DANTE
Jack and I strolled out of the conference room after the team meeting and stood outside in the bright Italian sun, not far from the garages that housed Eagle's multimillion-dollar cars.
"Those pit stops were perfection." Jack's ruddy complexion was flushed, and he shielded his eyes from the glare. "How did they feel to you? This car really is something impressive. And you know I don't impress easily."
"Seems like we have our act together. It's hard to tell, though. I'll have a better feel for things in Monaco. You know me, cautious until I start winning."
"There's no way we're going to lose with this car. Or with this team. I really sense a great vibe between everyone. All the guys, er, crew are hustling their asses off. It's like the old days. Even with a woman on the team. No one even batted an eye when she stood in the pits during practice. I'll bet you didn't even know she was changing your tire."
Admittedly, I hadn't noticed. "Really? Are you bullshitting me? I feel like she's hard to ignore."
"What were your impressions of her, mate?" He seemed to be goading me. Sometimes Jack's incessant questions and chatter set my teeth on edge. This was one of those times.
"She's young. A little brash. Can't vouch for her mechanical skills but my wheel didn't fall off, so there's that. But did you see the way she addressed the team? Seems kind of full of herself."
A few pit crew members left the building and I wondered if Savannah would soon emerge. I waved and they held up their fists in the air. "Looked amazing out there today, Dante," one shouted in Italian.
"Grazie," I called back.
"Kind of full of herself?" Jack guffawed, ignoring the guys. "Takes one to know one. I can tell you this, she was great during our test runs. Smooth and quick. She spent a lot of time last week with Max's crew to get a feel for both cars, and I had her observe for some of your stops too. But those final pits when she was working were smooth as silk. She knows her stuff. Maybe we need more women as wheel gunners. Savvy's fast on her feet. I was impressed."
"I heard what you said during the meeting. I know I didn't seem like I was paying attention, but I was."
Jack went on for several moments about how Savannah was well-versed in engines, about her engineering degree, and about the virtues of her excellent hand-eye coordination.
"Enough," I barked, pushing a rock with the toe of my sneaker.
Jack reared back. "What? I always talk up our new teammates. Oh, get this: she was a beauty pageant queen."
"She was what?"
"Yeah, Tanya told me, and I asked Savvy about it earlier today."
"Where was I during this conversation?" A beauty pageant queen turned tire changer? What in God's name . . .
"You were signing autographs in the marketing office."
"This makes me doubt her credentials even more," I said with a grunt.
Jack's eyes widened. "No, she did two internships with winning teams in the US. She knows her stuff. Her pageant career began when she was twelve and lasted until she was about sixteen. She was a runner-up for the Miss Georgia title. Then she stopped competing. I'm not sure why."
Again he blathered on about her qualifications. I watched as Bronson left the building, his cowboy boots making sharp strikes against the asphalt. He either didn't notice us or was ignoring our presence, because he didn't wave. This annoyed me even more, and I finally held up my hand, hoping Jack would stop talking.
"Fine. I get it. She's got experience in motorsports." I didn't want to be reminded of Savannah and her mane of wild red hair.
"Really, you need to forget she's a woman and move on."
"I expected someone more, I don't know. Like my sister. More strapping and solid." My sister, Gabriella, had been sturdy, like our grandmother. Strong as an ox.
"Oh, Savvy's quite strong. She told me all about how she weight trains and runs. She had no problem using the tire gun."
I shot him a warning look. "Maybe we can reassign her to ordering parts or something. Does she have to be in the pits?"
For some reason, her bright green eyes burned in my mind. Christ. Feisty. Bewitching, even. Without makeup and while wearing only a bulky, zip-up coverall, she still looked feminine, with her little nose, her fair skin, and the sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. Something about her wide, sexy smile and the way she had stared at me with the promise of a challenge had sent an unwelcome surge of blood to the region below my belt. It was all so annoying, though, because this was a situation I couldn't control. She was a wild card. Too wild, by the looks of her.
"You're right, though. I need to forget about her. Enough about Savannah." I clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Are you coming with me in the jet to Monte Carlo tomorrow? We can plan out which yacht parties we're going to hit once we land."
Jack shook his head. "No. Bronson wants me to make sure Savvy's comfortable on the bus."
I swore in Italian. "See, this is what I mean. The girl's a distraction. Why should she get special treatment?"
"You know, maybe if you weren't such an old-fashioned chauvinist, this wouldn't be an issue." Jack laughed.
"I'm not a chauvinist. Women are as capable as men. In most things. More capable in some areas, truth be told. You know I love women. But not in this circuit. Remember how I came out against the idea of that eighteen-year-old Brazilian girl becoming a driver in IndyCar?"
"I remember," Jack said. "So listen, old man of thirty-two: why don't you give Savvy a chance? She seems like a sharp gal with a good head on her shoulders. She actually does know a lot about tires. We had a long conversation about soft compound tires during rainy races."
"Oh, you did, did you?" Exasperated, I shook my head and looked to the garage, where my race car awaited. I needed to inspect an important detail on the vehicle, and this conversation about Savannah was keeping me from the task at hand.
A sharp gal. Of course. Maybe that was what had affected me so much about her. During the team meeting she looked like she was soaking up every molecule in the room. Her expression was alert and hungry.
Then I could've sworn she was checking me out. Which wasn't unusual from women, but she did it in such a bold way. I'd even spotted her licking the side of her mouth, like a kitten. A sexy kitten. Arousal from a teammate was a first. It was also unwelcome. What if she distracted me on a race day? What if I distracted her and she failed to lock down my wheel during a race? What if she screwed up and hurt herself?
The thought made me shudder.
I was poised to snap at Jack for calling me old-fashioned, but then I had an idea.
"Get to know her. Might not be a bad plan."
"Exactly. Just be her friend . . . wait. I know that look in your eyes. I last saw it when you invited all those models onto your yacht last year at your Amalfi villa."
"For the sake of argument, what do you think Bronson would do if a driver was sleeping with a team member?"
"If you had asked me a few weeks ago, I'd say he would assert it was a matter between men and let it go. But now there's a woman on the team, I'm not so sure."
I leaned toward Jack and tapped on his chest. "But now there is a beautiful young woman on the team, things have changed, no? And if she falls for her handsome Italian driver, well, there's no way she'll be able to continue with us. Even Bronson would know it's a liability for everyone concerned."
"You're so bad. Stop. Don't mess with the poor woman."
"She's not poor, if she's the daughter of Dale Jenkins. She's probably as rich as I am. Which means she should be at a debutante ball or going to a yoga retreat. Or whatever privileged American women do in their spare time. I'm sure she looks as hot in a dress as she does in coveralls. And even better out of either of them. Maybe I'll find out."
"What, then your plan is to seduce her in hopes of driving her off the team?" Jack scratched his cheek with a finger and looked slightly horrified. "Mate, that's cold."
"It's not like I wouldn't enjoy myself. Did you see her? She's quite striking. But I'll enjoy myself a lot more when she's off the team and out of my life."
"I'm going to pretend this conversation never happened. File this under 'wishful thinking.'"
"Grazie. You definitely can't tell anyone about this." I shot him a pointed look.
"Of course I wouldn't." Jack shrugged. His phone buzzed and he stared at it for a second; then he shook his head and slipped it back into his pocket. "We've been through so much together. Your little fantasy of seducing her is barely a blip compared to some of the shenanigans we've endured."
I smiled, thinking of our second season together, when Jack had the brilliant idea of hiring a photographer with multiple long, expensive lenses to take photos of all the other teams' cars at the season opener. Sure, it was a little like spying, but now everyone did it—although it was Jack who'd pioneered the practice.
"I'm going to miss your sorry ass," I said, my voice gruff. Jack had helped me through those dark days after Gabriella's death, always ready with a party invitation and a crazy distraction—like the clandestine, off-road race in Baja one year—and I'd never forgotten the kindness. As much as the Australian sometimes annoyed me, I knew I'd miss him when the season was over. Jack would continue on in motorsports and I was headed straight for . . . something. Beyond some lucrative endorsements, I still hadn't decided on the direction of my post-race career.
All I knew was that I wanted to leave while at the top of my game. I didn't want to hang on and lose more and more races each year, fading away until I finally retired.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's a long season, mate, and it's shaping up to be interesting, to say the least." Jack smiled. "On that note, Bronson wanted me to round up Savannah and make a proper introduction between the two of you."
Well. This was fortuitous, if I actually planned on seducing her. Which was probably a shitty idea. Still, I wanted to push back against Jack's eagerness, simply because he was annoying. "Why? It's not like I personally meet with every new hire on the team. I usually get acquainted as the season goes on. I'm not the welcome wagon."
"He wants to make sure it's smooth going between the two of you. After our conversation the other day, I think he sensed a bit of hesitation on your side."
A snort leaked from my nose. "Perceptive, isn't he?"
"Spend fifteen minutes with her to appease him. Maybe you'll get this sorry plan of seducing her out of your head. I'm sure you'll warm up to her once you've had a chat."
I shrugged. "Maybe she and I can catch up in Monaco."
"You know we'll be too busy, between the parties and the interviews and the actual fucking racing. Suck it up now. It's what Bronson wants. Get it over with and see for yourself that she's a decent person. She's incredibly professional—you'll be impressed."
Yeah, right.
"What are you, scared?" Jack teased.
"Scared? Of meeting her? Pffft. Of course not." I pointed to the garage where my gleaming white car sat. "Fine. Meet me in there. I want to check on whether they've added the detail I asked for earlier."
At the start of every season, I had my team paint my sister's name in small, cursive letters on the driver's side of my car. So she'd always be with me on the track.
"Oh, the Gabriella lettering? They were planning on doing it now. Go in and check, and I'll meet you in there with Savvy."
He walked off, and I sauntered over to the garage, thinking about how this would be the last car to carry my sister's name, and the final season we'd race together.