Too Late: Desired By The Rival Boss

Summer

vault beneath Whitmore Motors was humm

dampening panels, and dominated by a massive twin-roller

trapped to the rollers, a cooling

tor workstation, typing furio

ng weak spots in our new adaptive fuel-injection algorithms

t the revised calibration to Miller's console. The simulation predicte

"Three baseline runs, then three with the new map. Bring the

ed the throttle, the V-twin's roar swallowed the keyboard chatter

repeated the test. I watched the raw traces build across the scr

-pounds of torque through the corner-exit re

shutting the engine down. "That hesitati

door of the va

ing two stainless stee

nk top that showed off the thick corded muscles of his

mug beside

," Chase said, leaning his hip against the edge of the steel co

coffee, the bitter caffeine

With live pressure and tire-temperature data, the model projects another three-tenths through

then looked down at me, hi

ngertips gently brushing a stray

emple for a fraction of a

e than four hours in t

code is bulletproo

ting into the unmistakable authority of a cl

ur more datasets

on the edge of the desk, effectively

dark shadow of his stubble highli

h authority. "Get your helmet. We'll log elevation and temperature changes

ve full seconds, refus

ork with a quick shortcut.

ub cut. I fastened my helmet and gloves before

ent V-twins tore through the cool evening air as we

ve, matte-black machine with aggressive lines and an open exh

leaning hard into every decreasing-radius curve, feeling

off before the turn, held the clean line, and rolled back onto the throttle

ic overlook above the s

n the gathering dusk, spread out like a fie

ed the stand down, an

rough my hair, clearing the haze of g

ine, pulled off his helmet, an

aw the grit and adjusted your line before the t

start thinking," I said

bly approving. "Good. I want tha

lver lighter f

nst the wind, the orange flare illuminatin

stream of gray smok

of the valley. "The rail yards and the industrial roads along the edge of Sparks. That's

ern Nevada coalition. Out here, the name that matter

f the guardrail, looking ou

g off your king

ide me, and rested his heavy forearm on

his head to look at me. "Tomorrow night is the Northern Nevada Racing Gala. Grant Mercer is going t

around the cold met

," I wh

t as an engineer hiding in the paddock. As my gues

my heart beating in

use me to p

e asphalt, crushed it beneath the heavy

eather jacket, pulling me forward

with raw possessiveness. "I want every sponsor, every promoter, and every patched outla

warned, my voice steady desp

on, Reese," Ch

loser. "Chase," I breathed, just b

lifted his head just enough to speak. "