[**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...
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This night, Amelia thought, was off to a bad start.
She wiggled her foot, surreptitiously trying to adjust the heel. A blister was forming on the back of her ankle. A blister, Amelia thought grimly, the size and shape of Saturn; she'd been tempted to turn back to the hotel and change shoes, but she was already running late after Connor called in a panic to say that he had Aquagenic Urticaria (Connor called about twice a week whilst scrolling through WebMD to say that he had a rare disease, but it still required an hour-long conversation to talk him down).
And now, Trek was trying to ruin her evening.
She sipped her champagne. Her Team Manager clearly didn't realize that she could hear him; he was standing just to the left of the flower arch, dressed in a white linen suit and hexagonal orange sunglasses. Two men stood next to him.
"You should have seen the car," Trek was saying. "Jen did a number on it. Door crushed, paint ruined, headlight dangling off..."
One man laughed. "Let me guess. The Benz?"
"Oh, obviously," Trek said.
The other man whistled. "What's it going to cost you?"
Trek took a sip of champagne. "Six grand."
"Yikes."
"How'd she do it?" a man asked.
"Shopping." Trek lowered his glass, scattering golden light. "She was trying to pull out of the car park. She hit a pole."
There was a long pause. Then both men laughed. The sound was round and full, melting in the middle like chocolate. It would have been a nice laugh, Amelia thought, if it wasn't for what they were laughing at.
One man wiped at his eyes. "Fucking hell, Trek."
"I know." Trek shook his head. "Like it's stationary. How does someone hit a stationary object?"
"Women amaze me."
One man clicked his fingers. "Maybe you should get her a cheap little car to drive around. Something pink and pretty. That's what I did with my wife."
"Or you could hire a chauffeur," the other suggested.
"I might have to," Trek said. "Just for peace of mind." He glanced both ways. "And let me tell you, gentlemen: I'd be saving money."
More laughter. Amelia took another sip of champagne. A sick feeling had started in her stomach, and the Italian breeze — which had felt humid and lovely — now clung to her like oily sun cream. A man waved a hand.
"No, no," he said, "we're being unfair." He paused. "Jen probably got distracted. After all, you know what women are like in shopping centres."
The other one smirked. "Do you reckon she saw a Zara sign?"
