EIGHT
IT’S A GORGEOUS, SPARKLING summer morning.
Even though I arrive too late to get one of the coveted spots in the car park and have to leave my car on the road, I stride towards Rask HQ with a spring in my step and a wide smile on my face.
It’s been two weeks and working here is even better now than it was on my first day.
Firstly, because the fact that it’s real has finally sunk in.
Secondly, because I love everything about my job.
I love it especially this morning, because after an early morning meeting with Hazel Muir, the director of the care charity Leif wants to support, I’ve had a brainwave.
An actual bona fide, genius-level brainwave, one there’s no way he can object to.
‘Good morning!’ I call out to Sam in reception before scanning my security pass and hurrying upstairs to the communications office.
I have another hectic day ahead. As well as producing press packs ahead of the Belgian Grand Prix this weekend, I need to get Leif’s opinion on my brainwave and then – fingers crossed – his official go ahead for @RealLeifOlsen.
I’ve got it all planned out. I’m keeping his bio short and on brand (Driver for @RaskRacing) and I’ve chosen a profile photo of him on the podium in Australia.
His hair is damp with sweat and champagne, but he’s mid-laugh and his eyes are happy and glowing.
That’s the vibe I want. ‘Adorable’ Leif, with his guard down.
But first, waffles.
‘Sorry, my meeting ran over,’ I say to Emika as I deposit my blazer and bag at my desk. ‘Has Simone arrived yet?’
‘Ten minutes ago. Yuto’s helping her set up.’
‘Brilliant. You guys are lifesavers.’
‘Just don’t forget us if you have any leftovers.’
‘Nice try.’ I grin at her. ‘But you should know I didn’t have any breakfast this morning.’
‘Spoilsport. Want me to let Leif and Corey know you’re here?’
‘Please. Tell them I’ll meet them in the canteen.’
I grab the camera equipment and head back downstairs for the challenge I’ve planned to help promote the race at Spa-Francorchamps.
It has absolutely nothing to do with cars, but it’s a fun segment to showcase our drivers.
Based on past performance, I’m expecting easy-going enthusiasm from Corey and pained tolerance from Leif.
Whatever. He’s making waffles, so he can either like it or (most likely) lump it.
‘Hi,’ I say as I walk into the canteen to find Yuto and Simone, a Liège-born chef who now lives in London, sitting on opposite tables, chatting. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’
‘No problem.’ Yuto leaps to his feet when he sees me. ‘I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting with Finance. It was great to meet you, Simone.’
‘You too!’ Simone, a petite redhead, waves at him before smiling at me. ‘You must be Ava?’
‘Yes.’ I shake her hand. ‘Thanks so much for agreeing to do this. I love your videos.’
‘ Merci . I’m happy to be here.’
‘Is there anything else you need?’ I ask, gesturing to the impressive selection of ingredients and utensils laid out across one of the kitchen counters.
‘No.’ She scoops her hair into a messy bun and slips on an apron. ‘I’m all ready.’
‘You’re not the only one!’ Corey calls out as he barges through the doors like a rock star, closely followed by Leif. ‘What are we making?’
‘Waffles,’ I answer. ‘In honour of the Belgian Grand Prix and not remotely because they’re my favourite. This is your teacher, Simone de Smet, aka the Patisserie Princess. She has a very successful YouTube channel, as well as two hundred thousand followers on TikTok.’
‘Awesome. Are you an F1 fan, Simone?’ Corey switches on the charm like a light switch.
‘Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a race.’ She dips her head apologetically. ‘But I’ll certainly watch this weekend.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘So, Simone’s going to explain what to do,’ I say. ‘I’ll film your attempts and then we’ll crown a winner.’
‘You mean it’s a contest?’ Corey’s dark eyes twinkle. ‘What’s the prize?’
‘This.’ I hold up a T-shirt I asked Merchandising to produce. It has Rask branding and the words ‘Waffle King’ emblazoned across the front.
‘Love it.’ His grin spreads even wider. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘Is that OK?’ I look nervously past Corey to Leif. He’s wearing his usual brooding expression, though he doesn’t seem to be dragging his feet. For him, that practically counts as enthusiasm.
‘Of course.’ He gives me a brief nod before holding a hand out to Simone. ‘I’m Leif. Nice to meet you.’
I stifle a flash of annoyance as I fasten the camera on to a tripod. So, apparently it is possible for him not to be an asshole when meeting someone new. Good to know.
‘Great!’ Simone hands them each a chef’s apron as they step behind the counter. ‘This is where you’ll be working.’
‘OK.’ I give her a thumbs-up. ‘Recording now.’
‘ Bien .’ She snaps into character, smiling at the camera.
‘ Bonjour . I’m the Patisserie Princess, and in honour of this weekend’s Belgian Grand Prix I’m in the kitchen with Rask Racing Formula 1 drivers Corey Hammond and Leif Olsen.
And because Spa-Francorchamps is only forty kilometres from Liège, we’ll be making their version of waffles, which are slightly different to those you find in Brussels, but just as delicious.
Crunchy on the outside, but soft on the inside … ’
I stand to one side as she goes through the steps, combining yeast, milk and water, then whisking it up with flour, pearl sugar, eggs and butter to form a sticky, brioche-like dough.
‘That T-shirt is mine.’ Corey elbows Leif in the ribs as they compete to see who can knead the hardest. Leif elbows him back, though his expression of concentration doesn’t waver.
‘So now we need to put the dough aside to rest for about twenty minutes,’ Simone says to the camera, which both Corey and Leif seem to have forgotten is there.
‘You’re both doing great,’ I say encouragingly as I hit pause.
‘I’m killing it.’ Corey slams his dough down hard on the counter. ‘Look at that beauty.’
‘Not bad.’ Simone goes to inspect it.
‘Yours looks pretty good too,’ I say to Leif. He’s still kneading, pressing and stretching his dough with long, strong fingers.
‘It’s too clumpy.’ He sounds dubious. ‘I’ve never made waffles before.’
‘Well, don’t worry too much. This is just for fun, remember?’
‘And a T-shirt.’ He gives me a pointed look.
‘Wow, competitive much?’ I laugh, although this is actually the perfect opening for me to tell him about my brainwave. ‘By the way, I had a very productive conversation with Hazel Muir this morning.’
‘Already?’ He does a double-take.
‘Yes.’ I clutch my hands together. ‘How do you feel about football?’
‘OK. Why?’
‘Well, I was thinking that we could hold a charity football match as a way to raise money. Hopefully Rask would sponsor the event, then you and Corey could be team captains and some of the older kids at the care home could be players. But we wouldn’t announce your participation until the actual day.
That way tickets would go to people in the local community rather than just F1 fans. ’
‘A charity football match?’ Leif repeats slowly.
‘Yes. What do you think?’ His underwhelmed expression makes me wonder if it’s really such a brainwave after all. On a scale of one to ten for excitement, he’s at one while I’m already at ten. Now nine and plummeting …
‘I think it’s brilliant.’
‘You do?’ I zip back up to ten. ‘That’s wonderful! I was thinking we could set it up for the start of the summer break so it doesn’t interfere too much with your schedule. Although we’d need to get Corey’s agreement as well.’
‘No problem.’ He leans sideways, though he doesn’t take his eyes from mine. ‘Hey, Corey? You in for a charity football match?’
‘Just tell me when and where, mate!’
‘OK, then.’ I smile. For two such different people, their easy camaraderie is actually kind of sweet. ‘So … do you understand what else this means?’
‘I do.’ He inclines his head sombrely.
‘Great. In that case, I need a photo.’
‘Now?’ His brow knits as I remove my phone from the tripod.
‘Yes. I need to launch your Instagram with some kind of post. This way I can tell people you’re “cooking something up” and say to look out for the video later today.’ I narrow my eyes when he looks uncertain. ‘A deal’s a deal.’
‘Fine.’ He starts to unfasten his apron.
‘Leave it. All you have to do is look like you’re having fun.’ I hand him a whisk. ‘Here, hold this if a prop makes you feel more comfortable.’
‘I got this.’ Corey slides along the counter and drapes an arm around Leif’s shoulders. ‘Simone, get in here.’
‘That looks really good!’ I take a couple of shots with them together. ‘Now all we have to do is crown a waffle king.’
AN HOUR LATER, AFTER rolling out the dough, cutting it into balls, letting it rest again and then finally tackling a waffle iron, Simone declares Corey the winner.
‘Good job, man.’ Leif fist-bumps him while shaking his head over his own charred results. ‘I think I left mine in too long.’
‘That’s why I’m the Waffle King.’ Corey pulls on his T-shirt and points to the words emblazoned across his chest.
‘I’m sure you won’t let us forget.’ I laugh and end the recording. ‘Now if you want to leave me alone with the waffles, you’re free to go. The canteen staff are going to want the kitchen back soon.’
‘You should put some chocolate sauce on these.’ Corey pushes his plate of perfect-looking waffles towards me and kisses his fingers.
‘ Non .’ Simone objects. ‘Sugar is the best topping.’
‘But everything tastes better with chocolate sauce!’
‘You should probably throw these away.’ Leif gestures mournfully towards his waffles.
‘Not necessarily.’ I snap off a corner that looks a little less burnt than the rest and pop it into my mouth. ‘The flavour is still pretty good.’
‘Thanks.’ He watches as I chew.
‘She’s just being polite, mate.’ Corey slaps him on the back before heading for the door. ‘Come on, fun’s over. We need to get back to work.’
‘Right.’ Leif meets my gaze again, his own darker than before. ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help tidying up?’
‘No, don’t worry.’ Without thinking I lift a hand, wiping away a smudge of flour on his cheek that’s been bothering me for the past five minutes. It’s only a split second later that I realize how inappropriate I’m being.
‘I mean, it’s fine.’ I clear my throat briskly. ‘We’ve got this.’
‘OK.’ He hesitates, like he’s about to say something, before he turns away. ‘Thanks for the lesson, Simone.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She waves goodbye. ‘And good luck this weekend!’
‘That was so fun. I really appreciate you coming,’ I say to her once they’ve gone. ‘I think it went really well.’
‘Not so much for Leif.’ She laughs good-naturedly. ‘But he was distracted.’
‘Do you think?’ I start to gather up bowls and spoons. Maybe I shouldn’t have set up this challenge so close to the Grand Prix. He was probably wanting to get back to the simulator the whole time.
‘Ava, didn’t you notice the way he kept looking at you?’ She gives me a knowing smile.
I’m so surprised I almost drop a waffle iron on to my toes.
The idea that Leif might actually choose to look at me, that he might not find me entirely objectionable, is both new and, frankly, unbelievable.
If his dislike wasn’t blindingly obvious to Simone, it’s because he’s learning to tolerate me, that’s all. Just like I’m learning to tolerate him.
‘Oh no,’ I protest. ‘He was looking at the camera. He’s not very comfortable in the spotlight.’
‘If you say so.’ Her voice is teasing. ‘But in my professional opinion, the only reason his waffles are burnt is because he couldn’t take his eyes off you.’