Page 4

Chapter four

Kristian

Bianca Rossi was pressing my buttons big time, and it alarmed me how much I was enjoying it. She was pushy and stubborn, constantly testing the limits of my patience and I’d only known her two days. When she arrived late to our practice drive, I saw red.

Was it underhanded to threaten her career? Probably, but hard–headed drivers like Rossi only cared about one thing – winning races. If I held that over her, I knew I could get her to toe the line. I prayed she would see sense and wasn’t going to push me that far, but if she did, I would have to make good on my promise to sack her. I doubted the decision to ditch our best, most experienced driver would go down well with Frank Matthews and the rest of the board, but I would rather take that heat than give in to Rossi.

As I arrived at the pit wall, I felt the eyes of the senior team upon me. I snatched up a pair of headphones and put them around my neck.

“Everything sorted?” Carlos asked me.

I snorted. “We’ll see, hm? Let’s take a look at these cars.” I tugged the headphones up over my ears and adjusted the microphone. I flicked to Sophia’s communication channel. “Mic check, Harrington.”

“Received,” came the crackly reply.

“Give it your best out there.” Sucking in a breath, I changed to Bianca’s channel. “Mic check, Rossi.”

“Got it,” she replied tersely. It wasn’t a structured response, but I let it go. She’d confirmed the channel was operating correctly and I wasn’t about to start arguments over petty shit. I got the sense there were going to be plenty of serious things that Bianca and I were going to butt heads over without looking for trouble.

The roar of the cars’ engines as they pulled out onto the track was deafening, even with our headphones on and the team turned in their seats to watch as Rossi and Harrington taxied past us on their way to the starting grid.

Carlos caught my eye and smiled. “Here we go.”

I nodded, turning my attention to the screens on the pit wall. There was a plethora of information available to me and the race engineers here – GPS tracking, a weather radar, in–depth telemetry of each of the cars, and on race day, the live feed shown on television. Everything we could wish to know about the cars was shown here which would help us guide our drivers and get the best out of the spectacular piece of engineering that a formula one car was. We watched the feeds as both Harrington and Rossi did a couple of slow warm up laps, getting heat into their tyres ahead of the high–speed tests to come.

As they pulled back into the grid, coming to a halt, I opened both drivers’ communication channels. “Alright, clean laps, no messing around. Let’s just see what’s what and if anything needs tweaking before Las Vegas.”

“Received.”

“Copy.”

The lights on the gantry above the cars illuminated one by one, counting down for the standing start.

Five, four, three, two… one! Lights out!

The din of the two cars as they roared off the line sent vibrations through my body. Within seconds they were out of earshot, cruising around the circuit at breakneck speeds. I adored this sport, it gave me chills every time, and yet I couldn’t fathom the bravery and the grit those women had to be able to throw a glorified go–kart into a corner at speeds of two–hundred kilometres an hour plus.

“Numbers are looking good,” Carlos muttered beside me. “Cars are holding up well.”

“Pleased?” I smiled at him.

“That’s a question best suited for you, isn’t it, boss?” he laughed.

I turned back to the screens, frowning as I noticed Rossi pulling away from Harrington at a startling rate. “Christ, she’s gunning it.”

“She’s Bianca Rossi. It’s what she does.” Carlos smirked with a shrug. “She’s a machine, but I’d wager she’s a machine with a point to prove this morning.”

I watched the screens, marvelling at how easy Bianca was making driving the ferocious car look. I knew they were hell to handle, and the G–force alone was tough to withstand, and yet she continued to give it her all. I felt my stomach churn as I realised how much the McLaren team needed Rossi. We couldn’t let a monster like her go to another team. It would be the end of us. My mouth set in a grim line – damn it.

The first lap was over in the blink of an eye and Rossi’s car screamed past us on the pit wall at the speed of light, followed by Harrington a moment or two later.

“DRS is enabled,” I informed both drivers, all the while knowing it would be a miracle if Sophia managed to get close enough to her teammate to be in with a chance of using it. This time, neither driver responded, but that was forgivable. The levels of concentration required to race one of these cars was immense. It was a promise of mine to whichever team I worked with that I would keep radio chatter to a minimum and let the drivers focus on their race; a game plan that rarely failed me.

“She is flying today,” Carlos muttered beside me. “Maybe you should tear a strip off Rossi more often. You’ve lit a fire under her this morning.”

“If only it were that easy, hm?” I joked, watching the numbers on the screen. “At least we know the car is on point.”

“Well, it’s working for Rossi at least.”

We watched the drivers around the track a few more times before I’d seen enough. I opened the channels up once more.

“Alright, bring them in. Good job.”

“Copy.”

“Received, thank you,” Sophia gasped, sounding exhausted.

The pit wall team and I removed our headsets, setting them down before walking around to meet the drivers back in the garages. We arrived just in time to see Rossi and Harrington pulling in.

Both women clambered out of their cars and whilst Sophia took a moment to chat with her car’s engineer, Rossi ripped her helmet and hood off, making a beeline for me with a face like thunder. I steeled myself for what was coming.

“ That is why you need me on this team,” Bianca snapped, tucking her helmet under her arm. She raised her chin, her eyes alight as she stared me down defiantly. God, this woman was fierce – and a royal pain in the arse.

“I’m man enough to concede that you’ve done a great job out there this morning,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. A shit–eating grin spread across Bianca’s face, and I scowled. “But I meant what I said. I don’t care if you’re Maddie Michaels – you fuck with me and question my authority in this team again, and you’re out… but know that’s not the outcome either of us wants.”

Bianca’s face was a picture. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted, and to be honest even I wasn’t sure which I’d meant that statement to be.

“Bring that energy to Las Vegas,” I said, hurriedly glancing away from her before I got myself into any more trouble. “You too, Sophia. Great job.”

“Wow, you were something else out there today,” Harrington sighed, standing beside Bianca and rolling her neck.

“Thanks,” Rossi replied.

I deliberately kept my attention fixed elsewhere, though I could still feel her gaze on me. I glanced at my wristwatch.

“I’ve got to get going,” I muttered, all the while knowing my afternoon was completely free. “Catch up with Carlos and go over the data from today together. Anything you think could be improved on between now and Las Vegas, he’ll need to know.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt, striding away and heading back to the solitude of my office. I had plenty of paperwork to catch up on, but in truth I was just glad to be free from the attention of Bianca Rossi. I slumped down behind my desk with a heavy sigh. I wasn’t quite sure if Bianca was just playing with me whenever I caught her behaving flirtatiously towards me and it was unnerving.

I fished my phone from my trouser pocket and navigated to a Google search: ‘Bianca Rossi’. A whole host of news articles, interviews and wiki pages came up and I scrolled through some of the results curiously. Though she was only twenty–four, she’d had great success on the F1 circuit and was well–respected in the field. I couldn’t help but be impressed. Halfway down the list of search results, a handful of photographs appeared – a mixture of professionally posed and candid shots. One in particular caught my attention and I tapped on it.

To my surprise, I found myself on Bianca’s Instagram account. The picture I’d opened was her, leaning against her McLaren car. She had her helmet tucked under one arm, just as she had done whilst she’d be talking to me just moments ago, except this time she had her racing overalls rolled down to her waist and a tiny, black sports bra on show. I could tell the photograph was clearly a professional job from the editing and the lighting, and she looked fantastic.

I cleared my throat, unable to stop myself from scrolling through the hundreds of other photos she had posted. Most of them were ones I had seen before – or at least very similar. There were plenty of her getting sprayed with champagne, celebrating with the team and sitting in her car, but there was also a heavily suggestive undertone to a lot of her shots. She had reels of her during her PT sessions, donning tiny shorts and sports bras and even a handful of her posing in her red–carpet dresses.

Bianca’s attractiveness wasn’t lost on me – hell, it had been one of the first things I’d noticed when she’d sat before me just a day ago – but I hadn’t realised just how stunning she was. I’d spent very little time truly looking at her, afraid that she would somehow sense my interest or catch me ogling her, but her Instagram account allowed me to take my time to study her.

“Fucking hell,” I grumbled, guiltily zooming in on an especially suggestive shot of her and a few of the other drivers, poolside and arm in arm. She had on what had to be a custom–made bikini, black with an orange stripe the same colours as McLaren’s livery. It was tiny, leaving very little to the imagination, and the comments section beneath parroted back my own sentiments about how good Bianca looked in it. It was one thing to be a dirty, old pervert, leering at hot, semi–naked girls when you were anonymous on the internet and quite another when you were said hot girl’s boss. I scrubbed a hand down my face and shut off my phone screen, throwing the device onto my desk with a loud clatter. I needed to get a grip on this before it got out of hand… though I wasn’t completely to blame. Bianca had planted this seed in my brain and continued to water it every time I caught her eyeing me suggestively. She was big trouble – the kind I really needed to avoid after the huge scandal Harold Warner had left in his wake – and yet I couldn’t seem to rein myself in.

I snatched my phone and unlocked it, surprised for a moment to see Bianca had updated her Instagram as I was brought face to face with her latest post. It was a selfie with her and Sophia, clearly taken moments ago in the pit garage, the two McLaren cars blurred in the background. Sophia was smiling sweetly up at the camera, whereas Bianca had chosen to pull a face, sticking her tongue out. My mind flew straight to the gutter, and I scrolled to the caption.

‘Ready to set some doubters straight. Bring it on, #LasVegasGP!’

There was no doubt that her words were aimed at me. I chuckled, a smile fighting its way onto my face. I was looking forward to her going out there and giving everyone a taste of what I’d seen on track today. There was no way Bianca Rossi was losing that race in Vegas if she came out hot, gun blazing. If fanning the flames of indignation was what it took to bring out the best in my driver and get McLaren across the line for the constructor’s championship, then so be it. I hoped Bianca knew what she was playing with, but also that I hadn’t just bitten off more than I could chew with the attractive Italian.

The summer break was officially over. The McLaren team and I boarded the private jet I’d chartered for us, and twelve hours later we were touching down on American soil. We’d left a damp and humid British summer behind, greeted instead by blazing hot sunshine and melting tarmac. It was a blistering thirty–two centigrade, and already the press had begun to chatter about the extra challenge the extreme temperatures would bring to the race. I’d somehow managed to avoid interacting with Rossi again, keeping all communication digital and deliberately choosing a seat out of sight from her on the plane, but as I waited for the team cars to pull around to collect us from the airport, I knew there was one place I wouldn’t be able to get away from her.

“Harrington, Rossi – you’re in the first car with me,” I shouted across the gathering of McLaren team members. “The rest of you will follow in the minivan to the hotel.”

I busied myself with answering emails, pretending not to notice Bianca sidling up beside me.

“It’s hot, hm?” she muttered, flapping the neck of her t–shirt. “I don’t know how you can stand wearing those shirts all the time. I’m sweating.”

“I’ll be wearing my polo shirt at the track,” I replied. “You’re right – it is too hot for formal wear.”

“The sooner you realise I’m always right, the better,” she teased, and I gave in, meeting her eye. Bianca grinned and I was helpless but to mirror it.

“Whatever you say,” I replied, tucking my phone away as I saw the car approaching. “I’ll be glad to be back in the air conditioning, that’s for sure.”

The driver hurried around and opened our door for us. This time, Bianca was first to clamber inside. I glanced around, looking for Sophia.

“Where’s Harrington?” I asked, bending at the waist to speak to Bianca.

She shrugged. “She’s around somewhere. Get in.”

I hesitated, desperately dragging my heels as I prayed for Sophia to show up before I was forced to sit between the two drivers and pressed up next to Bianca. When I could delay no longer, I scowled and climbed inside the car.

“Where is she?” I muttered, leaning out of the door a little to scan the crowds.

Bianca was scrolling her phone, unfazed. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a minute. Maybe she needed the loo?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I muttered tersely.

“You really don’t like to be kept waiting, do you?” Bianca chuckled. “Patience is a virtue, y’know.”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Alright, no need to be snippy.” She paused. “You mind shutting that door whilst we wait? You’re letting all the hot air in.”

I slammed the car door, and all the hustle and bustle faded away, muted behind the tinted glass. I released a heavy sigh.

“It’s nice and quiet in here, isn’t it?” Bianca said, her voice taking on a softer timbre that I had never heard from her before. “I hate all the noise and the rushing about. The quiet of the team car is one of my favourite places.”

I smiled. “Then that’s something we have in common. When I was working with Invicta, I always travelled to and from races alone. It’s a bit different at F2 level, the budgets are much tighter, and the teams are smaller, so I guess it’s easier to arrange it that way, but—”

“I love to travel alone too,” Bianca interrupted. “Harold was always happy for me to arrange my own travel, so I rarely joined the rest of the team until now.”

“Ah, if I’d known I would have allowed it,” I said, gazing out of the window at the rest of the team gathered around chatting. “I get it. I’d like nothing better than to just sit with my own company, but as team principal it’s expected of me to club in with everyone else.”

“Fuck what’s expected of you.”

I faltered, turning to look at Bianca. She still held her phone in her hand, but her attention was fixed on me.

“I assume that’s your mantra in life?” I teased with a grin, my pulse quickening when Bianca returned it.

“You betcha,” she replied. “Is it that obvious?”

“I mean, you’re not subtle,” I chuckled. This was probably the first civil, pleasant conversation I’d had with Bianca, and it surprised me how much I was enjoying our back and forth. When she wasn’t a ball of fury, Rossi could be quite charming. That combined with her heart–stopping good looks was dangerous.

I cleared my throat. “Look, let’s just go. I’m not sure what’s happened to Harrington, but I’m beat and am looking forward to unwinding in the hotel before the craziness starts. She’ll have to meet us—”

The door beside me flew open, bright light spearing in and the heat of the sun hit us like a wall. I glanced up, surprised to see Sophia.

“God, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, pink and sweaty. “I went for a quick toilet break and my minder took us to the wrong exit. I got back here as quickly as I could.”

“That’s quite alright,” I replied, surprising even myself with how disappointed I was not to be alone with Bianca any longer. I didn’t have time to consider it though, before my mind turned to the next potential pitfall. I slid across the leather seats, making room for Sophia by bringing myself closer to Bianca. As our bodies touched, completely innocently, my thoughts were awash with the images I’d seen on Rossi’s Instagram. I now knew the shapely thigh pressed against my own was tanned and toned beneath the denim jeans she wore. I fought for distraction, busying myself with my seatbelt as we settled into the back of the car.

The driver took off with a vigour that surprised us all and we toppled against one another, each muttering apologies and sharing sheepish grins. We turned sharply out onto a large freeway, and I jostled into Sophia.

“Oh, god, sorry!” she squeaked.

“No, no – it’s my fault,” I laughed. “Apparently, our driver is in a rush.”

I righted myself, taking a deep breath. Had anything ever been so awkward? I vowed to myself to never travel with Bianca and Sophia again. It wasn’t appropriate for me to be squashed between them like this, though my lizard brain wasn’t objecting.

I watched Bianca out of my peripheral vision. She’d turned her attention back to her phone. She crossed one long leg over the other and a moment later I practically leapt off the seat as she touched the edge of her foot against my shin. I sat frozen in place, palms sweaty. The back of this car wasn’t exactly spacious, perhaps she didn’t even realise– Bianca’s foot stroked itself further up my leg. Nope. She definitely knew what she was doing.

I was torn. The larger part of me was screaming that this was all manner of inappropriate – she was my employee and much too young for me… Yet with each pass of her foot against my leg, I was finding it difficult to remember why I shouldn’t be allowing it. I was shamelessly enjoying her touch and against my better judgement, I inched my legs a little wider apart, under the guise of getting comfortable. Still watching Rossi, I saw a small smirk creep onto her face though she quickly masked it with cool indifference.

God, I wanted to do something , anything, but my hands were tied, and Bianca knew it. I couldn’t risk returning her interest in front of Sophia, which left me at the mercy of Rossi. I already knew that was not a great place to be. I ran a hand over my mouth and Bianca squirmed beside me. What was her plan here? She was making her signals blatantly clear to me, and I felt guilty that I was keen to explore just how far she was willing to go.

There was an unusual mix of emotions swirling within me. I was excited and flattered that a young, beautiful woman such as Bianca would show interest in me, and yet I was also tense and filled with dread. Not only did we have company, though thankfully Sophia was distracted taking in the sights through her window, but it had also crossed my mind that this could be some sort of trap. If Rossi got me embroiled in some kind of sex scandal, I’d be out on my arse, that was certain. This was a real mess. I sighed heavily and ran a hand through my hair.

I felt Bianca’s attention flicker to me, and I took the opportunity to meet her gaze. She brazenly held my eye contact whilst continuing to stroke her foot up my leg. The motion was akin to the kind of sweeping stroke that I could imagine would be exceedingly pleasurable on another part of my body and I didn’t doubt that was by design. I hated to admit it was working.

Without words, I frowned at Bianca, silently asking her what she was playing at. She answered me by running her eyes up and down me, long, dark eyelashes fluttering. So, she found me attractive? Good, because I feared I was swiftly developing a serious attraction to her. I shot her a half smile before looking back at Sophia. The blonde was still staring out of her window, and holding my breath, I dropped my hand down between Bianca and I, ghosting the backs of my index and middle finger along the outside of her denim–clad thigh.

This time it was Bianca’s turn to be blindsided. I felt her tense up beside me, her foot halting its distracting stroking. I barely resisted a grin.

Two can play at this game, gorgeous.

God, I wished I had decided to drive on without Sophia earlier. Bianca and I could have been alone right now, and I tortured myself with thoughts of how we could have passed the time.

Bianca gazed up at me with a heated expression and when she took her bottom lip between her teeth, I felt my body beginning to respond to her. I cleared my throat and ripped my eyes away hurriedly. Subtle touching was one thing, springing a hard–on was quite another. I needed to get a grip on my self–control and quickly.

The car turned off the freeway and slowed as it crept down the busy Vegas strip. It was crawling with people, busier than it usually was with the upcoming Grand Prix. I spotted fans wearing team shirts and hats amongst the crowds as we passed by. We were almost at the hotel now – I’d booked the three of us, plus the senior team members who followed behind in a second team car, rooms at the Wynn. Sophia squealed excitedly beside me as the car passed by the large fountain displays of the Bellagio hotel that were often shown on TV.

A short while later, the chauffeur pulled up outside the Wynn and Bianca and I parted, our moment over. I was both disappointed and relieved. I needed to get out of this car and put some space between myself and the flirtatious driver to reassess exactly what had happened here. The hotel was huge, towering over us and disappearing into a bright, blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen and as we each exited the car; we were hit by a wall of suffocating desert heat. Thankfully we didn’t have to suffer it long. A concierge met us and once the driver had unpacked our baggage, we followed behind her as she showed us into the lobby. I booked our trio in, just as the rest of the senior team arrived behind us.

“Here you are, Mr Wright. Enjoy your stay and good luck this weekend.” The concierge handed me three room keys and cast me a bright smile. I returned it.

“Thanks.” I turned to Bianca and Sophia, holding out keys for them. “We’re in the Wynn Tower suites.”

We all made our way through the hotel towards the lifts, our bags trundling behind us across vast marble floors. Sophia snatched a leaflet from a table besides the elevators whilst we waited for one and continued to flick through it as we bundled inside. The lift dinged and the doors slid shut before jerking and rumbling as it flew past floor after floor.

“Hey, there’s a private pool for the tower suites,” she murmured. “Maybe I’ll head straight there once I’m unpacked. I bet a dip would feel great in this heat.”

Bianca murmured her agreement, leaning in to inspect the leaflet over Sophia’s shoulder. As they chatted between themselves, I simply watched the numbers counting up on the digital display above our heads in silence.

A private pool sounded like heaven, but just considering sharing it with Bianca had images of that tiny McLaren bikini flashing through my mind. There was no way I’d be able to resist her if she pulled a stunt like she had back in the car, and I got the sense Bianca was only just getting started. I’d have to do my best to avoid running into her, but I had to admit the thought of a swim was really tempting.

The elevator dinged and announced our floor. The three of us headed out into a long, lavish corridor, greeting our security detail as we passed them by. The two men were posted at the lift and fire exit entrances to prevent any unexpected visitors. The F1 fans were mostly a fantastic bunch of people, but some were known to be a little overzealous with their desire to meet and greet the drivers. These men were here to ensure no one entered our floor unless they were permitted to.

We finally located our rooms, each neighbouring one another, and after muttering a few farewells, we disappeared inside the suites.

I dumped my stuff down at the doorway, unbuttoning my shirt and peeling it off my hot, sticky skin before draping it over the back of a chair. With a heavy sigh I flopped down onto the bed. The suite was beautiful and exceedingly luxurious. It would be no hardship to call it home for the next five days.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out. In the short time it had taken us to get from the airport to the hotel, I’d already accumulated over a dozen emails. There was no time to rest. I sat up with a groan, running my hand through my hair before snatching my laptop bag. Perhaps I’d get a few hours of work done now and then risk heading to the pool. Hopefully Bianca and Sophia would have been and gone by then and I would be free to enjoy myself for an hour or two without having to worry about keeping my eyes (or hands) off Rossi.