He says it so genuinely, I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair. “It crossed my mind, yes.”
The corners of his mouth curve upward in a playful smile. “Isla. I can get into knickers without offering to do something I completely loathe.”
Well, then. Okay. Fair point.
“Well, I want to clarify that because I’m only willing to do an interview. Nothing else,” I say firmly.
“Isla, I promise you, there is nothing attached to this interview. I’m doing this because I like you.”
“Do you like me orlike melike me?” I ask pointedly.
Caleb looks confused again. “As in properly like you?”
“If that means interested in me, yes.”
Caleb’s intense gaze never wavers from mine. “Yes, I am.”
WHAT?
“That’s outside of this interview, let me be clear,” he says. “I’m helping you because I like you. I’m helping you because I think you have a bright future ahead of you as a professional journalist covering F1 racing. But I don’t expect anything from you because I’m agreeing to sit down and talk to you. Except for the fact that you might get to see me in a different light outside of being an F1 driver.”
“I already see you in a different light,” I say without thinking.
He quirks a brow. “Oh?”
DAMN IT.
“But that’s irrelevant, Caleb,” I say, putting my hand out in a stop motion. “If I want a career at The Downforce Network, I can’t hook up with or date drivers.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both. It’s a rule I have. I’m a professional. And it’s not professional to date a driver.”
“Even if you are creating fun content? Or working as a content creator? I don’t think other teams would care if you dated a driver whilst reporting what Xavier Williams eats for his pre-race meal.”
I shake my head. “The Downforce Network would not be okay with that.”
“Have you asked them?”
“I don’t have to ask them. I don’t work for them!”
“Yet,” Caleb says confidently. “But it’s something to ask them when you do work for them.”
“I won’t need to ask them because I’m not dating any F1 drivers. Ever. That’s a hard-and-fast rule that I will never ever break.”
Even if you are the most interesting man I’ve ever met, I think ruefully.
Caleb suddenly leans back in his chair, a smile playing on his sensual mouth. I swallow, trying to block out the fact that his full lips are really freaking hot.
“What?” I ask, quirking a brow at him.
“Then I guess it’s up to me to change your mind about that rule—and get you to break it.”
* * *
The sun is shining brightly down on pit lane, which is buzzing with activity under a bright blue Miami sky. I’m walking beside Catherine since I decided to take her up on her offer to be my guide and videographer this morning, and normally I’d be a bundle of excitement as we make our way toward the Collings Motors garage, where I’m going to get up close and personalwith an F1 car and create amazing content for my social media platforms.
But instead, I feel as if I’m in a daze. Catherine is chatting with me, giving me details about pit lane, and I’m retaining them, but Caleb’s declaration is still swirling around in my head.