Page 5

CHAPTER 5

Senna

Jacs sidles up to me and whispers, “Take a breath before you hyperventilate.”

I glare at her as the press meanders about the garage. Cameras flash as Antoine drives around the track. We’re in the last thirty minutes of Shakedown.

“Not wanting to jinx anything, but we might have a chance this season,” Jacs says. “The water leak fix is holding.”

“The day isn’t over yet, and Dane still needs to drive a full lap. That water leak happened when he was halfway through his first lap,” I reply as Connor paces the garage. As much as I can’t stand him, he needs this opportunity so we can give the team a chance at success. My phone buzzes with a call.

Jacs raises her eyebrows. “Your dad again?”

I nod and pull a hand down my face.

“He isn’t going to be a silent owner, then.”

Dad’s lecture about Shakedown and that I need to rule the team more forcibly when I was trying to sleep last night has left me on edge. My mum banned him from coming today, but that hasn’t stopped him from calling every hour for a progress report.

“Could you stop pacing, Dane? You’re making me nervous,” I hiss so the press, who have been watching me for hours, don’t hear. I shove my hair into a messy bun and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “We’ll get you back out there in a moment.”

He freezes in the middle of the room. His eyes are wild, and he cracks his knuckles. A question about his anxiety teeters on my tongue. I shake my head. He wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.

“Can you come in, Antoine?” I grunt into the radio the track staff and my French driver can hear.

“Ma belle, I’m showing the press what the car can do. All is well.”

The people who can hear him chuckle, and I stare each one of them down.

The chuckles transform into coughs and sulking faces. If I need my competitors to see me as a contender, then I need my team to recognise that I’m the boss and can kick their arses. That’s what Dad said. “Antoine, Dane needs a couple of laps in the car. It’s only a fortnight before testing in Bahrain and then a week until the season starts. He needs this opportunity.”

“He’ll have that opportunity in Bahrain. I’m doing this for the press, and he can’t showcase a car like I can.” Antoine’s French accent drips through my headphones. I expect most people melt under his charm, but instead, my back freezes under tension. I pull my bottom teeth over my lip, scratching flesh.

“I need to get out there, Senna.” Dane’s gravelly voice behind me makes me jump. His breath caresses my neck, giving me a pleasant shiver, and I shake my head at my body’s betrayal. It’s muscle memory from when I crushed on him at seventeen. “I should drive the car.”

“I know,” I reply without turning. “I’ll get you in the car before the end of the session.”

“You’ve let me stand here since the leak, getting more and more anx—annoyed.”

I turn and catch him pursing his lips and shaking his head.

“You’re anxious?”

He glares at me and steps closer. “Of course not. I’m annoyed because you’re wasting my time.”

I tilt my head as I take in the sweat beading his brow and how he wrings his hands. I soften my voice. “What is wrong, Dane?”

“I’m standing here while you chat up Antoine and leave me to wait like a fucking idiot.” He fixes me with his stare. “What is your problem with me, Senna?”

“Aw, is pretty boy jealous of me driving the car?” Antoine says from the radio. He can hear what’s happening from my mouthpiece. The last thing I need is for Antoine picking up on whatever is going on with Connor before I can work it out for myself.

I step away from Dane, but he steps closer. The heat from his body infiltrates my bubble, and I remind myself I can’t back down from these moments. I round on him so he has to deal with me getting in his space. But the proximity doesn’t deter him. His mouth curls up, although the action is so brief that it’s gone before I can comment.

He leans down, and for one ridiculous moment, I imagine his lips brushing mine. My fucking head. It must be stress. The last thing I want is a kiss from him, yet I imagine it, licking my lips in expectation.

Dane grabs the mouthpiece of the radio and holds it still. His skin touches my cheek, and I barely hold onto a gasp. “Antoine, I will fuck you up before the start of the season if you keep pissing me off. I’m a better driver, teammate, and person than you’ll ever be. You’re the real liability and a selfish bastard, too.” His words are aggressive, yet his eyes are gentle as he stares at me.

His eyelashes brush my face, and I hold my breath.

“But are you a better lover? I can handle a woman’s curves as well as I can drive. Do one of the many women you seduce sleep with you twice? No. You’re a playboy without skills.”

Dane’s eyes blaze, anger coming off him in waves.

“When you get back here, I’m going to rearrange your face,” Dane shouts down the microphone.

I step back at the volume, but his hand sinks into my hip to keep me close. I flinch at his heat. It gives me an unexpected snap in my belly, and he recoils.

“I didn’t mean—” he says, his emotions jumping from rage to panic.

“Press,” Jacs says as she fakes a cough behind me.

A photographer lifts his camera to get an incriminating shot of Dane and me to accompany whatever they intend to write about the team’s mess. If the investors catch me at war with my drivers, it won’t matter that the car is doing well after the initial water issue.

“Antoine, we’re done. Come back in,” I say with faux calm. I nod at our chief race engineer, Macca, who talks Antoine back to the garage.

“After that debacle, you owe me, Dane. You’re giving the press five minutes to ask whatever questions they want, or they’ll run a story about the team that will ruin us before we start.”

“Not before I get in the car.”

Connor pierces me with his glare. His lips are too plump for my liking, and just like that, I’m back to imagining us kissing again. I slam my hand down on the nearest desk.

Antoine parks outside the garage. Dane makes a beeline for him, his shoulders tight and hands curled into fists.

I stare at the new comms manager, imploring him for support. The press can’t watch these two fight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” my press guy calls, “please follow me. We’ve laid out a spread of champagne and canapes. We wanted to give you a taste of what will be a winning season for the Coulter Racing team. This won’t be the only champagne flowing this year. We’ve got goodie bags, too.”

I let out a puff of air as he leads them from the garage. Dane rounds on a smirking Antoine, who’s removing his helmet. Dane’s pointy finger presses into Antoine’s shoulder.

“Hey!” I holler. Silence descends inside the garage, and every engineer and mechanic stops as I storm over to the men. The only movement is Antoine pushing Dane’s finger away with a hand flip.

“Ma bell—” Antoine says with open hands and a lazy smile.

“No ‘belle.’ No terms of endearment at all. All I want from either of you is ‘yes, boss.’ If you two carry on like this, I will terminate both of you. I’m not with this team for a season; I’m here for life, so if we have one crap season just so we can ditch two of the most petulant, childish, and arrogant drivers I’ve ever met, then so be it. There’s drivers who’d jump into your suits before you’d finished removing them. Neither of you are irreplaceable.”

“You wouldn’t.” It’s the first time Antoine hasn’t been smug.

Dane’s reaction is something else. His lip cocks to the side again, and he gazes at me with a look that, on anyone else, I’d call admiration.

My dad’s words about how I should rule the team bite at me. These two wouldn’t treat him like this.

“I would terminate both of you, Antoine. Ask any of my former comms team what I’m capable of. You’re not special or important. I’m your boss and your god. Do you understand?” It’s like my dad is speaking. My words are full of confidence, yet inside, I’m cringing. My comms team would tell him we were a family and that I was a boss who was supportive, not cutthroat. This isn’t me. This isn’t who Ralf told me to be.

Antoine’s eyes tighten, and I briefly witness the sly, authentic version of him I’ve waited for. He returns to relaxed charm. “Yes, boss. The car is a dream. I shall enjoy driving it in a race.”

I nod, dismissing him. Dane’s cocked head and furrowed brow fascinate me.

Once Antoine leaves, I clear out the rest of the garage. Shakedown is officially over, and we’ve run out of time for Connor to drive because of the men’s fighting.

I busy myself, stifling a yawn.

“And, Dane,” I say, keeping my distance from Connor for fear of how my body will react. “Next time I tell you to speak to the press, please don’t question me or argue. Just do it. You need to get used to the fact that I am your boss. Not my brother. Not my dad. Me. Just show me some respect. I will tell you when you drive. I will tell you when you speak to the press. Fuck, if I tell you to wear a chicken costume and dance like a cat on speed, then?—”

“Then I do it. Although I’d be wondering why I’m dressed like a chicken if I’m dancing like a cat,” he says in a gravelly drawl that has me tapping my heel against the concrete. “But I’ll do it because you’re my god, boss.”

“Just go, Dane.” I point to the exit. “I don’t want to see you until Bahrain for pre-season practice.”

I turn and busy myself tidying my headphones at the desk.

“I hope I get to drive the car then,” he says.

I close my eyes and wait a minute.

“Has he gone, Jacs?”

“Yes, Sen.”

I slump to the floor, leaning against my chair.

“Connor Dane is why I gave up my childhood dream of being a driver. If the last week is anything to go by, he’ll be why I give up my dream of being a racing team boss, too. I’m not sure how long I can keep fighting with him.” I pull my knees against my chest.

I don’t voice my thoughts about his anxiety or how edgy he seemed about driving.

“It will get better. It has to,” she says. “I’ve got to go and deal with the car. But are you okay?”

I nod as my phone buzzes with a call. I don’t need to check it to know it’s my dad. After today, it’s probably just a matter of time before he finds a way to get rid of me.

Maybe I won’t even make it to the start of the season.