Page 75 of My French Love Affair

I’ve done enough of these to recognise the pattern.

The professional questions come first. Race prep, car setup,expectations for the grand finale.

Then, as we settle in, the flirting begins.

It’s subtle at first. The slow lean in. The slightly breathier tone. The little smiles like we’re sharing some kind of private joke.

I don’t blame her. It happens all the time.

It’s not arrogance - it’s just reality. A lot of these journalists are professionals, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to the allure of proximity.

Besides, a young, rich athlete with a French accent and a reputation for being justa littledangerous? It’s an easy trap to fall into.

But it doesn’t work on me. I don’t mix business with pleasure.

And more importantly - I don’t do distractions.

"Your pole position in Miami was one of the best laps of the season so far," she continues. "Would you say Monaco presents a bigger challenge?"

"Monaco is always a challenge," I reply smoothly. "The circuit punishes mistakes more than any other. It’s about precision, not just speed."

"Precision," she echoes, her lips curving. "That’s something you seem to have mastered."

I don’t reply, just offer a neutral smile.

She tilts her head, watching me.

"Some drivers say Monaco is a place where legends are made. What would winning here mean to you?"

"It would mean I did my job."

She laughs at that. "That’s a veryFrederic Moreauanswer."

I lift a brow. "And what exactly does that mean?"

"Focused. Relentless. Impossible to fluster." She pauses, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Or is there something thatdoesfluster you, Moreau?"

I smirk, shaking my head slightly. "I don’t fluster."

"Oh, I bet you do," she teases. "Maybe we just haven’t found the right thing yet."

I chuckle lightly, brushing off the comment.

The problem is, I alreadyknowwhat flusters me, and I fucking hate it.

A certain blonde English girl.

I shift in my seat, pushing the thought away.

The journalist watches me, clearly hoping for some kind of slip-up.

I don’t give her one.

Instead, I meet her gaze with an easy confidence, my voice smooth and unwavering.

"You’ll have to keep searching," I say simply.

She pouts, but her amusement doesn’t fade.

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