I only look up from the monitors when Cole passes us on the track each lap, a flash of green and black, and then he’s gone. This is worlds different from all the days I spent watching him at karting tracks, a bunch of guys and a few girls zipping around in go-karts.
That was fun. This is engineered insanity.
I can’t help but feel a little proud of Cole. Regardless of everything else, he’s worked hard to get here, and he’s made it.
I’m also still wondering why he winked at me.
I could have sworn I saw him Saturday night at the club Klara and I went to, but I’d dismissed it and assumed my eyes were just playing tricks on me again. God knows they’ve done that plenty over the years.
Before I know it, both free practice sessions are over for the day. I’ve asked Edmund a litany of questions, and I have downloaded the day’s data set to my laptop so I can continue analyzing it tonight.
I need to keep myself busy because as much as I was focusing and paying attention, I entertained a whole mess of inappropriate thoughts about Cole. Ideas about his deep voice and that tight little race suit.
Those ideas, and so many other strategic plans about how I’m going to deal with him, need to be on the back burner.
“Oh good, Emily, I want you to meet someone,” Edmund grabs my elbow as we re-enter the garage area, and I try to ignore Cole and his personnel crew standing in the back.
A very well dressed man in a tailored suit smiles at us and makes his way to Edmund and I. “Edmund, hello,” he calls in a lovely French accent and shakes Edmund’s hand.
“Olivier, this is Emily Walker, our new Tire and Performance Engineer. Emily, this is Olivier Gaspard, Motorsports Director for Concordia Tires. You two will have a lot to talk about, I’m sure.”
“Ah, Emily, I have heard so much about you,” Olivier takes my hand and holds it in his large, soft hand. His dark hair is perfectly mussed, and his crisp white button-down pops off the blue suit that looks like it costs more than my first and second cars, combined.
Olivier must be in his mid to late thirties and is very easy on the eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Olivier,” I smile and pull my hand back because there’s an extended shake happening and I don’t want to seem weird already on my first day on track.
“I have so many questions on the paper you published in the Journal of Materials Science.”
“You read it?” I ask and blush a little being put on the spot like this. I mean, I guess it makes sense, but I am still so humbled that the paper picked up so much traction from international companies.
“Oui, of course. Very impressive!”
Great, now I’m blushing more as Olivier, the handsome, rich dude in an expensive suit, starts speaking French at me. “I can’t take all the credit, I was a co-author with my Professor.”
“Nonsense,” Edmund interrupts. “Emily’s going to be brilliant for the team. The next generation.”
“Oh, you aren’t finally giving in to the idea of retirement, are you?”
“Ehh,” Edmund mumbles, “one of these days, I’ll take my pension and learn to play golf.”
“Emily, s’il vous plaît, are you free to have a coffee with me? I’m sure you have as many questions as I do,” Olivier smiles at me with perfectly straight, white teeth, his oversized gold Rolex reflecting the sun’s rays.
“Is that okay?” I ask Edmund. I do have a running tally of questions in my head, and, as I understand it, Olivier is the official representative of Concordia that’s at each race and available to all the F1 teams.
“Yes, yes, go,” Edmund says. “I want you to learn everything there is to know. You know the challenges with this season’s tires, so I expect you’ll be spending a lot of time with Olivier.”
“Okay.”
Olivier and Edmund shake hands again, and then Olivier points the way through the garage so we can exit the rear door. We make our way back to the private team areas where all the motorhomes and hospitality suites are. I let him lead because I’m not sure where he wants to meet.
On the way through the garage, I catch Cole watching us. I feel Cole watching us. He’s surrounded by his physio and personal assistant. I recognize both from television but have not met either yet.
He doesn’t glare or wink. His eyes just follow me as I walk through the garage.
I really don’t want things to be weird. Weirder.
You were looking at him, too. Stop reading into things.