CHAPTER ELEVEN. ❦︎

"For starters, I've been meaning to
talk to you about something."

Valeria barely registered the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement as she made her way toward the exit of the hotel, approaching her ride that would take her to the circuit.

Her mind was elsewhere, consumed by a storm of thoughts she couldn't seem to organize.

Franco's smirk from the night before lingered in her memory, sharp and vivid. That smirk... The way he leaned against the doorframe, the casualness of his posture, and the way his eyes sparkled with some private amusement... he knew exactly what he was doing.

He always did.

He wasn't like that with just her, though.

No, Franco was like that with nearly everyone??? Well, maybe every girl she's seen him interact with at least.

That's just who Franco was: a charming flirt, the kind of person who could disarm anyone with a well-timed grin and a cheeky comment. It didn't mean anything. Not to him. It couldn't.

But then... why did it feel different?

Valeria pressed her lips together, trying to shake the thought away, but it clung stubbornly as she got into an Uber.

Marisol's teasing hadn't helped either. The second Franco left the room, still grinning like he'd won some kind of victory, Marisol's instigation had swooped in like a hawk.

"So, we're just hanging out with Franco now?"

Valeria had tried to dismiss it, mumbling something about Franco being Franco and how she really had no choice, but Marisol wasn't buying it.

"You realize he doesn't do this with everyone, right?" Marisol had said, her arms crossed, eyes glinting with that knowing look Valeria both hated and dreaded.

And then, because Marisol lived to escalate things, she called Catia.

"Cat." Marisol had started, barely able to contain her laughter, "You're not going to believe what I walked into."

The two of them had a field day, trading playful jabs and exaggerated interpretations of the situation, all while Valeria sat on the edge of the bed, trying, and almost failing, not to feel flustered.

"They're overreacting..."

"They're dramatic..."

"They're dragging it." She told herself. "It was nothing."

But was it?

That was the question Valeria couldn't escape, no matter how hard she tried. There have obviously been moments hen their usual banter had felt...

Different.

More charged. More personal. She had brushed it off at the time, distracting herself with her laptop and spreadsheets, but now, in the clarity of daylight, the memory seemed to take on new weight.

And that smile of his. That stupid, insufferable, completely disarming smile. She hated how easily it got under her skin, how it left her questioning herself in ways she wasn't used to.

It wasn't like her to feel this unsteady. She had built her career on being composed, unflappable, able to handle any chaos the job threw at her. Franco had been no different. From the moment she became his assistant, she had treated him like every other driver she had worked with: professional, polite, and utterly immune to whatever charm he might try to wield.

Except, somewhere along the way, that immunity had cracked.

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but there was something about him that made it harder to keep her guard up. She succeeded most of the time, nonetheless, but as of lately... it's been getting a bit more difficult.

Maybe it was the way he genuinely cared about the people around him, despite the arrogance he so often projected. Or the way he made her laugh, even when she didn't want to. Or the way he looked at her sometimes, like she was more than just the person who managed his schedule and put out his fires.

Valeria shook her head sharply, as if the action could physically dislodge the thought. "No," she thought firmly.

"It's not like that. He's just a tease."

Yet, deep down, she knew.

She couldn't ignore the warmth that had spread through her chest last night when Franco had leaned in alarmingly close, or when his voice dropped just slightly as he teased her.

She couldn't ignore the way her heart had skipped when his laughter filled the room, or the way she had to fight the urge to smile whenever he looked at her like that.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to feel anything beyond professional respect for him. He was her boss. Well, technically, "her client", but the distinction hardly mattered.

A line had been drawn the moment she accepted the job, and she had every intention of keeping it intact.

No matter how much she tried to shake it off, her thoughts kept spiraling back to him.

And to the moment.

God, that moment.

Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it, the vivid memory of their accidental tangle playing in her mind like an embarrassing loop. She could still feel the heat rising in her face from when it happened.

One minute, she had been trying to retrieve her phone back from Franco who was playing around with her from across the couch, and the next thing she knew, her footing had betrayed her, and she'd lost her balance entirely.

What came next was a blur—her body crashing into his, the weight of her falling over him, the air rushing from both their lungs as they collided. She had landed on top of him.

For a second, she hadn't been able to move, frozen by the sheer mortification of the situation. But what made it worse—so much worse—was the proximity. They were so close. Closer than she had ever allowed herself to be with him.

Her hands had been braced against his chest, and she could still feel the firm warmth of his body beneath her palms. His cologne, subtle but distinct, had filled her senses, making her head spin.

She hadn't been able to ignore the sharp angles of his jawline, or the way his lips had parted in surprise, or the way his m eyes had widened before settling on her with something... unreadable.

And then, because of course Franco couldn't let an awkward moment simply exist, he had smirked.

"Comfortable?" His voice rang through her ears.

God, why is he the way he is.

Then, Marisol's voice echoed in her mind again.

"He doesn't do this with everyone..."

Valeria had wanted to dismiss the comment, to chalk it up to Marisol's flair for dramatics, but she couldn't. Not entirely.

Because, if she was being honest, there were moments when it clear Franco treated her as something more.

And that was dangerous.

Valeria couldn't afford to let herself see it like that. Not now. Not ever. Her job depended on her ability to stay objective, to focus on what mattered: Franco's career, his image, his success. Anything beyond that was a distraction.

But even as she repeated the mantra to herself, a part of her—a small, stubborn part—couldn't help but wonder.

What if?

What if Marisol was right? What if Franco's teasing wasn't just teasing? What if the way he looked at her genuinely meant something more?

Oh, who is she kidding.

She already knows what he wants.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

"No," She thought again, more forcefully this time. "I can't let it go there."

She had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let her feelings... whatever they were... get in the way of her career.

And besides, it wasn't like Franco was actually interested in a full blown endeavor.

At least, that's what she told herself.

But as Valeria's ride reached the circuit, she spotted a familiar car pulling in not far from her, and she felt her resolve falter.

If she knew any better, it was his chauffeur.

And there he was, stepping out with that same easy confidence, his hair slightly tousled, his smile as bright as ever. And when his eyes met hers, something in her chest tightened.

It was nothing, she told herself again, even as her heart betrayed her.

Absolutely nothing.

His eyes immediately found hers, and that familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Morning, Vale," He said as he approached her, his voice annoyingly chipper for someone who'd bothered her all night.

"Hi," She replied, attempting a neutral tone.

He fell into step beside her as they walked toward the paddock, the hum of activity growing louder with each passing second. Engineers, mechanics, and team staff bustled around them, but Franco's focus remained firmly on her.

"Sleep well?" He asked, his tone laced with amusement.

"Not particularly," She said dryly.

"That's too bad. I slept great. Must've been my company last night."

She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Never," He said, his grin widening.

She shook her head and resumed walking, ignoring the way her heart raced when he chuckled softly behind her.

As they neared the center of the paddock, the air grew heavier with the scent of fuel and the hum of machinery. Teams bustled about, preparing for the day ahead, but Franco seemed unbothered by the rush.

"Anything planned on my schedule besides the sprint and qualifying?" He asked, leaning in slightly as they reached the Williams club.

Valeria arched an eyebrow. "Other than making sure you don't embarrass yourself? No."

"You do so much for me." His tone was teasing, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made her pulse skip.

She glanced away, feeling the familiar tug of irritation—and something else she didn't want to name.

"Just go do your job."

"Yes, ma'am," He said with a mock salute, finally peeling off toward his side of the garage.

Valeria watched him go, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She couldn't afford to get caught up in his games.

Eventually, as she made her way and entered the Williams hospitality suite, it was a flurry of chaotic activity when Valeria arrived. She quickly fell into her routine, reviewing schedules, double-checking media commitments, and liaising with the team's PR staff. It was business as usual—or at least it was until her boss called her over.

"Valeria, a word," A voice said, his tone brisk but not unkind.

Glancing up from her screen as her heart stopped, she saw that it was her boss—Craig.

Fuck.

With a faint "Mhm!" and brief nod, Valeria dropped everything she was doing and followed him to a quieter corner of the room, her stomach tightening with unease.

"For starters, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," He began, his expression carefully neutral.

"I wanted to talk to you about Franco".

Valeria's stomach sank. "Is there a problem?"

"Not yet," Craig said, folding his arms. "But there could be if we're not careful."

She frowned, confused. "I'm sorry. I'm not following."

He sighed, clearly choosing his words carefully. "You're doing an excellent job, Valeria. Everyone can see how much smoother things run with you keeping Franco in line. But..." He hesitated.

"But... what?" She pressed.

"There's been some... chatter," He said finally. "About the two of you. People have noticed how close you've gotten, and it's starting to raise eyebrows."

Valeria's heart pounded. "Chatter? What kind of chatter?"

"Let's just say it doesn't look entirely professional," Craig said bluntly. "The media hasn't really picked up on it yet, but if they do, it could become a distraction—for Franco and for the team. And frankly, Valeria..."

"... It could cost you your job."

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I assure you, there's nothing inappropriate between me and Franco. I take my job very seriously."

"I believe you," He said, his tone softening slightly. "But perception matters. You know how this world works. It doesn't take much for a harmless interaction to be twisted into a scandal."

Valeria nodded, her mind racing. "I'll be more careful."

"Good." He gave her a small, approving smile. "You're an asset to this team, Valeria. I don't want to lose you over something avoidable."

"Thank you," She said quietly as he gave her another reassuring nod before parting ways and leaving her alone.

As Craig walked off, Valeria stood frozen, her thoughts a whirlwind. She knew he was right—she'd always known there was a line she couldn't cross. But Franco had a way of blurring that line... making her forget why it was drawn it in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed back toward her workstation.

There was no room for mistakes, no time for distractions.

And yet, as she settled back into her chair and re-opened her laptop, her thoughts drifted—against her better judgment—to the way Franco had smiled at her that morning, and the way it had made her feel.

Even if she refused to admit it.

vera's voice 💌 ( 2.1k words )
Hai. Idk. Ok Bye.

Hi Belle, Elena.
From Vera Vee