I arrive at NRGYZR the next morning already braced for the team meeting ahead of this weekend's race.
By the time I step into the glass-walled conference room, I'm still replaying yesterday on a loop—Noel's hands at my waist, the near-kiss, the sound of the door closing behind us.
I slide into my seat, my thoughts spiraling.
I wonder who saw us.
Seb comes to mind immediately.
Whoever it was, I hope they keep their mouth shut. I didn't come here to complicate team dynamics. I came here to race.
Seb and Gemma are already seated. I force my attention forward as the room fills with voices and movement. Seb doesn't look at me, and somehow, that feels deliberate.
"All right," Esteban says, pulling up the track map. "Dubai next weekend. One of the last races of the season, so these rounds will decide final standings."
He taps the screen. "Long straights. Technical middle sector. Sector Two overheats tires quickly, so we'll need to be cautious."
I try to focus, but his words blur into white noise, as I let my mind dift back to yesterday.
What if it was Gemma? She'd absolutely use it against me. I'm sure she wants me gone.
"Noel called this morning," Esteban announces to the room.
Shit.
The mention of his name snaps me back to the room.
"Family emergency," Esteban continues. "He won't be joining us in Dubai. We'll sub in another PT."
My stomach drops.
With everything that happened yesterday, a family emergency feels... a little convenient.
"We'll also have the sponsor dinner before race day," Esteban adds. "It's a good chance to mingle with partners, so everyone dress sharp."
A few people laugh. Seb doesn't.
"Seb?" Esteban prompts. "Anything to add?"
He doesn't answer right away. He's frowning down at his printed packet, thumb tapping the corner of a page.
"This," he says finally, tapping the margin. "The sensor recalibration changed the recommended approach, but it's not reflected in this version of the strategy notes."
A ripple moves through the room as everyone flips pages.
"You're right," Esteban says. "That should've been revised. Good catch."
Seb lifts his head then, his eyes land squarely on mine.
"If you were taking this turn," he says, "how would you adjust entry based on the corrected numbers?"
My pulse spikes.
Shit. I wasn't paying attention, and Seb probably noticed.
Now everyone's looking at me.
I swallow. "I'd approach it a little wider, carry more speed through the curve, and adjust braking slightly before the apex."
"But...?" Seb prompts.
He watches me like a teacher waiting for the rest of the answer.
"But—"
"But it's risky," Gemma cuts in smoothly. "The second apex bites harder than you expect. You'd lose traction unless you shift earlier and manage the throttle carefully."
"Exactly," Seb says. "Thanks, Gemma."
She leans back in her chair and winks at me.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Being corrected in front of everyone stings more than I expect.
What the hell was that about? Seb could've been more supportive.
"All right," Esteban says. "Let's wrap up. Shipping's arriving early, and engineering has a few tweaks to make before the cars are cleared for Dubai."
Chairs scrape back as people gather their things.
Gemma stands slowly, draping an arm along the back of Seb's chair while he's still seated.
"Wanna eat?" she asks.
"I'll pass this time," Seb replies.
She nods, a faint disappointment crossing her face, then files out the door with the others, leaving the two of us behind. Seb packs his bag deliberately, like he's making a point of not rushing.
Did Gemma say something to him?
I consider confronting him right then, but before I can decide, he zips the bag closed and heads for the door.
Shit—he's leaving.
Whatever the reason, I'm done letting myself get steamrolled by everyone on this team.
I push off from the table and follow him into the hallway, seizing my fleeting chance to figure out what Seb is really thinking.
I spot Seb halfway down the corridor, walking alone.
I quicken my pace.
"Hey."
He turns at the sound of my voice and stops, waiting for me to catch up.
"Hey," he says. "What's up?"
"Did you really have to do that in the meeting?"
He frowns, genuinely confused. "Do what?"
I cross my arms. "You put me on the spot. In front of everyone."
His jaw tightens, irritation flashing across his face.
"I called on you because you were zoning out," he says flatly. "We were discussing strategy. I needed you engaged. And you weren't."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. He's not wrong—and that almost makes it worse.
"Well, I wish you'd handled it better," I say. "It was embarrassing."
He steps closer, his irritation spiking instead of easing.
"I'm not concerned with your relationships," he says. "I'm thinking about your driving. Not your feelings."
The words land hard.
"I'm team lead," he continues. "My job is to make sure you're prepared."
It's a fair point. But the way he dismisses me pisses me off.
Heat surges up my spine as I step closer, close enough to catch his scent.
I tilt my face up, refusing to look away. "By calling on me like I'm a student in your class?"
I poke a finger into his chest to make the point.
His chest is solid. Unyielding.
"Everybody has an off day, Seb."
I lower my hand slowly. We're standing so close now I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and something in my stomach tightens.
The air feels charged in a way it didn't a moment ago.
Seb takes another step closer.
He just looks at me, eyes dark, expression locked down like he's holding something back.
Desire, maybe. Restraint, definitely.
He leans in slightly, just enough to make my heartbeat stutter.
What is happening?
And why do I like it?
His hand lifts, and without thinking, I part my lips, holding my breath. My body betrays me before my brain can catch up.
"Seb..."
His fingers brush my hairline, gently sweeping a loose strand behind my ear.
The touch is light. Careful. Controlled.
His voice drops, low and steady, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
"An off day..." he says quietly.
Then, softer still:
"...can mean the difference between life and death."