Chapter One #2
Aside from sitting in the race car, there wasn’t a job within Hearnshawe that Massimo couldn’t and wouldn’t do himself.
While he’d prefer to question Shane discreetly, the lead mechanic was already in the air and out of reach.
Which meant Massimo had to learn all he needed to know about Lily Jones directly from her.
He’d spent years suppressing his innate spontaneity, but this impulse was both imperative and undeniable.
‘Get me on that flight,’ he muttered.
Andre gaped at him. ‘Sorry?’
‘Get me on that cargo flight. Now.’
Lily Jones climbed the steep stairs onto the plane, relief seeping into her with every step.
She could sit and sleep so very soon. She’d just survived the best, most exhausting, week of her life.
Nailed her first away race as a mechanic for Conrad Tate, Hearnshawe Racing’s number-one driver.
Sure, she wasn’t yet in the pit crew—clad in a helmet, working the wheel gun in the lightning-fast pit stops for both drivers—but she’d been on tyre prep and working on the car.
Feedback had been minimal but she didn’t need praise.
She’d gone her entire life without it. She’d done her best and while she knew it was good, she aimed to get better still.
To make that pit crew. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and she was doing nothing to screw it up.
Head down, eyes on the job, no distractions. One week down. Seventeen to go.
Cargo flights were generally scheduled later than passenger jets and their journey times slightly slower, but in her limited experience the solitude and silence made it worth it.
She wasn’t bothered by the lack of windows, or that there were barely any amenities, no cabin crew offering snacks, no screens with on-board entertainment.
There was space from others. After almost a week of screeching rubber, of being around thousands of screaming spectators, she was more than ready for the lulling hum of the plane’s engines.
Yet, ironically, loneliness flickered. She wished she could share her experiences with someone who cared.
That wasn’t going to be her family. They didn’t consider P1 Global ‘real’ motorsport but rather a circus for spoilt posh playboys.
They preferred a straight street drag race between cars illegally pimped up by themselves.
They’d long derided her desire to work in elite motorsport even before they’d dismissed her from their lives completely.
They weren’t and would never be interested not only in P1 Global, but also in her.
It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but as she was only human, right now it still did.
You’re just tired.
She could share her weekend stories with her mentor, Derek, and his wife, Jean, tomorrow.
The old guy hadn’t just helped her secure an apprenticeship; he and his wife had even provided accommodation when she’d been thrown out of her home.
In fact, she was returning to the little caravan at the bottom of their property having given up her flat share because hopefully she’d be travelling so much with P1 Global.
She’d have her performance review with Shane, the chief mechanic, next week and find out if she was now secure as away crew.
On board, she got to the small area for cargo couriers positioned behind the cockpit and crew sleeping area.
There was a bank of just four seats. Two of them had containers strapped into them.
The plane must be at max payload. She took the empty seat at the end, leaving the one next to her empty.
Take-off was scheduled for just three minutes’ time and she crossed her fingers no one else boarded.
She could stretch out and sleep the entire time.
She glanced at her phone to check the time again. One minute to go and she was still alone. Perfect. Less perfect was the red flash of her phone battery icon, but it didn’t matter; she intended to sleep the whole way. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, hoping it was the pilots.
It wasn’t.
Like her, he wore a cap but his wasn’t emblazoned with a racing team logo; it was plain black and tugged so low it hid half his face.
She glimpsed stubble on a chiselled jaw but honestly, it was enough just taking in his body.
Black jeans clung to long legs. A grey T-shirt stretched across wide shoulders.
Her fleeting disappointment at not being alone swiftly morphed into a flicker of sensual interest. He was tall and carried a fancy leather satchel that was incongruous against such casual clothing.
Definitely an on-board courier. She knew a cargo flight held less risk of interference than a commercial passenger liner, and while it took a slower time in the air, there was a faster exit on the ground.
Maybe this man was delivering documents too sensitive to be emailed.
Or something so important it needed timely, secure transport.
He definitely looked like he could do secure.
Lily enjoyed a decent action flick and he totally had the look to take the lead.
There was a lethality and anonymity about him—walls up as he walked in.
With that lean, visibly fit frame, he was probably ex-Special Forces—all strength and speed and body easily used for intimidation.
There were no visible honour tattoos but she thought she saw a scar running down his forearm before he turned towards the loadmaster who’d arrived behind him.
‘Taking off shortly.’ The loadmaster pulled her veering thoughts back on track. ‘Buckle up and read the safety sheet.’
Lily dutifully scanned the document, trying to ignore the heat rising within her as the hot-bodied courier took the seat beside her and fastened his belt.
‘Here’s a couple blankets. You can see the coffee machine.’ The loadmaster gave them one each. ‘Sorry—’
‘Thanks, we’ll be fine,’ the courier interrupted.
Confident and calm, quite posh. Ex-military for sure. Probably had flown the route a billion times.
The cabin lights dimmed for take-off, leaving only the coffee machine LED casting a faint blue light over them.
Which was a relief because she was sure her heated reaction to him had reached her cheeks in an almighty flush.
The engines fired and the plane hurtled down the runway before rising steeply into the air.
As it levelled out, Lily toed off her trainers and spread the blanket on her lap.
She would regulate her breathing—her reaction to him—and get some much needed sleep.
‘Guessing from your cap that you went to the race this weekend,’ he said.
Her flush flooded back at his huskiness and she was glad the cabin lights hadn’t flicked back on.
‘It’s my job to,’ she answered. ‘I’m a mechanic for Hearnshawe Racing.’
It still thrilled her to say it.
‘You mean with a socket and wrench?’
Lily felt her customary twin hits of pride and rebellion. Everyone always sounded surprised. She liked being a little unexpected, never wanted to be pigeonholed. So maybe she wasn’t completely dissimilar to her law-breaking family.
‘Is it so hard to believe?’ she murmured.
‘No, I just thought you were a courier. Why are you flying cargo? Isn’t P1 Global all private jets and billion-dollar boats?’
‘As well as super-fast cars?’ She smiled in the darkness.
She’d assumed he’d be the strong, silent type but it seemed this gorgeously ripped guy wanted to talk to her with that low, husky voice for a while. Just the sound of him melted her cold, tired muscles.
‘Not for the general employees,’ she said.
Sometimes the teams chartered passenger planes to get crew to the farther-away races such as Sydney and Singapore, but mostly it was straight commercial. She honestly couldn’t believe she might go to so many incredible countries. She never would have had the chance without this job.
‘They don’t treat you well?’ Her ex-services hot courier asked. ‘Is the prestige only for the main players?’
The glamour element of P1 Global was so far from Lily’s realm of experience it was laughable.
From the ridiculously good-looking drivers and their model girlfriends, to the musicians who pushed their agents to headline the post-race shows, to the celebrities visiting the pit and posing on the grid, even the politicians…
That side of it was an elite, frankly alien, existence to hers.
Behind that scene it was hard work. Everyone on the team pushed to achieve.
Only the finest of margins separated the top teams. Hundredths, even thousandths, of a second could make the difference between champagne celebrations or no points at all.
And points meant money, development, speed.
She adored the hard work and the lifestyle—the circus-like travel requirement, the prospect of being away for almost half the weeks in the year, was perfect for her.
‘I’m treated amazingly well,’ she replied. ‘It’s long hours but I have the chance to work on the fastest car in the world. P1 Global is the pinnacle of any mechanic’s career.’
She felt rather than saw him nod.
‘But you don’t fly with the team?’
‘Not this time.’ She’d requested her own arrangements and had a contact in the cargo world.
She’d just had to let the team director know the details.
She liked the darkness and the peace and not being squished in with a couple hundred other people.
But she couldn’t resist engaging with her fellow passenger. ‘I’m guessing you don’t follow P1?’
‘Well, it’s just fast traffic going in circles, right?’ he mocked lightly. ‘Rich guys in their flash toys that they can’t even take on the road.’
He sounded like her brothers. She’d had this argument many times with them. ‘Yeah,’ she sighed playfully. ‘Lots of men with lots of money.’
‘So that’s the real attraction?’ he drawled.