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Leilah Khan’s stomach flipped. At this point in her career, after nearly a decade on the professional race car circuit, this was unexpected. Sure, her body coursed with adrenaline before a qualifying event or a race. The day she didn’t get that excited, anticipatory jolt would be the day she hung up her driving gloves. But taking a civilian out for a high-performance driving experience wouldn’t make her nervous. Yet, the butterflies swirling in her midsection suggested she was, in fact, nervous.
Not nervous, she corrected herself. Eager.
Was eager better? Not really, considering who the client was.
She dismissed the thought and checked the time. The session wasn’t scheduled to start for another twenty minutes. She had plenty of time to pop up to her apartment in the loft over her garage and make herself a calming cup of herbal tea.
As the kettle burbled, she tapped her fingernails—painted a glossy blue today to match the cerulean shade of Serena’s paint—and listened to the satisfying click click of her nails striking the countertop.
It’s fine to be excited, she decided. But she did feel just the tiniest bit silly because the excitement had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to be hurtling around an oval at speeds that exceeded 130 miles an hour, and everything to do with the passenger who’d be in the right seat.
Extraordinarily silly.
The kettle beeped. She dropped a chamomile-ginger tisane sachet into her shiny metal Khan Racing travel mug and poured the hot water over it. As the tea steeped, she returned to the topic of her giddy anticipation. She’d known her passenger longer than she’d been driving—since she was four years old. In fact, she couldn’t access a memory of a time when she didn’t know Ryan Hayes.
Her older brother’s best friend had moved onto her street the summer before Omar started second grade and the two were inseparable by Labor Day. She’d known Ryan for essentially her entire life. He was like a second big brother. Taking him out on track should be like giving Omar himself a ride-along. That’s what her head told her, at least. Her stomach said otherwise. And so did her heart, she allowed.
By rights, Ryan should be background noise in her life. He was her brother’s friend, not her own. At least not until recently. Over the past two years, they’d taken tentative steps out of their roles as kid sister and older brother’s best friend. Then Ryan and Omar both took positions working for Potomac Private Services, and Leilah and Ryan’s paths began to cross even more frequently. She’d been tangentially involved in some operations for Potomac, and her closest woman friends worked for the company. It was only natural that she and Ryan had developed a friendship of their own.
Is it just a friendship, though?
Ryan differed from her brother and the rest of his friends. He differed from the men in the racing world. Quiet. Introspective. Thoughtful. Thoughtful in the way he interacted with her, but also thoughtful in his approach to the world. He watched, absorbed, and internalized—a distinct
contrast to the men and women of action who worked at Potomac, not to mention the other drivers and race team members she spent her days with. An idle thought floated through her mind: What would it be like to spend her days—or nights—with Ryan?
She shook her head with such vigor at the idea that her tight sports hijab threatened to slip. She rested her mug on the counter and readjusted it. Safety first. A loose scarf in the car was a disaster waiting to happen. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, she couldn’t lose sight of the fact that she was solely responsible for Ryan’s safety from the moment they strapped into Serena until the Ferrari was parked back in the garage bay, engine ticking.
She reclaimed her tumbler and headed down the stairs to the garage. As she passed by, she glimpsed herself in the mirror hanging outside the door to her office. She looked like Leilah Khan—confident, self-possessed, and, she allowed, glamorous. Her persona was her shield. It protected her from the petty jealousies, crude comments, and fierce rivalries of the racing world. It was vitally important to embody the public image of Leilah Khan every time she stepped out of her garage. Unfortunately, at the moment, she felt like Sparky Khan, the annoying little sister who’d tagged along behind Omar and Ryan at the playground while they pretended she wasn’t there.
“You are not Sparky,” she reminded herself firmly as she swept through the garage bay. She spoke the words aloud as if giving voice to the statement would make her believe it. Then she paused at the door to square her shoulders and set her chin before striding out into the paddock.
2
Ryan Hayes turned his head at the sound of a metal door closing and spotted Leilah exiting her garage. ...
