race when they had more time for fun and games. But Moreau wasn’t there.
She strode back outside and glared toward the place where the pit crew combed over Pierre’s car. Her jaw dropped. The man already stood there.
Pierre never made it out this quickly. He preferred his big entrances after the crowds waited far too long for him to make his appearance, and then he’d receive the most applause.
He positioned his back to her. Did his suit always fit him that well? The cut across his shoulders and down to his hard back fit to perfection.
“Mademoiselle Delphine, a word about our driver, if you would.” Brun’s thick French drew her around.
“Of course,” she answered, throwing another glance at Moreau, who had one of the techs laughing. How unusual. Moreau rarely spoke to the pit crew, and she always thought he treated them like the lowliest servants. No one should ever treat a human being that way, especially one working to keep him safe.
She stepped to the side, out of the crowd, with Brun. At first, he didn’t speak, just gazed out over the track. Colorful banners decorated every inch of space, and one of the largest marketing campaigns belonged to Brun and his group.
“Everything is in order?” she asked him.
“Oh yes. I’m surprised our driver made such an early appearance today.”
I was thinking the same.
“Pierre is very dedicated to his career.” She cut a sideways glance back to Moreau, who had more of his crew clustered around him. She looked at him more closely. The dashing profile of the driver every woman in the country wanted drew her attention most. Something appeared different about him today—maybe he’d foregone the pre-race parties and tucked himself into bed early.
“I see he’s on task today. You’ve managed your client well for this race, Mademoiselle Delphine.”
“Thank you. Will we be seeing you at the after-party?”
“For a brief time, yes. I’m afraid the long races like this exhaust me. I’m no young man anymore, and I can’t stay awake the full twenty-four hours to see who travels the greatest distance in that time.”
“Imagine how difficult it is for the drivers, even taking shifts.”
“Yes.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for all you’ve done to work with me, mademoiselle.”
In the two years they’d been associated and working with Moreau, she’d never received thanks from Brun.
“It’s my pleasure. We greatly appreciate your sponsorship and look toward a bright future together.”
He stared at Moreau again. “Yes. A bright future. Excuse me, mademoiselle. I must speak to our driver.”
When he took off toward Moreau, she watched him for a long minute. What an odd conversation, one that set her on edge, even though she had no good reason to be. She started toward them but stopped and instead gave them time to speak before the race. Relations between the men proved crucial to Moreau’s career.
“You represent Pierre Moreau.” The statement brought her attention around to a short man wearing an ill-fitting suit jacket, though his eyes appeared bright with interest.
“Yes, that’s right,” she answered. “Lillian Delphine.”
“Lovely name.” He took her hand and shook it in a strong clasp that pleased her. So many times in this line of work, she faced men who looked at women as the weaker sex and refused to give her the same treatment as other men who did the same job.
She smiled. “And you are?”
“Robert Bisset.”
“Since you’re in this area of the track, you must have an association with one of the drivers.”
“Oh yes.” He pointed to one of Pierre’s biggest threats.
“Best of luck to your driver, Monsieur Bisset.”
“And to yours, Mademoiselle Delphine.” He dipped his head in farewell before moving off to speak with someone else.
The energy of the race caught hold of her, and as usual when she felt so alive, she practiced a moment of gratitude to be here in this position, doing something she loved. From a very young age, her parents taught her this art of stopping and acknowledging that she was lucky to smell the roses. The act filled her with a peace and happiness that brought a smile to her lips.
She glanced up and saw Pierre staring her direction. She stood too far away to make out his eyes, but the determination he wore on his face heartened her that he would win yet another race and make them all proud.
She raised a hand to him, and he lifted his in return. After a long moment, he finally turned away.
The call for the drivers to get ready