Chapter Seventeen
Asher
Ican admit to myself that the intern is not only a real-life fantasy, she’s also good.
Very good. Meticulous to a fault, though—she makes me repeat the same shit ten, twenty, fifty times over so she can ‘gather data’.
But, the day before we leave for Bahrain, the full-race simulation run we do proves that I didn’t just waste two weeks of my life with a clueless intern.
The sim run itself is nerve-wracking on its own, because I was a new level of shit at Suzuka—and Victoria plugs me straight into the race from my position in qualifying, keeping all the cars that were in the race in the same position—in other words, with a much better shot of success than me.
She implements a typical tyre strategy, and from the moment the lights go out, speaks calm directions in my ear.
One thing I’ve learned over the last weeks is that her voice is distracting as fuck. It’s pitched low and filled with allure. It isn’t difficult to imagine her murmuring “please, fuck me” in that voice.
“Target is holding position for the first few laps,” she says. “Don’t do anything crazy—we need to get the tyres and brakes warm.”
Most engineers wouldn’t expand on their directives—they aim to speak as little as possible, only saying just enough to give instructions.
I like the sound of her voice enough not to tell her to shut up, so I just follow directions. The first couple of laps are simple enough. The issue comes on lap three, when I’m about to switch into boost mode to attack.
“Hold position,” she murmurs, anticipating my move and telling me to stay as I am. “Don’t get impulsive. Your attack won’t be successful.”
“How the hell do you know?” I hiss, thumb hovering over the boost button. “I’m still P22. I can take him.”
“Trust me,” she murmurs quietly. “I’ve studied the race. You’ll get your chance soon.”
I let out a blistering string of curses, but return my thumb to the wheel. If she’s wrong, and if I don’t do any better in this simulation than I did during the race, I’ll know I need to find someone else to help me.
On lap 4, her directive comes. “Attack Cartwright the next straight. Wait for my word.” My heart speeds, and I focus on the car hovering just under a second in front of me.
Under a second… the next straight is an activation zone. I know her directive before it comes, but it still thrills me when she says the word. “X-mode. Go.”
I flick the switch, smash my foot on the pedal with way more force than necessary. Cartwright’s car swivels to defend, but I overtake him. Excitement shoots up my spine, and a tingle of elation prickles at my lips. I almost smile.
Twenty laps later, I’ve moved from P22 to P18 when Victoria tells me to box for a tyre change. In other words, lose my progress and risk my position for fresh rubber when mine still feel fine.
“No,” I hiss.
Again, she says in that calm voice, “Trust me.”
It might make me a complete moron, but I do. When I get back out, I’m back to P20.
Fifteen laps, several attacks, and countless defenses later, I’m P15. Which is one of my best finishes in years.
I drop to P17 by lap 42, and back to P15 by lap 50.
On the final lap, 53, Victoria’s directives are so rapid-fire they’re hard to keep up with. I don’t agree with all of them, but I execute them anyway.
I overtake a car in the final corner—an extremely risky maneuver—and rocket up to P14.
P14 in itself isn’t a fantastic result. It’s midfield, nowhere near a points finish, but compared to fucking P22, it’s an astronomical difference.
I know it’s just a simulation and has no bearing on my real-life standing, but it represents the first morsel of hope that I can adapt to all of F1’s constantly evolving rules, and I can still do reasonably well in spite of them.
There’s no guarantee this is a replicable success.
Victoria and I both studied the race extensively—we knew what was coming, and she employed the exact strategies to help me.
At the Bahrain Grand Prix, she won’t know the actions of other drivers.
I’m not sure how her model works, but I’m pretty sure it can’t predict other cars’ behaviors—yet.
Still. If I can implement the strategies and maneuvers I practiced today, I’ll certainly do better than P22.
I’m just not sure if my success was due to what I was doing… or who was telling me to do it. My knee-jerk reaction to the engineers who speak to me during races is to tell them to back the fuck off. Listening to them hasn’t gone well for me in the past.
I’ll figure it out. My success isn’t just dictated by an intern; it’s dictated by me.
Though it wouldn’t hurt to have her in my ear during the race, I don’t want her to think she’s special.
Isn’t she?
Ignoring the voice in my head, I stretch out my cramped body and neck, and head out into the sim control.
There, I don’t just find Victoria, like I’m expecting to. Several people are gathered. Declan, Thomas, Ethan—the idiot engineer whose directives I pointedly ignore during races—and worst of all, Elio.
He’s talking to my intern. She’s sitting at her desk, laptop half-closed, and leaned back in her chair. He’s hovering over her, one hip propped on the desk, arms folded.
A fine red haze covers my vision. What the fuck is he doing here?
“Asher.” Ilya swivels to face me. His face is scrunched in concentration, and his eyes are narrowed. “What the fuck happened in there?”
I glower at him. “You make it sound like I killed someone.”
“No, you did something worse.” He walks up to me. “You just gave me hope.” His expression is furious. “If you’re capable of driving like that, what the hell have you been doing the last two years?”
Ah. That’s his point of anger. I should probably deescalate, but seeing Elio leaning closer to Victoria in my periphery doesn’t help my mood. “Ignoring the baseless bullshit you and the others spew in my ear.”
“Baseless bullshit?” Ilya repeats. Some people get very loud when they’re angry; Ilya is the type whose voice lowers to a chilling whisper.
“The orders we give you are informed on years of experience, and they’re tailored to your perceived skillset.
If you had shown us that you had even a molecule of your previous skill, our order would’ve been vastly different—but it wouldn’t matter, because you never bother listening to them.
” He shakes his head, flicking a glance to the ceiling.
“Explain to me why you ignored me for two years but listen to an intern you profess to hate after two months.”
That is a question I don’t know how to answer. Frankly, I’m not ready to find the answer to it yet.
I yawn. “Are we done here?”
Ilya’s jaw flexes. “I want to see you drive like that this weekend.”
“Then I want her in my ear.” I bite my tongue as soon as the words are out. I should not be showing my hand right now, just like I shouldn’t be developing such a keen interest in the intern.
“You want special privileges? Earn them. She’ll be next to Ethan during qualifiers and the race. They’ll be discussing directives before he issues them.”
“You’ll tell him to listen to her.” God, why am I incapable of shutting the fuck up?
Ilya’s a smart man, and despite his usually-refined behavior, he’s a shark when he smells blood in the water.
Tipping my hand to him, especially when I’ve spent the last two years on the team disrespecting him, gives him leverage that he doesn’t deserve.
Ilya watches me for a few beats, shakes his head, and walks away. Declan and Ethan follow closely behind him, though Declan pauses to clap my shoulder and offer me a nod of approval.
“Elio, get out,” I growl.
Elio looks up, affecting an expression of sheer surprise. “Pardon?”
“Get the fuck out,” I repeat. “I booked the time in this room, and that is my intern. Leave.”
Victoria pins me with a chilling glare, but Elio simply rolls his eyes. “Just because you did decently well in a simulator one time does not give you the standing to bark orders. You’re being disgustingly…” he grimaces. “You.”
“My apologies. Unlike yourself, I’m incapable of changing personalities to please the cameras every twenty seconds.” I notch my chin at the door. “Go.”
Elio’s jaw flexes. He looks between me and Victoria, eyes glinting with something calculating, making me ache to punch his lights out. “Very well. I’m not known to stay where I’m unwanted.” He recovers with his usual bullshit smile. “Victoria, I’d love to hear more about your work soon.”
Victoria and I watch him exit in charged silence.
When the door eases shut behind him, she turns to face me.
Her lips pull up into a tentative smile.
“Good work,” she says. “That was a gigantic improvement. Honestly, I was hoping to get you bumped up to P19 or P18. You’re…
” she clears her throat. “You’re a good driver. ”
I’m also rusty as fuck when it comes to certain maneuvers. I foresee a lot of time spent in that simulation chamber between races… and as long as Victoria’s here, I don’t mind that as much as I should.
“Do you—” I cut off to clear my throat. “Do you want to get dinner?” The offer comes out more like a threat, because apparently, years of being nothing but an asshole make me incapable of being nice for even a few seconds. Even to someone who’s just dedicated the last two weeks to me.
She’s assigned to me and my car, yes, but what she’s done is going above and beyond.
Victoria casts me a startled glance. “Um…” she looks back to her laptop. “I need to get all of today’s information inputted and processed, and test iterations through my algorithm to see how close projections were to reality—”
“You can do all of that nerd stuff after.” I don’t know where the sudden urge to spend time with her has come from—maybe it’s because she’s proved herself more tolerable than everyone else on this team.
“Is this a…” she frowns. “A thank-you dinner?”
“For doing your job?” I scoff. “Please. It’s a ‘I haven’t seen you eat all day and I can’t have a lawsuit filed against me for abuse’ dinner. Pack your shit and let’s go. I’ll meet you out front.”
On my way out, I hear her mutter, “Charming as ever.”