Page 2 of Overtake

Any kind of gossip and drama surrounding his team.

Especially anything that could distract his drivers.

Like one of his drivers dating his granddaughter.

But my grandfather aside, Mason is Caleb’s teammate.

Yes, he and my brother get along, but they aren’t the best of friends. How can they be? They are both in F1, a super-competitive sport that requires some ego. And Mason is trying to keep Caleb from wrestling our team’s number-one driver position from him.

Embarrassment floods me. I’m such an idiot. How did I get myself into this total mind-screw of a crush?

But I know exactly how.

After I finished uni, armed with my degree in digital media studies but no openings on the Collings Media team, I needed something to do so I wouldn’t get bored. When Caleb asked if I’d like to be his assistant and travel with him this season, I leapt at the chance. It’s a busy job, and I get to be in the paddock. I keep his diary, handle inquiries, and make sure he’s where he needs to be during race weekends.

Two things happened on that first day I started for Caleb. First, the social media meeting I sat in on with him confirmed my suspicion that our current social media team is okay, but not great. Not nearly as good as the team for Hoffman Racing—the home of Xavier Williams—which puts out spectacular, creative content. I know I could help them. But my name is a liability. I can’t ask my grandfather and dad to create an unneeded position for me in social media, or worse, fire someone and put me in the spot, even if I could do the job better. Caleb already gets nepotism talk. I would get it ten times worse if my family did that.

The other thing that happened that day?

I developed a massive crush on Mason instantly. From the moment he stuck out his hand and clasped mine in his, I felt butterflies like I’ve never had in my life. He’s so gorgeous, with this thick, dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a sexy bit of facial scruff that shades his jawline. Mason is around five-eleven, with that lean, athletic build drivers have.

He’s one of the best drivers in the world but never takes himself too seriously off the grid. Mason is fun. Playful. He’s a team player, willing to do whatever the social media team asks, even if it’s the stupidest idea ever. Whenever he sees me in the garage, he makes a point to not only greet me but talk to me. We’ve laughed together. Bantered. Whenever I’m with him, a spark lights up inside me, and he’s the only one who makes me feel that way.

I even went against my brain and actually tried to get his attention. Made sure I always looked good when I was in the paddock. Had my friend—a master perfumer in London—create a new blend for me to see if he noticed.

He didn’t.

And he’s never treated me as anything other than a member of the team. He’s never looked at me the way I see Caleb looking at Isla—not with interest or desire.

I’m merely the motor heiress who happens to work for his rival teammate.

During my summer break, I vowed to get over this. Mason was never an option even if he did like me. It’s too complicated. Messy. The last thing a focused driver wants is a relationship with those labels. And Mason doesn’t even seem to do relationships, full stop.

This whole crush is stupid beyond measure.

I gave myself a good kick in the arse. No more crushing. I’m firmly planted in this new reality, with no secret dreams of this delusionship.

Now yesterday, I did have to sit next to him in this very canteen. And there was a moment when Mason leaned back in his chair and stretched, causing his polo shirt to lift and reveal some of his abdominals, but I told myself I did not care.

I love telling stories apparently.

Anyway, here I am, in my second day back at work in Zandvoort, refreshed, recalibrated, and ready to take my life in a new direction.

Recalibrated. Funny how I can throw a motor term into anything. But what can I say? It’s been a part of my life since I was born.

“Here you go,” Sydney says, handing me my coffee in a Collings Motors-branded paper cup.

“Thank you,” I say.

I make my way to the table where Isla and Caleb are sitting and set my coffee down in front of a vacant chair across from them. “Good morning,” I say cheerfully.

Caleb quirks a brow. “Is it? What’s on my schedule today?”

I take a seat, deciding my stroopwafel will be breakfast today. Isla immediately eyes it. “Those are amazing,” she says, tucking a lock of her long red hair behind one ear. “I’ve been eating them every day.”

I take a bite and nod after I finish chewing the delicious treat. “They’re so good when they are fresh like this.” I shift my attention to Caleb. “Engineering meeting at ten, a Paddock Club appearance at quarter to eleven, then first practice at half past twelve.” I pause and shoot him a mischievous, knowing smile. “Typical media responsibilities after the second practice.”

Even though he’s used to this schedule on a Friday, he scowls. He hates the media and answering what he feels are repetitive, dumb questions.