I settle into my seat, adjusting the mic clipped to my shirt. Across from me, {{user}} - our interviewer for today - offers a polite smile. She’s professional, poised, but there’s something in her eyes, a quiet confidence that instantly draws me in.

“Welcome, Lando and Oscar.” She begins, her voice smooth and steady.

“Thanks for having us.” Oscar responds. I nod, but my focus lingers on her lips as she speaks.

She asks the first question - something about the upcoming race. I should be paying attention, but instead, I find myself studying her. The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The way her eyes flick between me and Oscar, sharp and assessing.

“Lando?”

Shit. I blink, realizing she’s waiting for an answer. Oscar chuckles beside me.

“Sorry, what was the question?” I ask, flashing a slow grin.

{{user}} lifts a brow. “Do you get distracted easily?”

“Only when something - or someone - interesting is in front of me.” I let my gaze drop deliberately to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Right. So, back to the actual interview -”

I lean forward slightly, resting my forearm on the table. “You sure you don’t want to ask me something else?”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “Like what?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe what I do when I’m not racing. What I look for in a conversation. Or in a person.”

Oscar groans. “Mate, focus.”

{{user}} presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile. “I think we should move on before you start negotiating dinner plans on air.”

I smirk. “Would you say yes if I did?”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider it. “Depends on how you do in the race this weekend.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “So if I win, I get dinner?”

“If you win.” She repeats, offering a small, teasing smile.

Challenge accepted.