes later:

Remember sunscreen. I’m sure you already know this, but the rays are even harsher in South Florida than in Texas.

Love you. Mom

Mia had to laugh. That was always how she knew her mom was done with a string of texts. She signed off . Mia tapped out a quick I love you, too in response, then tucked her phone into her bag and filed off the plane and into the terminal. Beyond security, a driver waited for her, holding one of those little signs with her name on it. Her stomach fluttered with excitement. This was actually happening. She wasn’t simply going to a race as a fan, like she had more than a dozen times at the Austin GP. Oh, no. She was attending as an invited guest of a driver.

During the ride from the airport, Mia had entirely too much time to think. She didn’t know exactly what to expect today and tomorrow, but it seemed reasonable to assume Mega Racing would not be parking her in a grandstand with a bucket of salty popcorn and a soda. Of course, that only left her to wonder about things like VIP lounges and the paddock club. Was she ready for this? Hobnobbing with the wealthy and powerful people who had inside access to Formula One? Probably not. Case in point, very little time had gone into her clothing choices that morning. A T-shirt and shorts might be practical for traveling and the Miami heat, but she was going to impress exactly no one today. What in the hell was she doing?

She took a second to gather herself, but even greater questions barged into her brain. What if she really was nothing more than a pawn in some evil scheme of psychological warfare devised by Dirk? What if she met Xander Bishop and he used his sensational lips to spout British insults at her? What if he called her a wanker? A bloody git. A numpty. She might never recover.

Get it together, Mia.

She could do nothing about her present circumstances other than get on the train and ride it wherever it took her. She had to put on her game face. She pulled out her pocket recorder to document her experience for the podcast. “All right, guys, I’m in the car on the way to the track in Miami and we’re getting close. It looks like we’re pulling up to a security checkpoint. The driver’s rolling down the window and oh yes, there it is…” Mia closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled. “The scent of high-octane fuel and burnt rubber. The smell of hopes and dreams. Who will come out on top this weekend? Will it be another 1-2 finish for Vermillion? Will French driver Florian Laurent have as good a showing here as he did in Japan?”

“Excuse me, Ms. Neal,” the driver said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Mia clicked off her recorder. They were right outside the paddock swipe gates. “Oh. We’re here. Like here-here.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get your bag.” In a flash, he hopped out and opened the door for her.

Mia climbed out, squinting at the sun as she scrounged for her sunglasses. As soon as the driver wheeled over her tiny roller bag, a freckled, red-haired woman wearing a Mega Racing polo appeared. “You must be Mia Neal. I’m Isabel Terry. I handle PR and tend to our special guests.”

Special guest? Holy crap. Mia hadn’t expected such a prestigious descriptor for herself, and she’d only just arrived. What other amazing surprises were in store?

She eagerly shook hands with Isabel. “Thank you so much.”

“Here are your credentials.” Isabel pulled out a laminated pass with a lanyard and looped it over Mia’s neck. “Let me take your suitcase.” Isabel grabbed the handle. “We’ll get you through the swipe gates and stow this.” She led the way to the security checkpoint, flashed her pass in front of the scanner, and the light turned green. Isabel dutifully waited for Mia to do the same. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m good for now. Thank you.”

Mia was struggling to keep up, especially when Australian driver Preston Hubbard strolled past so close she could see the stubble on his face. She made a mental note to remember the details, which, fortunately, she was pretty good at. Still, everything around her seemed to be happening quickly and slowly at the same time. For the thousands of times she’d seen footage of drivers or photographers or VIP guests walking through the paddock behind the team garages, she’d never imagined she’d ever get there herself. It was further evidence that her podcast was taking her places. Finally, she was on her way.

Isabel led them inside a Mega Racing building, where a man appeared out of nowhere and took Mia’s bag. “We’ll dispatch that to your hotel, so you won’t need to worry about it. It will be waiting for you in your room when you get back tonight.”

“Wow. Great.” The next-level red-carpet treatment just kept on coming.

“Qualifying starts in a little under two hours as I’m sure you’re aware. Dirk would like to say hello in—” Isabel consulted her phone “—four minutes. You’ll have a few moments with him and then I’ll take you to the paddock club.”

“Great. Will I get to meet Xander Bishop, too?” Things were already going so well, Mia figured she might as well really go for it.

“I’m not sure. He’s incredibly busy.”

Mia was certain that meant no, she would not be meeting Xander. Perhaps that was for the best, considering the things she wanted to say to him about his comment in the press conference.

Isabel glanced at her phone again. “Dirk’s ready.” She directed Mia down a hall and into what appeared to be Dirk’s private driver’s room. There he was, lounging on a black leather couch and looking at his phone. “Dirk. This is Mia Neal. From the Not So Fast podcast.”

Dirk practically launched himself out of his seat. “Mia Neal! My hero!”

Mia was beyond shocked by his response. She shook his hand, noticing how his face could be boiled down to three elements—the whitest of white teeth, icy-blue eyes and shockingly symmetrical features. “Your hero?”

“Of course. You’re doing some hard work on my behalf. Getting into Xander’s head.”

Isabel cleared her throat.

Dirk slung his arm over Mia’s shoulder, which worked well since they were so close in height. “We should take a photo together.”

“We should?”

“So I can post on social media.”

Everything crystallized before Mia’s eyes. She really was here as Dirk’s pawn. Still, Jasmine’s comment about access rang in her head. This weekend could be a real boon for Not So Fast . Bigger social numbers. More listeners. Sponsors. Greater success than she’d ever dared dream of. She had to keep going.

“Awesome. Make sure you tag me.”

“Oh, I will.”

Isabel took the photo. Dirk rattled off a few things about how well his season was going, facts Mia was well aware of. “Right. Yes. Uh-huh,” she said about twenty times. Then he signed a Mega Racing hat for her and excused himself so he could prepare for qualifying. Mia donned the cap and was escorted outside, then upstairs to the paddock club situated directly above the team garages with an incredible view of the pit lane, starting grid and finish line.

“There’s an open bar. Anything you could possibly want to eat,” Isabel said. “You can watch qualifying on the TV monitors in one of the lounges or go out onto the terrace. I’ll come find you when it’s over. Just so you’re aware, your pass doesn’t allow you in the paddock without an escort.”

Mia was disappointed, as this severely limited her chances of running into Xander, but she was still happy to be there. “Okay. Thanks.”

With Isabel gone, Mia checked out her surroundings. The club was just as glamorous and over-the-top as she’d thought it would be—hell, people paid tens of thousands of dollars to have a pass to it for a weekend—but Mia felt like she’d been placed in a golden cage. Probably so Xander Bishop didn’t risk running into her. Isabel and the team were protecting him from her, which she understood, but the truth was that she didn’t want a confrontation; she merely hoped for a conversation .

She found a quiet spot and checked her social accounts. As promised, Dirk had not only posted their photo everywhere, he’d also tagged her. There were already a zillion comments, most of them positive.

I love Mia’s show!

How cool she got to meet Dirk!

Ahhh! So jealous of Mia, but she deserves it.

There were a few negative ones, too. Who is that rando with Dirk? There were some idiotic comments about her weight, which she’d learned to ignore. There was something about normal, everyday women daring to live their lives and take up space in a not-tiny body that some people simply couldn’t handle. Mia had zero time for that.

Good or bad, she had thousands of new followers. In the span of thirty minutes. Right there was evidence of the untapped potential of getting closer to this sport. Maybe the good things that would come from attending the Miami race would help her convince her mom that her podcast was a worthwhile venture. And if being stuck in the paddock club was the price she had to pay, it was worth it. She’d do anything to advance the cause of her new career. One that felt like it might stick, for the first time in her life.

She grabbed some lunch—a Cubano sandwich with sliced roast pork, ham, Swiss cheese and mustard on a baguette, pressed and grilled—and enjoyed it along with a shockingly delicious mojito while she did some people-watching. As soon as she was done eating, she recorded on the sly. “I don’t know if any of you have been in one of these paddock clubs before, but it’s a trip. Guys in diamond Rolexes and women wearing Louis Vuitton from head to toe. Meanwhile, here’s me, podcast girl, in jeans and a T-shirt from Target. I have to be honest. I feel a little out of place, but you know, I love this sport and that’s all I care about. I’m just a normal fan. I’m probably not cut out for the paddock club, but I’ll soak up every minute of it and take you all along for the ride.”

She clicked off her recorder and Mia found a viewing spot out on the terrace where she could watch the on-track action, but also turn around and have direct sight lines to a TV monitor. It was the best of both worlds, but she couldn’t record here—there were too many people talking, plus the roar of the cars below. So she took notes instead.

Q1: As expected, Emilio set the fastest time. It wasn’t even close. Of note: Xander Bishop made it to Q2, but then had his lap time deleted for exceeding track limits, so he’s out.

Q2: More Emilio. Nobody can beat this guy. Dirk made it through to Q3.

Q3: Emilio starting first. Florian in second. Dirk qualified in sixth. Xander will be starting ten places behind him.

With the session wrapped, Mia walked outside, and Isabel materialized from out of nowhere. “Did you have fun?” she asked.

“I did. Thank you.”

“Great. I’ll call a car to take you back to your hotel.”

Mia fought back her frustration at having Isabel follow her everywhere. Mia scanned the paddock, which was jam-packed with people coming and going. Would she luck out and see some drivers? Or maybe she could convince Isabel to let her explore on her own.

“You’ve already done so much for me. I can get an Uber. I really would like to hang out in the paddock if I can.”

“Well, if you have an extra minute, there’s one thing I was hoping to speak to you about before tomorrow,” Isabel said. “In case you were planning on posting to social media later or recording any segments for your podcast this evening.”

“Sure thing. What’s up?”

“We’d really appreciate it if you could take it a little easier on Xander. He’s doing his best and when the media turns up the heat, it makes things more difficult.”

Mia at least appreciated being referred to as the media. “Is this Xander’s request or is this about making life in the PR department a little easier?”

Isabel cleared her throat. “Both.”

Mia felt a pang of compassion, but she also remembered what her mom had said about not being intimidated. “I’m happy to have the discussion, but only with all parties involved. If Xander wants me to go easier on him, he’s going to have to ask me himself.”

“That’s not possible. He’s incredibly busy.”

Mia stood a little straighter and steeled herself. “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Just then, Mia caught sight of Xander exiting the back of the garage. Her heart jumped into her throat.

“Fine. You want to talk to Xander?” Isabel’s question came out more like an accusation of stupidity. “Xander! I need you for a minute!” she called, waving wildly, like she was adrift on the ocean in a rowboat and flagging down a passing cargo ship to save her life.

Oh, shit oh, shit oh, shit.

Mia wanted to grab Isabel’s arm and tug on it hard while blurting that her request had been at worst a joke and at best a gross miscalculation, but it was too late. Xander fucking Bishop was on his way over. And Mia’s entire body was aflame with nerves, remorse and—regretfully—more than a little horniness.

He had the worst look on his face—a mix of disappointment and disgust, and yet he couldn’t have been any more beautiful if he’d tried. From fifteen feet away, she could feel the laser-like power of his blue eyes, see the corded muscles in his jaw and neck, and sense his disdain for having been beckoned to speak to a stranger. She was so damn turned on right now she was surprised she was still wearing clothes.

“Xander,” Isabel said. “I want you to meet Mia Neal.”

He laughed quietly at the mere mention of her name. “The podcaster.” He offered his hand. “Xander Bishop.”

Mia had always thought it was outright ridiculous when someone said they loved a person’s accent. It felt so much like fetishization of culture or identity. Well, Xander had just turned her into a British accent fetishist in 1.7 seconds. Hot damn, she wanted to roll around in his voice and rub it all over her naked body like British body butter.

Mia thrust out her hand. The instant they met palm to palm, her throat closed up. Something shifted inside her. Also, she was horribly embarrassed because she was sweating like crazy. The combo of Miami’s humidity and Xander Bishop’s epic hotness had her body temp soaring.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m surprised you recognize me without my dick in my hand.”

Simultaneously, they both looked at their intertwined hands.

Mia dropped the connection, certain her face was now every known shade of red. “You heard that?”

“Only a clip. I haven’t actually listened to your show.”

Of course not. Of course he hadn’t. Stay tough, Mia.

“Then how could you say in the press conference that I don’t know what I’m talking about? If you’d listened to my show, you would know I have been a fan of Formula One since I was a little girl. I have extensive knowledge of all sides of the sport. I know the history, the circuits. I know the technical side, the regulations.”

He planted his hand on his hip. “When was the first season?”

He wanted to quiz her? Okay. Game on. She took a step closer. “1950. First race was the British Grand Prix on May 13. Giuseppe Farina won the first World Drivers’ Championship.”

He artfully cocked an eyebrow and narrowed his stare. “Who won the Constructors’ Championship that year?”

Mia let out an insulted snort and took another step closer. “Trick question. The Constructors’ Championship didn’t begin until 1958.”

He pursed his lips. She was winning. She was sure of it. “Youngest driver to win a race?”

“Max Verstappen. Spain. 2016.”

He shook his head. “Too easy. Greatest number of pole positions.”

“Lewis Hamilton. By a mile. Michael Schumacher is second on the list.”

“So you’ve memorized some statistics. Anyone can do that. Why don’t you tell me the purpose of the front wing on an F1 car?”

“It generates downforce, the aerodynamics that push the car down onto the track, allowing it to hug corners while maintaining high speeds. But you already know that because corners have been one of your biggest struggles this season.”

Xander pulled the sunglasses he had hanging from the collar of the fireproof shirt under his race suit and put them on. “It’s cute that you know a few facts about F1, but until you’ve been behind the wheel of one of these cars, you can save it.”

Mia saw out of the corner of her eye that Isabel was shaking her head at him. Meanwhile, Mia’s blood was boiling. Cute? Oh, no. He was not going to get away with using that word. It was not only contemptuous; she was certain he would never have uttered it if she were a man.

“Surely it is possible for someone to understand the sport without having participated in it. The majority of people who work on the teams have never raced. Technicians. Mechanics. Aerodynamicists. Strategists. Are you going to say they don’t know what they’re talking about, either?”

“I’m not going to argue with you, especially while you’re wearing a hat signed by my teammate. I’d like you to stop speaking about me in such unflattering tones. If you can do that, I will refrain from publicly insulting you and we can both go on with our lives as if we’d never known each other. Do we have a deal?”

Mia drew in a deep breath, thoughts tumbling around in her head. She had to stick up for herself and everything she’d built. Her only sliver of success. She wasn’t about to walk away from that just because Xander Bishop was handsome and sexy and inexplicably smelled good after a sweaty qualifying session.

“No. We do not have a deal.”

“Excuse me?”

“My listeners count on me to give my unvarnished opinion about the sport and although it might have been a crude way to say it, I did think you were driving around like you had your dick in your hand.”

Isabel snorted.

Xander let out an indignant huff. “We’re done here.” Just like that, he strode away, looking just as good going as he had coming.

Well, fuck.

“I’ll call you a car,” Isabel said, tapping away at her phone and avoiding eye contact. “We need to get you back to your hotel and out of this heat.”

* * *

Xander could not get Mia Neal out of his head, no matter how hard he tried, which was really messing with his already disastrous race weekend. He’d gotten a dismal amount of sleep last night after his post-qualifying run-in with her, and now he had to get behind the wheel and drive a race he had zero chance of winning.

“Good luck, Bishop,” Dirk said, strolling into the garage. “I’d say you’re going to need it.”

“Sod off, you bloody git,” Xander muttered under his breath. Several of the mechanics heard it, though, and a few of them snickered.

Dirk whipped around and narrowed his stare on Xander. “Did you say something?”

Xander shrugged. “Me? No. You must be hearing things.”

Dirk approached. “I heard you talked to Mia Neal yesterday. She’s such a lovely woman. We had a fantastic chat.”

Yeah, lovely hadn’t exactly been Xander’s experience, although there was something about Mia he couldn’t shake. He couldn’t get her brown eyes out of his head. Nor could he forget her voice, probably because she’d employed it in ways he hadn’t expected. He was not used to people telling him they were not going to do what he wanted.

“Glad it went well,” he said.

Xander grabbed his helmet and balaclava and finished his preparations before climbing into the car. The pit lane would be open soon so Xander could do his warm-up laps then take his position and wait for the formation lap. For now, he would focus on his race. He had to get to the root of the problems he was having this season, find a way to return to his previous form. Find a way to get back to the way things used to be, when driving was mostly instinct, it all felt so natural and he very rarely made mistakes. Return to a time when he could count on everything falling into place with talent and hard work.

He couldn’t allow his mind to dwell on his problems with Dirk. Nor vexing Mia Neal and her podcast. Not the world’s free-flowing criticism. Just driving.

* * *

Mia wasn’t sure why she was so nervous about the start of the race. Maybe it was because she felt like Mega Racing’s persona non grata after her dustup with Xander yesterday. At least they’d let her back into the paddock today. Even during the formation lap, Mia had a sense that something bad was going to happen. Which was a little ridiculous, because the truth was that something bad had already happened. She’d pissed off her favorite driver, and she couldn’t see a way back from that. Certainly she’d never have the chance to clear the air with him. She probably shouldn’t have made yet another joke about him driving with his dick in his hand, but it just slipped. She got like that when she felt insulted, and if he hadn’t been so infuriating, dismissing her knowledge and genuine love for the sport, things might have gone differently. Would this be yet another incident she would endlessly mull over? Probably. She could have a zillion new followers and the most successful podcast in history and the interaction with Xander would eat at her. Because she could’ve done better yesterday, and she hadn’t.

* * *

Gripping the wheel, Xander waited for the lights. Reminding himself that today did not define him as a driver. Things would get better. He would will them to get better. He simply had to work harder. One light lit up, then two. His pulse thundered. Adrenaline seeped into his system. Three lights. You’ve got this. Four. Five. Just drive the fucking car. The lights went out. Xander hit the throttle and jagged left, steering clear of the slower car in front. The car behind him went right up the inside. Xander was squeezed at the corner. He jammed the brakes. Front left tire locked up. Smoke. Crikey. Keep going. Stops and starts. Too much traffic. By the time he’d hit the fourth turn, he was down two spots. The Miami Grand Prix was going to be a slog.

* * *

Dammit. Mia felt sorry for Xander, even though she knew she shouldn’t. His showing was that pitiful. He might have acted like an arrogant ass yesterday, but no one deserved to have as miserable a race as he was having. disastrously slow pit stops. Stuck in a never-ending DRS train, surrounded by other cars going virtually the same speed so that no one could pass anyone. And since there had been zero safety cars, he never had the chance to grab a cheap pit stop or have the cars concertina. It was pathetic. Meanwhile, Dirk had moved up in the order. He crossed the finish line in fourth place. One agonizingly long full minute later, Xander crossed in eighteenth. Maybe it was a good thing she wouldn’t have another chance to talk to him. His bad mood from yesterday was certainly not going to be improved today.

* * *

Xander sat behind the wheel, wanting only one thing—to get the fuck out of there as fast as humanly possible. He wanted to close his eyes and be back home, create some distance from his terrible showing. The only problem with that idea was that he’d still be stuck with himself. He’d be followed by all the doubt that swirled in his head like a cyclone these days. He kept asking himself why… Why did he keep making mistakes? Why, after years of practice and work and sacrifice, couldn’t he get this right anymore?

He had zero answers for himself, so all he could do was get away from this circuit and this city and put the race behind him. He climbed out of the car, kept his helmet on to afford himself some privacy, did his weigh-in, then headed out through the garage. On the way, he was stopped by several members of the Mega Racing team offering condolences.

Hard day, Xander.

We’ll get it sorted.

Next race will be better.

He’d heard all those things before, and he didn’t want the pity. He only wanted to take off the pressure so he could reach his potential. The only trouble was that a good performance was the only way to lessen the pressure. Finally, he broke away and exited the garage, only to spot the second-to-last person he wanted to see—Mia Neal. Inexplicably, she was not with Isabel. As soon as she caught sight of him, she was rushing over.

“Xander. Hi. I’m Mia. Mia Neal. Remember me? The evil podcaster?”

Of course he remembered her. He’d had a devil of a time getting her out of his head. The things she said were so unforgettable . And part of him thought that was all the reason he needed to breeze right past her. But one thing needed to be said.

“You look far better without that Dirk hat on your head.”

“Thanks. It was making my hair do weird things. I’m sorry about today,” she said. “You had some terrible luck.”

He kept going, making a beeline for Mega Racing hospitality. Their one exchange was enough. His only goal now was to get to the airport as quickly as possible. “All good podcast fodder, though. I’m sure you’ll have no problem writing your next episode.”

Mia was nearly jogging alongside him. “It wasn’t you. What happened today.”

He came to a halt and closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t feel the need to set her straight. “Of course it was. I was behind the wheel.”

“But it’s not your fault you had two slow pit stops. The crew didn’t have your tires ready the first time. Then the rear left wheel gun jammed. I do question the team’s choice of the medium compound to finish the race. The hard tire was performing so much better, and this circuit eats tires. The degradation was so high. Did they explain their thinking to you?”

He shook his head. He’d wondered about the medium tire as well. He’d argued with his engineer about it. And he’d stupidly relented. Mia really did know her stuff.

“Look. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it still comes down to me.” He gave her one last look. She was gorgeous, and the absence of yesterday’s hat was a big improvement. Her dark brown hair was lustrous and lush, her cheeks flushed with radiant pink, but he’d walked away from plenty of beautiful women. One more wasn’t going to kill him.

“Goodbye, Mia.” He took his strides extra long, if only to escape more quickly.

“You’re my favorite driver, you know,” she called.

Her statement stopped him dead in his tracks. Her favorite driver? Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he had to know more. Part of him liked the way she was so brutally, brutally, brutally honest.

He turned back. “What’s the punch line?”

“It’s not a joke. I swear.”

He glanced around. “Maybe a prank? Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Are you recording me?”

“It’s a podcast. No cameras. And no, this isn’t a gotcha moment. Plus, I would tell you if I was recording you.”

He hated his own curiosity about the subject. “How does someone who purports to like me as a driver turn around and poke fun at me for their own personal gain?”

She nodded slowly, her haunting eyes seeming to process his question. “Fair question. Would it make sense if I said my criticism was born from genuine admiration?”

“Not entirely. No.”

“All I can tell you is that I admired you from the beginning. You had so much confidence when you came up in Formula . And of course, your first two years at Hughes were lightning in a bottle.”

He exhaled slowly. She seemed as enchanted with his start in F1 as he had been. Something about her bearing witness to his history had him intrigued. She may have said terrible things about him, but at least she knew he’d once been great at his job.

“That still doesn’t explain the line about driving with my dick in my hand.”

“I only said that because I was thinking it. I wanted you to snap out of it. Drive better. Take advantage of the amazing opportunity you have with Mega.” She stepped closer and he experienced the strangest sensation in the pit of his stomach as she peered up at him with those haunting eyes—wide and curious and unforgettable . “I hate that you’re struggling so much this year. Is it the car? Or the pressure? You do seem super stressed this season. It’s got to take a toll on your mental health.”

He shared a fondness for the questions she was asking, if only because he would’ve enjoyed answers to them as well. “Pressure is for amateurs, Mia. And you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe in pop psychology.”

She held up a hand. “First off, the notion of pop psychology is a bit of a misnomer. Most people have some natural understanding of how the human brain works and human behavior as a larger topic, so I like to think that pop really only means it’s widespread because we all have the inclination for it. Second, I have a master’s in psychology. So I’m not just spitballing here.”

“Spitballing?”

“Like bodging? I once went through a big Anglophile phase and learned some British slang. Never been to England, so this is the first time I’ve really had a chance to use it. I guess you could say I’m right chuffed.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. Mia Neal was a trip . Out of the corner of his eye, Xander spotted Dirk approaching with an absolute shit-eating grin on his face. Just when Xander was starting to not hate his interaction with Mia, Dirk had to be a reminder of how things had gone horribly for Xander during the race, while Dirk had done just fine.

“Mia!” Dirk exclaimed.

She turned in his direction and waved.

Xander’s stomach sank. “I should go.” He didn’t understand how it felt wrong to say that, but it did. He’d been committed to getting out of there; why couldn’t he make himself do it?

“Mia, come to Monza,” Dirk called. “I think you were my lucky charm today.” He cast a look in Xander’s direction, punctuated by a wink. An infuriating, godforsaken wink. Dirk was needling him, reminding him that once again, Dirk had proven today that he was the better driver.

Xander couldn’t allow him to keep the upper hand in everything. “Too late, Dirk. I already invited her.”

Bloody hell. Why in the hell did I say that?

Mia whipped around and bugged her eyes at him. Her ridiculously enchanting eyes.

“Right,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “You asked me just a few minutes ago. And I said I’d like to fly first class. And you said sure.”

Xander swallowed the grin trying so damn hard to bloom on his face. “I did. That’s true.”

“And then I said I’ll only go if I can stay at the Hotel de la Ville. So I can walk to the circuit.”

Wow. Clearly, she knew the details of attending the race in Monza, just like she seemed to know everything else. “Then I said it’s very expensive and quite difficult to get a room, especially at this late date.”

“But then I pointed out that you make millions of dollars a year and if anyone could pull it off, you could.” Mia slid a smile in his direction, which felt like an arrow straight through the center of his chest. “And you also said I could have paddock passes for all four days. Media day, practice, qualifying and the race, of course.”

Every fiber of his being was telling him to tell her no. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Dirk use Mia as a weapon in this idiotic war he was waging within the team. If Xander paid for Mia to go to Monza, she would at least be out from under Dirk’s influence.

Xander glanced at Dirk, whose forehead was wrinkled with questions. So many questions. Xander loved seeing it.

“Sorry, Dirk. Guess I beat you to it.” It felt so good to say that. The pain of the race was nearly fading away. Nearly.

“That makes one thing you’ve beat me at.” Dirk directed his gaze to Mia. “I’ll see you in Italy. Don’t let him bribe you into being soft. He deserves every criticism.” Dirk turned on his heel and sauntered off down the paddock.

“Um…” Xander started, not knowing how to explain what he’d just done, because Dirk was right—Mia would have every reason to assume Xander had only invited her in order to convince her to go easier on him with her podcast.

“You already asked me?” she asked, with all the incredulity the situation demanded. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He folded his hands across his chest and closed his eyes, wishing for strength. “He’s just such a bloody tosser. He’s been cruelly competitive with me since I came to the team.”

“Maybe he’s jealous.”

“Of what, exactly? He’s placed better than me in every single race this season.”

“True.”

Xander ran his hand through his hair, mentally and physically exhausted. “Dirk invited you here this weekend to get in my head, and that’s also why he invited you to Italy. I couldn’t let him get away with it. That’s why I told him I’d already invited you.”

“So you let your ego take charge?”

“Please spare me the psychological analysis.”

“It’s pretty clear you were motivated by revenge. A need to level the playing field.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “You aren’t going to talk about this on your show, are you?” He could only imagine what she might say next about him. He’d given her far too much ammunition over the course of this conversation.

“Not sure. Haven’t decided.”

Great. Just great. Bloody brilliant. There was nothing he could do about it now.

Meanwhile, her lips spread into a wide smile, making his face inexplicably flush with heat. “What?” he asked, desperate for her to stop being so…alluring.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Formula One drivers just argued over who gets to take me to Monza. Not bad for a stupid podcast.”

“I don’t think I called your podcast stupid.”

“You didn’t have to say it. I could see it on your face.”

He wasn’t sure how she saw anything. He was so good at hiding his emotions. Compartmentalizing. It was one of the demands of his sport—he had to push aside the personal to get on with the task at hand.

“So, Italy? I’ll have Isabel contact you about flights and accommodations.”

“Just as long as you aren’t trying to buy me off. I can’t take it easy on you just because you buy me a plane ticket.”

“A first class plane ticket.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I wanted to see how far you would go. It’s up to you whether you want to follow through.”

“I keep my promises. And I’m not trying to buy you off.” He sucked in a deep breath, certain it would be impossible to convince Mia of anything she didn’t want to do. “Go ahead and keep hitting as hard as you want. I can take it.”