Some servers peeked their hoods through the main hall, viewing the spectacle of their first VIP gala. Expensive taste was the rage, even if the star of the party, Mister Jackson Storm wasn't indulging in rich gasohols,

A forklift pulled his way out of the concealed kitchen, his forks holding a fresh baked batch of cupcakes for table two. He raced his way to the duo parked across from one another, seeing the racing champion's expression quickly become a sly grin under the absorbed lighting as the sugary sweets were placed in front of his female guest. Her eyes widened as she saw yet even more treats delivered her way. Her brown eyes made contact with the race car in front of her, horror in her pupils as the dishes of junk food piled in at his challenging request.

The waiter eyed the pair before departing back to the booth. Either there was a familiar event between the two, or Storm was spoiling some lucky convertible with a never-ending supply of sweets.

His short stature gave peeping an advantage, and with a quick look over his side, he caught a glimpse of her pearly-white hood doubled over in blooming rose as she kept her thoughts and eyes at bay. Her 'entrée' untouched.

Hanging around gifted and striking cars did that. Whoever she was— she got lucky to be up close and personal with the racer and his growing prominence. It must've been a record third hour passing with Jackson Storm parked firm and planted at his dimmed table away from his sponsors and guests alike. His desires were met, a low profile with a sizeable block of space to occupy and breathe.

Little Miss Sunshine and her rosy fenders must have gotten the lucky draw on Storm's list of favorite cars...

His wheels took him away from the tensed duo parked a short distance away— both inattentive of his departing presence.

Displeasure crossed Melise's hood as she looked over the trays of desserts in front of her. Regardless on her opposite end, Jackson, as cool as ice on his treads, watching his party with a hazed care for her concerns.

Melise pursed her lips, the sugar was gritty along her teeth, and cookies couldn't possibly go down well with several dozen cupcakes... Her eyes traced themselves to Jackson, his grey glare, fixed and acquainted elsewhere as if her existence was a faded memory. This silly little challenge wasn't going to end well, she couldn't squeeze another bite in.

The tunes changed rhythm abruptly, the heavy 8O8 reverbs vibrating down to mellowing R&B as the strobe lights dimmed further. A savoury atmosphere creeped in. Some patrons were eager to make the most of it as then shuffled about, their tires and cabs doing light rhythm work.

Melise blinked as her eyes worked overtime to compensate the darker lighting. She felt the cooled wind of passing sedans to chill her hot and stressed out circuits. Her eyes adjusted under the flashes of LED showcasing her mammoth array of desserts like prizes blinking to catch attention. Her tires pulled close a cold quart of a sugary beverage she didn't hesitate to drink on her dried throat. Taking a small sigh, and pushing the shake away, her eyes met the turning glare of Jackson, focussing his sight on her nervous glance across the table.

"Enjoying it?" he said flatly. His eyes studied her for a moment, the grey orbs moving about slightly around her face. His expression quickly became a proud smirk, "Don't worry, I can get you all the refills you'll need on your little oilshake too."

Melise felt her eyelid twitch. To anyone else, this looked like a grand gesture, as if he were spoiling her. Using her hunger as a convincing little excuse to push her buttons. Jackson's eyes seemed to study her face in more detail, as if he were looking for some sort of defeat in her sweet pure stare.

Jackson was mocking her. Melise was no different from anyone else now. Her momentous blank stare becoming a fusion of fear and uncertainty masked under a leer at the livery race car.

Why was he upset? Just because it was his missed opportunity? Edison chose her, IGNTR pinned her down with promises they kept. Why couldn't she have her own adventure— her own novelties?

Melise watched as Jackson's looming smirk faded into a twined grimace.

Her happiness couldn't matter to him, why would it?

His grey eyes froze her circuits as his grotesque-ridden expression changed with the roll of his tongue; an icy look of anger growing on his hood as she kept him waiting. Melise's eyes filled with a glistening twinkle— consternation brimming in her system as uncomfortable knots tied inside. She looked away. How could he hate her so much?

She opened her weak lips, the soft plumps merely an inch apart. Her blinks didn't cause her hood to dampen despite the sting in her eyes. Why did Jackson even matter? He hadn't done a thing for her besides tossing a towel on her roof for her own little mishap her first day in, what else?

Melise's eyes took a second slow and weary trace up his dark glare. She looked away quickly, anything else to look at was a safer choice.

Her oil running days were becoming hazy, and Melise wasn't sure she could ponder all the memories with him. They were locked away somewhere in her mind. The warm and fuzzy recollections down to the very expressions Jackson had during their interactions.

His pride, that confident grin he put on for the cameras... but then there was his smile— the rise of the edge of his mouth slightly, his eyes interested for once as she watched him behind his fans during his interview with Mister Hicks. His half-smile right pass RSN cameras to her huddled beside a tent...

His smile, she wasn't going to see it any time soon.

The cold surge in her circuits scared her, the stimulus was grand. Her new found emotion, bothersome and restless, shoved it's way in... Melise didn't want to believe it.

Jackson was furious, his anger hurt her, poking fun at her heart strings indiscriminately. This was different, she wasn't annoyed the same with Jonah, not even the boys she had once called her co-workers. Her heart hurt, a feeling of sinking down an elevator. A big contrast from her embarrassment outside his trailer.

Melise's lower lip curled under her front teeth as the world was fading into a thought. What could she possibly say?

... IGNTR chose me... a plodding peach convertible over you, a fierce racing champion... deal with it.

Jackson didn't speak, his glare remaining, calculating, prying and tugging. She would have to give up this 'kiddie' game sooner or later. Answer the damn question...

The whizzing of an approaching engine gave way to grin on Storm's front. His grey eyes catching sight of a fellow racer shining his pearly teeth on a dark purple paint job. He wasted little time cruising over, an expected look of awe on his hood Jackson took pride of.

"Hey! Jackson Storm!" he sung his name out impressed. "Nice season."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Jackson replied. His grey eyes pulled a once over the car, seeing the digits of 64 engraved disorderly with a logo he could hardly make out.

"Barry Depedal," the race car said, introducing himself. Jackson returned a nod of his hood, his face indifferent but respectful enough to the intrusion.

"Thanks for coming, Depedal," Jackson replied, the sentence coming out less flat than Barry expected. Storm sounded pleased, his white, shiny smile appeared, contented with the innocent gesture. Different from the edge of crafty passive-aggressive insults barbed at McQueen months ago. The RPM supressant sponsored race car lightened up, looks like he wasn't on Storm's hit list. He returned a smile.

"I gotta tell ya' man," Depedal said, "I know the sponsors don't like us to brag, but damn, you're one badass racer."

"Thanks... again," Jackson replied with a slight scoff of his satisfied tone, "Don't sell yourself short, the top ten's still good. Even if it's not first place."

Adjacent to the duo of race cars chatting, the young Honda kept her presence demure. This other car didn't so much as bat an eye her way, Jackson omitted her very existence seemingly. Her eyes scanned over the IGNTR racer once more, his intricate details were always interesting to her since the day she laid her eyes on that dark brand name. Was that a large 'S' or a hurricane symbol common with the weather network on his sides?

Melise narrowed her eyes, ignoring the two cars still chatting as she explored her own world, still examining Jackson's decals. Maybe that comparison to a meteorology symbol was corny...

Trying to forget her nervous pander to make use of time, her eyes wandered up where they didn't belong, catching Jackson still conversing with the other race car. Her fenders felt warmer despite the cold bloating building up in her engine. His grey eyes were relaxed, unmoving as he listened to others, sometimes all over the place as he talked. Jackson's features were keen, his entire demeanor uncaring— no, indifferent. His style was out of the ordinary, always clean-cut, and a darkly ominous choice of colors for a guy who loved to gloat so much.

It probably wasn't far-fetched to assume Jackson likely spent his earnings on buffering his frame when he could find the time...

His eyes moved suddenly in acknowledgement, and Jackson's sight was on her pondering stare. With the curious raise of his lid, he exchanged a glance with the racer beside him, then turned his cab to face her, that same pleased smirk growing on his front as Melise quickly snapped out of it, biting her lip and looking down to her tires flustered. Her eyes jumped to the ground and up to the two acknowledging stares at her.

The dark purple race car squinted under the dimmed lighting over the table, "Hey! I thought I saw someone there," he smiled as his blue eyes took in the sight of her.

He turned to look at Storm, "So who's luckier, you, or this fine angel you've got on your tire?" Depedal joked, the two race cars exchanged some innocent jabs of laughter as Melise hung her look of surprise down in hot, submissive, embarrassment. Of all things he could've said... that?

Her hood straightened after a moment, hearing the hum of the 'RPM' racer's engine igniting, "I'll be off now, see you at the track."

"Later," Storm's one liner came, taking his eyes off the race car, cuing his departure. Melise watched as he straightened himself in a simple reverse and roll forward, his eyes bored.

Why was she even here anymore? Jackson couldn't tell her how to behave and live.

Melise opened her mouth, his grey glare shooting over instantly, "Want to say something, now?" his tone quizzical as he cut her off. "Then let's answer some questions."

Jackson rolled his eyes as he thought over the array of nonsense clouding his mojo. Why did you join IGNTR's team? How did they choose you— WHY did they even choose you? Why are you painted white instead of peach? Are those real racing tires your lugging around? How the hell did you get into my party? Is your name really, Melise? What kind of name is that?

She returned a pouty glare, a soft 'hmph' blown as she reversed herself from the table, seeing Jackson's stern expression become course and perplexed as his eyes followed her journey away from the event floor elsewhere. Her movement was sluggish and pitiful— her hefty, silly, designer tires slowed her down, causing visible discomfort as she departed down the bright lit hall. Storm gritted his teeth after turning back to his solitary, she was behaving differently. He wasn't sure he even wanted to deal with her. Melise was far from being VIP here.

She had no real place here, and going back to her little pageant was a good choice if she wasn't going to heed his commands. Who else got her that new little gig of hers if the races weren't won, the cash didn't flow...

Storm began sweeping the mess off his table into a waste bin he aligned beside. His tires got a quarter of the job done in annoyance before a waiter rushed over, eager to assist.

"Just... clean this up," the racer instructed in monotone as he gestured the appetizers and desserts left forgotten— most wasted in agitated spite. The small vehicle wasted no time cleaning off the champion's table as his tire tapped the floor in disinterest. The noise of fellow racers approaching their tables nearby interrupted Storm's muddled thoughts, and he sighed, opening his eyes to returned solitary, and a squeaky clean surface.

"... You think he's actually coming back?" Racelott asked, his tone curious as Ryan seemed to think the possibility and odds over.

"Who knows. He was at some beach outside his headquarters a week ago," Ryan replied in genuine doubt.

"You sure he wasn't just on vacation?" Chase asked, an amused tone on his words. The Press loved to spin photos and news into publicity whenever they got the chance.

Ryan rolled his tongue at the thought, "Nah, they say he was racing— training a gold coupe I think."

The two racers turned to Hollis arriving to their lot, three young female coupes dressed in racing tires accompanying him in ecstatic glee surrounded by a VIP car.

"Oh-my-gosh!" one said as her matte silver finish glimmered under the strobe light. Her sights focussed on Chase Racelott as he looked at her like a tractor-in-the-headlights.

"I saw a picture of you in this racing magazine, you're like, really fast."

"Heh, thanks," Chase replied, caught off guard. He exchanged a curious glance with Hollis.

"These girls are from the little show going on next door, you know, the fashion show I was talking about?" Hollis grinned as on of the girls leaned her weight on him, her lids batting amorously.

"Some guys got into a fight and the show was cancelled... " one of the girls said, she rolled her eyes, uninterested by the news.

"Gotta admit it, they look good in racing brands," Hollis continued as he gave the two coupes seductive grins. He leaned in closer, whispering to Racelott,

"Play along, girls love race cars!" he nudged.

A few meters away, Storm kept his thoughts on the earlier conversation the trio were discussing. Racing on a beach? Was McQueen really training to try to make a come-back? Wasn't one wreck enough?

It didn't really matter, he would focus on that later. The music quieted down as Storm put his gear in drive, accelerating towards the stage. His gruff expression soon changed to a hearty smile as he listened to the praise given to him.

Now to get this speech over with.

She flushed the toilet a second time, wiping her mouth with her tread. Her eyes blinked wearily.

Loads of fries, cookies and milkshakes did not sit well. It was such a childish attempt to assert herself. He probably thought she was more moronic than ever...

Melise reversed from the stall, pleased to have the elegant washroom to herself. She hesitated a moment, not sure if looking at her reflection was a fruitful idea. Her airfilter felt dirtier than usual, and she wished for a car wash.

After cleaning herself up, Melise exited the powder room. Her thoughts began to race as she tried to ignore Jackson's familiar voice reverbing on the loud microphone as he wowed his crowd in the other room. He was a growing revving and rolling icon.

Settling in the emptied carpet hallway, Melise breathed a sigh on her sore treads. She was alone as staff went to hear his toast on the event floor. Looking around the environment, she took in the trims of silver velvets, a red floor carpet leading from a galleria at the end of the hall, toward the patron floor.

She took a glance at the analog clock hung neatly in gold above the wall, it was just past 10:40 PM. Her little show next door was finished hours ago. Melise could try to remember what her instructions to do during an emergency were had Jackson Storm not been clouding her judgement. What were the odds he was here too...

Melise hadn't seen the race car in months. His prideful attitude growing wild since then. He about shot daggers her way once he saw her little get up. She could've felt beautiful in it had he not scorned her.

She listened as cheers echoed out of the event hall, a meddling feeling of content that it went well for him on her thoughts. Jackson worked hard for his praise, even if he was mean sometimes...

How did he know about her and IGNTR? Surely, news spread fast, but only about cars who mattered. Did Edison really send those criminal— but elegant shots of her first run-through to EVERYONE with IGNTR? A pith of guilt and embarrassment shocked her circuits as she imagined Jackson's reaction. He must've tossed the posters in the trash.

Melise blinked the fatigue away, watching through the translucent glass as blobs of vehicles moved about, their identities too blurred to make out. She headed to the veranda out back. If she looked flustered now, white polish wasn't going to hide it. She couldn't stand to be near him, he drained her heart out, and if she went back to the cream-brick hotel next door, she would have other problems to deal with.

Something about him seemed so real, as if he understood her at some point in time, as if they knew each other... or maybe wanted to know each other. The way his eyes seemed to light up when he scared her coworkers off the track, to give them both peace and quiet. When he actually came to her on her last day to apologize, to bid her farewell...

The view was beautiful, a clear night sky and a cool breeze to clear the clog in her air filter.

Melise closed her lids, pondering the laid-back look of indifference on Jackson's face. The way he spoke to her, he was never angry until he needed to be. When he won, she could feel her own excitement and joy, knowing he was going to have something to bring pleasure in his life.

The way he flexed his jaw and smiled for cameras... his genuine smile her way, causing her heart to flutter...

"Enjoying the view... Lychee?"

Melise's eyes shot open, the adrenaline rushed through her like coolant. His voice was low and addressing. She turned to see Jackson, he had his weight leaned against the door frame, his expression satisfied as usual.

"Lychee?" Melise repeated, her words were nearly a whisper as her face remained blank, confused.

"I'd call you Peaches, but you aren't that color anymore," his sonorous voice replied.

He was blocking the exit, trapping her in his presence. Melise wasn't going to run— not this time. No more running away.

"Jackson," her voice was soft as his eyes acknowledged her, very little malice in his expression, "I want to talk."

He digested her graceful admittance, expecting this interaction to go down with a fight of words. She was calmer, her voice matched her body language for once.

"Finally giving up, huh?" Jackson's reply was swift. He closed the patio door, turning to face her in their privacy, "Good, I've got a lot of questions."

The racer seemed to think for a moment, lost for words. Melise noticed his lost train of thoughts, taking her initiative to speak.

"I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life afterwards," the convertible said, her voice stammering slightly as she thought her words over. choosing carefully, "Maybe go to school... University, you know? I'd... thought about it."

Jackson was dumbfounded with her words, she didn't have to talk like some philosophy coach, assuming he could piece together her wild imagination.

"Well, I got an opportunity in the form of a car representing the rim industry visiting me," Melise explained. "I figured, why not?"

Jackson rolled closer, his grim look returning, "You didn't stop and think, this sounds ridiculous?"

"Of course I did," Melise answered. She gestured her tires, "I didn't know I would have to wear these heavy things."

He acknowledged her words, annoyance still brewing in his eyes.

"And then?"

"And then I..." her words trailed off as she tried to piece her story together clearly. There were so many ups and downs.

"I had fun." Melise stated, her eyes batted away from his glare most of the conversation, connected to his in an instant. A hopeful twinkle in her gaze.

"Fun? Are you serious? Is that what you call prancing around in my sponsor?" Jackson's cut was on cue as he saw her frown soon appear.

"So let me get this straight," his mature voice cornered her, "You didn't even want to model for that— what was it? Element Rims? But you decided to anyway. Then you got all sheepish, weak and whiny as usual, and almost gave up..."

His sentence took a pause, letting his stab of her ego settle in.

"Then you decided, 'I wanna try again even though I can hardly move in tires made for a race car', and you somehow made it this far."

Melise blinked rapidly, the pith of her tank feeling numb. Jackson glanced up in mocked thought, piecing together her meddling life.

"Why does it make you so a—"

"Didn't I ask you to explain? Now you wanna ask me questions!?" he cut her off, uninterested in what she had to say. "You know I got you your little chance at fame, and you actually try to make it into the spotlight where you don't fit in? Now you're showing up at my party like some VIP guest."

Rage burned on her eyes, Melise wasn't going to back down now.

"And you think you're any better!? Being a jackass to everyone you meet!" she raised herself up in intimidation, watching his face turn sour, "Without your fans and the Piston Cup Series, maybe you would be street racing alone somewhere!"

A security sports-utility vehcle pushed open the door beside the IGNTR race car, hearing the erupting exchange.

"Better than prancing around pageants and shaking bumpers for cheap and trashy income!" Jackson scorned, ignoring the truck beside him rushing in to push the two cars further apart as they gradually closed in on each other.

"You always have to twist things! That's not what I'm doing at all!" Melise squeaked out before the security truck covered her mouth with his tread. The other blocking Jackson from getting any closer.

"Who are you? I don't need security here, she's just some little kid," Jackson said annoyed.

"I'm not a little kid," Melise managed to dish in the dying moment. Shoving the dirty ture away from her lips. She hovered her eyes down to the floor, feeling defeated.

"So that's what this is, huh?" Jackson turned, his engine revving, "Let's just forget everything before."

Melise kept her pout away from the race car's fuming glare. He soon departed, accelerating inside to his venue. The echo of Storm's engine rocketted into the night sky. After a brief moment of silence, Melise could read the security car's mind.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He spoke, ready to escort her away from him again.

The feeling was all too familiar.