Page 7 of Not So Fast
How cool she got to meet Dirk!
Ahhh! So jealous of Mia, but she deserves it.
There were a few negative ones, too.Who is that rando with Dirk?There were some idiotic comments about her weight, which she’d learned to ignore. There was something about normal, everyday women daring to live their lives and take up space in a not-tiny body that some people simply couldn’t handle. Mia had zero time for that.
Good or bad, she hadthousandsof new followers. In the span of thirty minutes. Right there was evidence of the untapped potential of getting closer to this sport. Maybe the good things that would come from attending the Miami race would help her convince her mom that her podcast was a worthwhile venture. And if being stuck in the paddock club was the price she had to pay, it was worth it. She’d do anything to advance thecause of her new career. One that felt like it might stick, for the first time in her life.
She grabbed some lunch—a Cubano sandwich with sliced roast pork, ham, Swiss cheese and mustard on a baguette, pressed and grilled—and enjoyed it along with a shockingly delicious mojito while she did some people-watching. As soon as she was done eating, she recorded on the sly. “I don’t know if any of you have been in one of these paddock clubs before, but it’s a trip. Guys in diamond Rolexes and women wearing Louis Vuitton from head to toe. Meanwhile, here’s me, podcast girl, in jeans and a T-shirt from Target. I have to be honest. I feel a little out of place, but you know, I love this sport and that’s all I care about. I’m just a normal fan. I’m probably not cut out for the paddock club, but I’ll soak up every minute of it and take you all along for the ride.”
She clicked off her recorder and Mia found a viewing spot out on the terrace where she could watch the on-track action, but also turn around and have direct sight lines to a TV monitor. It was the best of both worlds, but she couldn’t record here—there were too many people talking, plus the roar of the cars below. So she took notes instead.
Q1: As expected, Emilio set the fastest time. It wasn’t even close. Of note: Xander Bishop made it to Q2, but then had his lap time deleted for exceeding track limits, so he’s out.
Q2: More Emilio. Nobody can beat this guy. Dirk made it through to Q3.
Q3: Emilio starting first. Florian in second. Dirk qualified in sixth. Xander will be starting ten places behind him.
With the session wrapped, Mia walked outside, and Isabel materialized from out of nowhere. “Did you have fun?” she asked.
“I did. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ll call a car to take you back to your hotel.”
Mia fought back her frustration at having Isabel follow her everywhere. Mia scanned the paddock, which was jam-packed with people coming and going. Would she luck out and see some drivers? Or maybe she could convince Isabel to let her explore on her own.
“You’ve already done so much for me. I can get an Uber. I really would like to hang out in the paddock if I can.”
“Well, if you have an extra minute, there’s one thing I was hoping to speak to you about before tomorrow,” Isabel said. “In case you were planning on posting to social media later or recording any segments for your podcast this evening.”
“Sure thing. What’s up?”
“We’d really appreciate it if you could take it a little easier on Xander. He’s doing his best and when the media turns up the heat, it makes things more difficult.”
Mia at least appreciated being referred to as the media. “Is this Xander’s request or is this about making life in the PR department a little easier?”
Isabel cleared her throat. “Both.”
Mia felt a pang of compassion, but she also remembered what her mom had said about not being intimidated. “I’m happy to have the discussion, but only with all parties involved. If Xander wants me to go easier on him, he’s going to have to ask me himself.”
“That’s not possible. He’s incredibly busy.”
Mia stood a little straighter and steeled herself. “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Just then, Mia caught sight of Xander exiting the back of the garage. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Fine. You want to talk to Xander?” Isabel’s question came out more like an accusation of stupidity. “Xander! I need you for a minute!” she called, waving wildly, like she was adrift on the ocean in a rowboat and flagging down a passing cargo ship to save her life.
Oh, shit oh, shit oh, shit.
Mia wanted to grab Isabel’s arm and tug on it hard while blurting that her request had been at worst a joke and at best a gross miscalculation, but it was too late. Xander fucking Bishop was on his way over. And Mia’s entire body was aflame with nerves, remorse and—regretfully—more than a little horniness.
He had the worst look on his face—a mix of disappointment and disgust, and yet he couldn’t have been any more beautiful if he’d tried. From fifteen feet away, she could feel the laser-like power of his blue eyes, see the corded muscles in his jaw and neck, and sense his disdain for having been beckoned to speak to a stranger. She was so damn turned on right now she was surprised she was still wearing clothes.
“Xander,” Isabel said. “I want you to meet Mia Neal.”
He laughed quietly at the mere mention of her name. “The podcaster.” He offered his hand. “Xander Bishop.”
Mia had always thought it was outright ridiculous when someone said they loved a person’s accent. It felt so much like fetishization of culture or identity. Well, Xander had just turned her into a British accent fetishist in 1.7 seconds. Hot damn, she wanted to roll around in his voice and rub it all over her naked body like British body butter.
Mia thrust out her hand. The instant they met palm to palm, her throat closed up. Something shifted inside her. Also, she was horribly embarrassed because she was sweating likecrazy. The combo of Miami’s humidity and Xander Bishop’s epic hotness had her body temp soaring.
