“Are you
ready to meet your new teammate?” Benito asks.
Not really.
Outside the
main garage, the three of us take the little sidewalk that leads to the scenic
overlook near the back of the office building. The overlook is this cozy spot
with chairs and benches. Lots of Wolert Porsche employees walk over here to
have lunch or to take a break from work to stare at the pretty view of the deep
valley and the pointy tops of the Alps surrounding it.
A slight
breeze runs up the valley and smacks the side of the mountain we’re on. The sun
spreads Emilio Ronaldo’s shadow over the molded-stone pavement as he leans
against the wood safety rails that prevent people from falling over the steep
drop.
I join him
along the rail.
Emilio
takes a long drag from a cigar, blowing out a large plume of smoke. He tucks
his hand inside his sport coat and pulls out another cigar. “Do you smoke?”
“Seriously?
You’re offering me a cigar?” I ask.
“They’re
very good. Very strong. Grow hair on your chest.” Emilio grins.
Yeah,
right. Smoking a cigar is a macho-guy thing. They need it to feel like men.
Hmm. I wonder if little-old me is intimidating him again. The same girl who
made him flinch during that race at Spa. That would be awesome if I’m getting
under his skin.
Emilio
slips the cigar back into his coat. “But if you don’t feel adventurous I
understand.”
Wait a
second. Is he saying I’m too timid? That I can’t handle a cigar just because
I’m a girl?
“I’d love a
cigar,” I say, acting like it’s no big deal.
Emilio
pulls out the cigar. I snatch it and place it in my mouth. The foreign object
lays heavy on my tongue and feels like I have a wad of paper stuffed in my
mouth.
“You need
to cut off the end first.”
“I know
that.” I pull the cigar out and notice the round end that isn’t cut off. I bite
into that and rip it off with my teeth. I taste flakes of pure tobacco on my
tongue and it’s like ash and it’s disgusting and I spit it all over the stones
at my feet.
Emilio
smiles and holds up some rectangular-looking tool with a round hole in it. “I
have a cutter. You don’t have to bite the end off.”
Now I feel
like an idiot. Emilio must be enjoying this. Another genius plan to embarrass
and humiliate me. Too late to stop now. I hold out the cigar and he cuts off
the end. I put the cigar back in my mouth.
Emilio
takes out a lighter and flicks. The flame licks the end of my cigar. “You must
inhale to draw the flame in and light the tobacco.”
I breathe
in and smoke fills my lungs.
Oh My God!
I cough hard and bend over, belching smoke from my mouth like a dragon. I feel
my eyes watering. A definite sign my body is yelling. What the hell are you
doing to me, Samantha?
Enjoying my
discomfort, Emilio inhales his cigar, the end of which glows bright red. Like a
demon.
I take
another drag on the cigar and my lungs belch out the foul smoke again. But I
try to stand casual. Like the smoke doesn’t bother me.
“I would
like to begin,” Emilio says. “By mentioning that our past grievances should be
left in the past. We are both competitors. We both fight to win. But starting
today, we will be teammates. Do you understand? When both of us do well, the
team does well. The team will always matter more than one driver. I look
forward to working with you. Not against you.” Emilio takes a moment for a puff
on his cigar. “What is your opinion on that?”
My opinion?
Someone actually wants to hear my opinion? It’s a mountain of cow puke. That’s
my opinion. This is still my team and Emilio is not going to come in here and
take it away. All this crap about team this and team that. It’s only to put a
pacifier in my mouth so I won’t complain. Be the good little girl, Samantha.
Play nice and get along with the boy who stole your place on the team.
I puff on
the cigar and cough. Jeez. That’s what this cigar is. It’s a pacifier. Make
baby Samantha shut up.
I take the
cigar out of my mouth.
“Is it too
strong?” Emilio asks.
This guy
can read people crazy-well. He read me like a book right before our final race
at Spa. Emilio detects weakness in others like a hawk drifting over a limping
sheep, patiently waiting for it to fall over before attacking.
I won’t let
him read me ever again.
“I agree.
We so got into it last year and it was insane.” I use my sweet girlie voice
that fools most guys. “And there were times I actually wanted to kill you. Like
that time at your home in Brazil?”
“I
remember,” he says. “I mentioned something about how you could never win the
world championship.”
“Because I
was a woman and didn’t have the killer instinct or something like that.”
Whoa.
Easy, Samantha. Don’t lose it. Stay in control. Do not let Emilio beat you.
“Yes.
Something like that,” Emilio says, his voice quieter. “You proved me wrong. The
way you hunted me those last few laps at Spa. You were ruthless. Unyielding.
You chased me down like a cunning animal that had learned patience and the art
of intimidation. My observations please you?”
Crap. He
caught me smiling.
“It was
impressive. We are teammates now so I can mention this. You are not some female
racer who shows off her body more than her racing skills. You are quite
different.”
If
that’s his version of a compliment, I guess I’ll take it.
Mandi Lynn started writing her first novel at thirteen, and at the young age of 17 her first novel, Essence, hit the press. Since the debut of her first novel, Lynn has taught writing workshops, appeared on television, newspapers, and most importantly, graduated high school. While attending college, Lynn works part time at a salon as a stylist and continues to write future novels. Lynn can be found online creating YouTube videos about books, publishing, and all things reading.
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