Page 23 of Falling Fast
‘I don’t care about that. Do what you think is best.’
‘OK. I will.’ I beam because this is a lot more progress than I expected today. He’s agreed to join social media and we’re both being polite! I wonder if we ought to shake hands to seal the deal and prove how professional we are, then decide against it because the way his gaze is focused on mine is already making me feel a little hot under my Peter Pan collar. There’s a strange look on his face too, though he’s probably just wondering what I’m still doing here. Which, now I think about it, is a reasonable question.
‘There’s one more thing.’ I shuffle my feet and clutch my iPad a little tighter. ‘I need both you and Corey here next Tuesday for a cookery lesson. Vienna’s already agreed it with Bastian.’
‘Cookery?’ Now it’s his turn to look surprised.
‘Yes. But it won’t be too challenging, I promise. Just a little Belgian cuisine ahead of the Grand Prix there.’
‘All right.’ He nods. ‘I like Belgian food.’
‘Great. I’ll see you then.’
‘And, Ava?’ he calls after me as I turn for the door.
‘Yes?’
‘When can I expect to receive your list of arguments? Twenty-two points, you said, right? It might be useful to have on file in case I’m ever tempted to change my mind.’
‘Oh …’ I clench my jaw. ‘Well, today’s very busy so … tomorrow?’
‘Perfect. I’ll look forward to it.’
I mutter under my breath and try not to fantasize about committing a random act of violence. So I guess now I have to spend my evening thinking of twenty-twoactualarguments. And the most annoying thing is that I’m pretty sure Leif knows it.
Contrary to popular opinion, there are several variations on a Belgian waffle, but one thing they all have in common is a distinctive grid pattern. This originated in the fifteenth century and is ideal for filling your waffle full of cream or chocolate or whatever takes your fancy …
@PatisseriePrincessSimone, 10 June
EIGHT
IT’S A GORGEOUS, SPARKLING summer morning. Even though I arrive too late to get one of the coveted spots in the car park and have to leave my car on the road, I stride towards Rask HQ with a spring in my step and a wide smile on my face. It’s been two weeks and working here is even better now than it was on my first day. Firstly, because the fact that it’srealhas finally sunk in. Secondly, because I love everything about my job. I love itespeciallythis morning, because after an early morning meeting with Hazel Muir, the director of the care charity Leif wants to support, I’ve had a brainwave. An actual bona fide, genius-level brainwave, one there’s no way he can object to.
‘Good morning!’ I call out to Sam in reception before scanning my security pass and hurrying upstairs to the communications office. I have another hectic day ahead. As well as producing press packs ahead of the Belgian Grand Prix this weekend, I need to get Leif’s opinion on my brainwave and then – fingers crossed – his official go ahead for @RealLeifOlsen. I’ve got it all planned out. I’m keeping his bio short and on brand (Driver for @RaskRacing) and I’ve chosena profile photo of him on the podium in Australia. His hair is damp with sweat and champagne, but he’s mid-laugh and his eyes are happy and glowing. That’s the vibe I want. ‘Adorable’ Leif, with his guard down.
But first, waffles.
‘Sorry, my meeting ran over,’ I say to Emika as I deposit my blazer and bag at my desk. ‘Has Simone arrived yet?’
‘Ten minutes ago. Yuto’s helping her set up.’
‘Brilliant. You guys are lifesavers.’
‘Just don’t forget us if you have any leftovers.’
‘Nice try.’ I grin at her. ‘But you should know I didn’t have any breakfast this morning.’
‘Spoilsport. Want me to let Leif and Corey know you’re here?’
‘Please. Tell them I’ll meet them in the canteen.’
I grab the camera equipment and head back downstairs for the challenge I’ve planned to help promote the race at Spa-Francorchamps. It has absolutely nothing to do with cars, but it’s a fun segment to showcase our drivers. Based on past performance, I’m expecting easy-going enthusiasm from Corey and pained tolerance from Leif. Whatever. He’s making waffles, so he can either like it or (most likely) lump it.
‘Hi,’ I say as I walk into the canteen to find Yuto and Simone, a Liège-born chef who now lives in London, sitting on opposite tables, chatting. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’
‘No problem.’ Yuto leaps to his feet when he sees me. ‘I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting with Finance. It was great to meet you, Simone.’
‘You too!’ Simone, a petite redhead, waves at him before smiling at me. ‘You must be Ava?’
