Twists and Turns in Monte Carlo: A Formula 1 Affair

{13.4}

Joanne stood in the Mercedes garage, arms crossed as she leaned against the railing, observing the organized chaos around her. Her oversized sunglasses hiding the dark circles under her eyes.

 Despite the glamour of Formula 1, she couldn't bring herself to be overly impressed. It wasn't that she disliked motorsport—she just wasn't entirely sure what all the fuss was about. Still, she tried. For Toto.

Her "outfit" didn't exactly scream pit-lane chic: a slightly oversized black Mercedes team shirt that practically swallowed her, likely Toto's from the faint scent of his cologne clinging to it. Low-waist jorts that barely hung at her hips, that gave off major "dad on vacation" vibes completed the look, along with a pair of scuffed cowboy boots she'd found in a Manhattan thrift shop. Her hair was tied back in what could charitably be called an updo, but it was more an I-was-too-tired-to-care situation. Sunglasses hid her sleep-deprived eyes, and a cigarette dangled unlit from her lips as she absorbed the scene before her.

Toto, meanwhile, was in his element—headset on, barking commands and feedback, gesturing to engineers, and flipping through race data on the monitors. His tall, commanding frame moved with purpose and precision, exuding the charisma and focus that had earned him respect in this world.

Jo smirked. She might not know much about racing, but even she couldn't deny the way her stomach fluttered at the sight of him like this. Ordering people is somewhat his job, so she is kinda grateful he is willing to do it with her after hours as well.

"You're staring," Paul Ripke, one of Toto's colleagues, teased as he sidled up beside her.

The tall blonde that looked like she had a massive hangover to outsiders  didn't even flinch. "Yeah, and? Guy's got a nice ass."

He studied her for a moment, then said, "So why are you here?"

"Not much to figure out," Joanne replied, her tone breezy. "I'm just here to admire the chaos."

"Chaos you're not even a little interested in?"

She shrugged, flicking her sunglasses up just enough to meet his gaze. "It's a lot of loud cars and grown men getting emotional over tires. What's there to get interested in?"

Paul laughed, shaking his head. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

"Not my style."

"So why are you here?"

Joanne shrugged, her lips curling into a lopsided grin. "The guy asked me to come. He's worth the noise."

She stayed leaning against the railing, cigarette unlit but balanced between her fingers, a quiet defiance of the strict no-smoking policy in the garage.

The truth was, despite her aloof act, she was trying. Trying to understand what made this world tick, trying to bridge the gap between herself and Toto's obsession with racing. It wasn't easy—motorsport wasn't exactly her scene—but watching him, seeing the way he moved through this chaos like it was second nature, made her want to at least meet him halfway.

"Okay, but seriously," Paul said after a beat, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I gotta know—what's with the boots? Are you trying to out-cowboy the locals?"

She tilted her head and smirked. "When in Texas, right?"

"You realize no one here dresses like that, right?" he teased.

"Good," she shot back. "Means I'm not blending in."

Paul laughed, the sound cutting through the mechanical hum of the garage. "Fair enough. But I have to ask—did Toto see the whole look before you got here?"