41. Aurélie #2
When our mouths parted, the air between us stayed charged, humming with everything we weren’t saying.
I stayed close, not ready to let go of his warmth, of this precious moment between us.
My body swayed with his, both of us dazed and breathless under the stars.
I didn’t trust my legs to carry me far, so I didn’t move, not really.
I just forced myself to take one small step back.
Just enough to feel the door behind me. The coolness was a stark reminder to myself that we had to stop.
I leaned back against the door, fingers splaying behind me, and looked up at him. He watched me like I was the only thing that existed. There were no jokes now, no biting quips or smug remarks. Just a reverent hush.
“I meant what I said earlier,” I whispered.
He stepped closer. “Me too.”
I nodded, heart thudding. “I love you.”
His throat bobbed. “I love you, Aurélie.”
His hand cupped the side of my face, thumb stroking along my bottom lip.
His lips brushed mine once, twice—just barely—and I sighed into him, tasting the last thread of restraint between us just before it snapped.
He groaned, deep and husky, dragging my body flush to his.
My arms locked around his neck as he lifted me, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. My back slammed against the door with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet.
“You can be a few minutes late,” he growled against my mouth.
I gasped into the kiss, his hips grinding into mine. I felt him, hard and demanding, and it made my toes curl in those ridiculous heels, thinking of how badly I wanted his cock inside me, piercing hitting my cervix, cum leaking down my thighs.
We kissed as if he hadn’t just done the filthiest things to me. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
He pressed me harder against the door, and I moaned against his tongue, clutching at his hair. And then there was a click .
The door gave behind me as it swung open backwards.
Our kiss broke as Callum pitched forward, catching himself with one arm braced on the door frame and the other around me so neither of us went crashing to the ground.
I slid down his body until I was on my own two feet again, and saw him glaring over my shoulder.
Frowning, I turned while adjusting my slip. In the doorway stood a woman. She was taller than me. Curvier, with jet black hair pulled back into a high ponytail that gleamed under the overhead light. Emerald green eyes swept over the scene with a sharpness that made my stomach drop.
She arched one perfectly sculpted brow. “Well,” she said, raspy voice cool and laced with amusement. “This is unexpected.” She had a posh English accent.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. We’d been caught, because of course we had. Of course this was too good to last.
The physical reaction to it was visceral and nearly painful. My hands started to tremble, and I folded them together to try to conceal it. My skin prickled with heat, my mouth suddenly dry, and I bit down on my bottom so hard tears sprung to my eyes.
Oh, God. I probably looked like a fucking disaster, too. Who knew what my hair looked like—and did it have grass in it? Was my slip wrinkled? Was my makeup a wreck? Jesus, I hadn’t even seen myself, but Callum hardly ever left me put together.
This was it. I was going to lose my job before the season was over. Our secret would be out and my dream would slip from my grasp. Would Ferrari drop me?
“I, um,” I stammered, but I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Callum put an arm around my shoulders, and I almost shrugged him off. Panic rose like bile, but before I could say anything, the woman spoke again as she turned fully in my direction.
“There you are,” she said, tone level, as if she didn’t hold my fate in her hands. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I blinked at her, unable to form a sentence.
I glanced at Callum for help, but he was just watching me, expression perfectly unreadable, save for the way his thumb rubbed soothing circles on my shoulder.
He was going to support however I wanted to handle this, but what the fuck was I supposed to do ?
I nodded at him once, silently telling him I’d handle it.
He seemed to understand because he returned the nod and dropped his arm, placing a short but sweet kiss to my temple with his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.
With a final parting smile and a glare in the woman’s direction, he disappeared into the shadows of the night.
And I stared at his back until I could no longer see him. He was both my salvation and my ruin. But right now, only I could save myself.
Finally, I pivoted to face the mysterious woman, forcing myself to breathe even as my mind spiraled. Who was she? The FIA? Team PR? Security? I scanned her from head to toe, spotting a press pass hanging around her neck, and fuck, I really thought I was going to vomit all over her Prada heels.
Press?
Mon Dieu, this was going to be in headlines by tomorrow morning. There was no getting out of this one. May as well rip the Band-Aid off.
She met my gaze without flinching. I had never seen her before in my life.
With my heart pounding in my throat, I asked, “I’m sorry, do we… know each other?” My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Her mask slipped, and she grinned wickedly, bright green eyes gleaming with excitement. It only confused me more. “No, but can I just say, I’m a huge fan?”
I crossed my arms over my stomach, feeling rather exposed in my slip with nothing but lingerie under it. “Th-thank you. Do you mind if we go inside? I have a photoshoot I need to be at.”
She nodded eagerly, stepping aside. I brushed past her and turned to go up the stairs right inside the entrance. She followed.
“Don’t mind the outfit,” I mumbled, brain an absolute mess.
“Oh, I think it’s hot,” she said.
I paused on the steps and turned to her, gesturing to her badge. “If you’re here for a story, I’m off the record.”
Her full, thick lashes fluttered before she looked down at her chest and burst out laughing.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” She pulled it off and handed it to me.
I warily took it from her, and looked at it but failed to understand what I was supposed to be looking at.
“It’s not real. I had to get through security somehow. ”
What. The. Fuck?
Was she some sort of super fan? A stalker? Oh, my God, was I in an empty stairwell with a serial killer?!
“My name is Ivy Sinclair.”
My brain scrambled uselessly through every memory I had of press conferences, FIA bulletins, grid parties—nothing. No Ivy Sinclair rang a bell.
“I do PR,” she went on breezily, as if breaking into a paddock under false credentials was completely normal behavior.
“Currently with Halberd & Royce. They’re big in global sports branding, mostly tennis and football.
I’ve been trying to break into motorsports for years.
” She glanced up the stairwell, then back at me, her voice lowering slightly.
“But as a woman… well.” Her smile thinned. “You know how it is.”
I did. God, did I. The tension in my chest loosened slightly. “So, you’re not here to… kill me?”
She snorted. “Not unless you blow me off after I finish my pitch.”
That earned her a half-smile. “Pitch?”
“Look,” she said, her tone shifting from cheeky to serious as she took a step closer.
“Until now, the only stories about women in F1 have been about girlfriends, exes, grid girls, and paddock scandals. But you —you’re changing the narrative.
You’re competing, winning, speaking out against sexism.
And despite all the politics, you’re still getting results. ”
I swallowed hard.
“You’re being recognized as one of France’s Thirty Most Impressive Women Under Thirty .
That’s not just big. It’s monumental . This is the moment.
The attention you’re bringing? It’s bigger than the podium.
It’s a cultural shift. And if we’re smart, we can make it last.” She gave me a look full of promise.
“We can help each other. I know the media inside and out. I can protect your image and elevate it. Not just as a driver, but as a movement. ”
Before I could reply, the door at the top of the stairs burst open with a bang.
“Aurélie? What the hell are you doing down there?” A wide-eyed assistant leaned out, followed by two more, all clutching clipboards and panic. “You’re fifteen minutes late. Everyone’s waiting for you!”
Shit.
I turned back to Ivy, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
I should’ve told her I didn’t have time.
I should’ve blown her off, walked away, kept my walls up, but I didn’t.
There was something about her that made me want to hear the rest of her pitch.
Maybe it was her recognition of everything I was doing right versus everything I was doing wrong .
Which the media loved so fucking much to point out.
Instead, I gestured up the stairs. “Come on,” I said, voice quiet but firm. “You might as well follow me.”
Ivy stayed close as I was rushed down the hall like a fugitive finally being dragged to judgment. My pulse was haywire, and my nerves were completely frayed. You’d think that a couple of orgasms would’ve relaxed me, but here we were.
Assistants fluttered around me, ushering me into a brightly lit dressing room. Someone was already unzipping a makeup bag. Another was fluffing my hair with a teasing comb. It all happened so fast, my head spun.
“She’s here! She’s here! Someone grab the wardrobe rack—oh, God, your lips?—”
“Where have you been ?” one asked, completely frantic as she paced the room. “You look?—”
Another assistant stepped closer, then stopped, her eyes narrowing. “You look freshly fucked.”
The entire room stilled. For not the first time tonight, I stopped breathing. Ivy, hovering by the mirror, arched a brow. This bitch knew , and suddenly I was entrusting her with a career-ending scandal.