Page 216 of My French Love Affair

She’s the one thing capable of distracting me, andfuck, that’s dangerous.

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to look away, gripping the wheel tighter.

Not now. Not yet.

I’ve got laps to finish, a race to prepare for.

But later?

Later, I’ll make her mine.

* * *

The air is thick with the buzz of the weekend.

The Saturday sessions are done, and the paddock is alive with movement - engineers analysing data, mechanics making final adjustments, media teams swarming for last-minute interviews.

And the drivers?

We’re expected to mingle.

Sponsors. Team executives. VIPs who have no real business in the sport but whose money keeps everything running.

I should be focused on that, but instead, I’m checking my fucking phone.

She hasn’t messaged me back.

She was there. Isawher.

But then she was gone, out of sight completely.

Where the fuck did she go?

I grit my teeth, shoving the thought away as I take a sip of my drink, barely paying attention to whatever the hell this conversation is about.

Some ex-driver-turned-analyst is talking about strategy for tomorrow. Next to him, a major sponsor nods along like he has any idea what he’s agreeing with.

I nod at the right moments. Smirk at a joke I barely hear. Play the role.

Then -

"Monsieur Moreau?” I turn, arching a brow at the newcomer - a suited staff member, one of the event coordinators, judging by the badge clipped to his lapel. “A word,please."

I lower my glass as I step to one side.

"Where is she?" I ask immediately, cutting straight to the point. "Did you find her?"

He hesitates for a moment before he finally answers.

"Yes, but… she saidno."

For a split second, I think I misheard.

"What?"

My voice is flat. Cold, even.

The staff member shifts uncomfortably as I wait for him to explain.

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