[**ON HIATUS**]
Noah Wood is a Mercedes driver. Scrappy, charming, and far too handsome, Noah is one of the best drivers on the grid. But a newcomer is threatening to steal his seat, and Noah must win this year's Grand Prix - or risk being booted ou...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
This building, Amelia thought, looked like the sort of sterile facility where a doctor poked needles into your arm.
She sprinted through the corridor. Glass windows flooded the hall with light, illuminating low black couches and bubble-gum pink display cars. Someone — Trek's assistant, if Amelia had to guess — had hung a tasteful painting of mountains behind the reception desk. A sparse trophy display cabinet was shoved to one side.
She took a sharp left.
The murmur of voices grew louder. She could pick out Trek's loud, American twang followed by a softer Scottish voice. Someone muttered in Italian. Amelia pushed open the door, and then froze.
Twelve men stared back at her.
Amelia's heart sank. It was, as Connor would have phrased it, a Suit Brigade.™ Grey suits. Navy suits. Black suits. All the material was pressed and ironed, and every man had a colorful pocket square that likely matched his socks.
Not a single woman.
She'd been expecting it. But still.
"Amelia."
A young man rose. He was the only person dressed in casual clothing — a pair of jeans and a navy pullover — and he had dark, curly hair, and a crooked smile. His cheeks were flushed red. He looked like a cherub, Amelia thought; the sort that you saw at art galleries in the touristy parts of Italy.
Amelia smiled. "Cedro." Because it had to be him. "You're taller in person."
"And you're..." Her teammate paused, as if revising his statement. "You're exactly what I pictured."
"You're late," Trek said.
The Team Manager was sitting at the head of the table. He was dressed in a salmon-pink suit, and he was wearing the sort of round, tinted sunglasses that Instagram influencers wore to music festivals. He looked utterly ridiculous, Amelia thought, but it kind of worked.
"I'm sorry," she said. "My car—"
Trek held up a hand. "Cedro told us. We're just wrapping up."
"Oh."
An awkward silence fell. Trek rose from the table.
"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure." Trek shuffled some papers. "Thanks for joining us today. I trust you're coming to the opening race in Bahrain?"
A Scottish man with glasses shook his hand. "I'm looking forward to it. This year should be... interesting."
His gaze lingered on Amelia. A man in a navy suit snorted.
"Don't be so negative, Hamish," Navy Suit said. "I love an experiment." He rubbed his hands together. "It'll be fascinating to see whether women have the same reflexes as men in the car. Biologically speaking, of course."
