RACING HEARTS ---- | O.P |

2. first day

   

OSCAR

The door to Zac Bown's office swung open with a force that rattled the framed race posters on the walls. I stormed in, Amelia hot on my heels. The man himself—our team manager—looked up from his cluttered desk, his expression a mix of surprise and irritation.

"Oscar," he said, leaning back in his leather chair, "what's got you charging in here like a bull on caffeine?"

I didn't bother with pleasantries. "Zac, this woman—" I jabbed a finger at Amelia, who glared back at me, her eyes sparking like live wires. "She's ruining everything, jam...."

"James was a legend," Amelia interrupted, her voice icy. "But legends retire.as i have said"

I clenched my fists. "She's all spreadsheets and algorithms. No intuition."

Amelia crossed her arms. "And you're all instinct and recklessness."

Zac leaned forward, his gaze flickering between us. "Enough. You're both here because you're the best. Oscar, Amelia's data analysis has improved our performance. And Amelia, Oscar's raw talent is undeniable."

"But—" I began.

"No buts," Zac said firmly. "You're a team. Act like it."

Amelia scoffed. "He's impossible."

"And she's infuriating," I shot back.

Zac sighed. "Look, Oscar, Amelia's methods might be different, but they work. And Amelia, cut him some slack. He is the driver; he's a force of nature."

I fumed. "I don't need a babysitter."

"You need an engineer ," Zac corrected. "Or you won't have a seat in Team McLaren next season."

The words hung in the air, heavy as a rain-soaked track. I stared at Zac, my anger warring with desperation. Amelia's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

"Fine," I muttered. "But she better stay out of my way."

"And he better learn to appreciate my methods," Amelia retorted.

Zac leaned back, his expression weary. "Good. Now get out of my office and figure it out. You're both racing for more than yourselves."

I stormed out, Amelia trailing behind me. As the door closed, I glanced at her. "This changes nothing."

She raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."

And so, we returned to the pit lane—the rivals, the enemies, the combustible duo

  AMELIA

Amelia sank onto the plush hotel bed, her muscles aching from the day's chaos. The day in Bahrain had been relentless—data streams, telemetry checks, and Oscar's relentless bickering. She'd thought her first day as his race engineer would be exhilarating, but it had left her drained.

She kicked off her heels, the cool hotel carpet soothing her feet. The room was dimly lit, the city lights filtering through the curtains. She reached for her phone, intending to call her best friend, Lily. Maybe a venting session would ease the knots in her stomach.

But just as she dialed Lily's number, a message notification popped up. From Zac Brown, our team manager. Amelia's annoyance flared. What now?

Zac Brown: Amelia, I've arranged something for you and Oscar. FIA event tonight. Go together. Learn to get along.

Amelia's jaw tightened. She'd barely had time to slip into her pajamas, and now Zac wanted her to play nice with Oscar Piastri? The man who'd questioned her every move, who'd scoffed at her spreadsheets like they were sacrilege?

And then there was the other part of Zac's message—the fact that he'd sent her Oscar's number. As if she needed another reminder of their forced partnership.

She groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead. The FIA event was a prestigious affair—a mingling of drivers, team principals, and motorsport bigwigs. She'd have to put on a brave face, pretend she didn't want to throttle Oscar every time he opened his mouth.

Lily's voice echoed in her head. Amelia, you're a genius with data. But when it comes to people, you're hopeless.

She sighed. Maybe Lily was right. Maybe she was better suited to algorithms than human interactions. But Zac's words lingered—learn to get along. If she wanted to keep her job, she had no choice.

Still on the phone with Lily, Amelia rummaged through her suitcase. What did one wear to an FIA event? She'd packed practical clothes for the track, not cocktail dresses. She pulled out a midnight-blue dress, its fabric soft against her fingers. It would have to do.

"Amelia," Lily's voice crackled through the phone, "are you listening?"

"Sorry, Lily. Work stuff." Amelia slipped into the dress, her reflection in the mirror a mix of exhaustion and determination. "I'll call you later."

As she hung up, there was a knock at the door. She froze. Who could it be at this hour?

She opened the door, and there stood Oscar , looking as annoyed as she felt. His eyes widened when he saw her in the dress, and for a moment, they both forgot their animosity.

"Zac's idea," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We're supposed to learn to get along."

Amelia clenched her fists. "I was about to get into bed."

"Me too," he grumbled. "But here we are."

They stood there, two rivals in a hotel corridor, dressed for a party neither wanted to attend. And as Oscar's gaze met hers, something shifted—a spark of understanding, a shared frustration.

"Fine," she said, her voice low. "Let's go learn to tolerate each other."

He smirked. "Tolerate. Right."

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