Chapter Twenty-Two
Victoria
Everyone on the team is beside themselves with excitement. They act like we’ve just gotten a podium.
I need something to calm my racing heart as the drivers return to the lane and start climbing out, so I take a beat to power on my phone and check it.
There are texts from Delilah and Keith—both of whom are in the loop about the significance of this race, and both of whom congratulate me—along with several messages from my brother.
Only one of them pertains to the race—I want your algorithm, I’ll quadruple your yearly salary/month while you’re DEVELOPING it—the rest of them are regarding Reynard’s rapidly-approaching engagement party.
I ignore Hunt. He knows I won’t take his offer, and I won’t let Reynard take up space in my mind today.
We fought a good fight, and we came out pretty high in the overall placements.
I’m damn proud of the team as a whole… and I’m in a good negotiating position for getting Asher an upgrade package.
I figure I can broach the topic with Ilya when we’re back at HQ.
But first…
“Intern.” Asher and I meet at the garage several minutes later, amidst the chaos and mayhem of the post-race craze. “What made you so hesitant to recommend I attack Novak?”
“Because, historically, you at your best is also you at your most reckless.” My fingers tighten around my tablet.
“What made you think he’d blink first?” There was a moment when both of them nearly drove each other to a crash—Asher should’ve backed down to preserve safety, but he didn’t.
He somehow called that Novak would back off first.
Asher shrugs. “He has a wife and kids.”
I pull my bottom lip into my mouth. There’s the calculated, callous, but not necessarily cruel F1 driver that the team needs.
I did my damn best as his engineer, but every move I recommended was up to him to execute—and he did so brilliantly. I think if he had Elio’s car, which is multiple major upgrades above his, he could’ve done even better.
Asher’s getting where he needs to be for a podium. We’re still a long way off, but he’s sharpening his skills and his claws. The other ingredient for success is a better car.
His car isn’t necessarily bad. I got to take a peek under the hood during setup, and the mechanics walked me through its composition and features in incredible detail. But it isn’t good, either—it’s only decent. It needs to be great if Asher’s going to podium.
“Lawrence.” Ilya makes himself known. “Press conference in 30. Try not to be a complete prick. After that, come to Soren’s office. Declan and I will be waiting for you.”
He makes the instructions sound like a threat, even though they should be congratulating Asher on an excellent performance.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask after Ilya retreats into the throng.
“No. He’ll chew me out for holding back on him, threaten me to keep doing well, and talk next steps.” Asher examines me. “Why? You worried about me?”
My cheeks heat. “Of course not.” Definitely. “I just wouldn’t want you to get sidelined before I get you in the top ten.”
“Before you get me in the top ten.” His lips quirk in amusement. “It’s only been one race. Careful with your confidence. Some people would find it… unattractive.”
My heart sinks. “Do you?”
He pauses. “No. I think it only makes you hotter.” His jaw tightens, and without another word, he melts into the crowd.
Leaving me with my pulse thundering and my panties dampening.
“He said what?” Keith screeches in my ear a few hours later.
We’re on a phone call, and I’m giving him the rundown of the day. Delilah was supposed to join us but got caught up at work.
I grimace. “Take it down a few notches, please. I’m exhausted.”
“I will not take it down, Victoria! Asher Lawrence is one of the hottest, most eligible bachelors in the world. Do you have any idea how many men and women alike have gotten off to pictures of his face? His body? His muscles?”
God, now I need to bleach my ears and my brain. A bathtub full of it couldn’t scrub that image from my mind… or unwind that knot of irritation in my shoulders. “Too much information. If you’ve jerked off to him—”
“Of course I’ve jerked off to him. He’s the sexiest man in F1. His intensity, his scowl.” Keith releases a porn star moan, and I nearly gag. “And he called you hot!” he releases a dramatic sniffle. “My little baby’s growing up.”
“I’m not that much younger than you.”
“Your body count is a fraction of mine, darling. I have eons of experience on you. So.” I hear a rustling in the background, and pray to god it won’t be followed up by the sound of a zipper coming down and Keith fondling himself.
I wouldn’t put it past him—his personality and his profession have turned him into something of a revolutionary sexual icon. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing!” I snap. “He’s dating someone, so—”
“Whatever gave you that impression?”
I tell Keith about the She Asher brought up the first time we went to get a drink. “So, his affections are obviously already spoken for.”
“Affection has nothing to do with it. Stop talking like a regency author. And, even if he is spoken for, there’s nothing wrong with some victory sex.”
“Last time we spoke after a race, you were advocating for hate sex.”
“Well, circumstances change. I will always advocate for Asher Lawrence sex. If you don’t chase it, I certainly will.”
And now, I’m picturing murdering one of my best friends. Wonderful.
“Even if he wasn’t taken and we didn’t hate each other—”
“Please. The two of you working together got him from last place to almost top ten.”
“Even if those things weren’t a consideration,” I go on, pointedly ignoring his interjection, “that doesn’t mean we could ever… be together. There are no-fraternization clauses in the team’s rulebook.”
“I had Delilah take a look at the employee handbook for you when you first got hired,” Keith sing-songs.
“You did what? Why?”
“There’s a loophole around that,” Keith continues, as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s specified that superiors can’t have relations with their underlings because of power imbalance issues. Asher is not technically your superior, so it doesn’t apply to him. You’re free to fuck his brains out.”
I blink. The new tidbit of knowledge should not be as relieving as it is, because I’m not going to act on it. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still in a relationship.”
“Psh. If he were dating, then why isn’t she attending races and cheering him on?
How do you think the lucky lady would feel about all the time he’s been spending with you?
Don’t you think she’d make her presence known and warn you off as a threat?
And, if not, then she doesn’t deserve him.
” Keith sniffs primly. “So, it sounds like he’s free game. ”
“Your outlooks and ethics are severely skewed.”
“I take off my clothes for a living. Did you expect me to be a straight-laced goody-two-shoes like you?” I can almost hear him roll his eyes. “Where is the stunning Mr. Lawrence now?”
I check the time. “Probably at the after-party with everyone else. I saw on social media that he’s at a club—I’m assuming got dragged there after his meeting.” I pause. “Since he’s doing better, the big guys in leadership will want him to have more publicity.”
“So, put on your sexiest outfit and go meet him!”
I gaze at my suitcase, which is still open at the foot of my bed. There is a nice dress in there. I’ve learned to always pack an outfit for every eventuality whenever I travel, including one in case I need to look good and go out.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I lie.
“Please. You’re as neurotic when it comes to packing as you are with numbers. I know you brought something serviceable.”
Despite myself, I do want to seek out Asher, and I want to look good, too. But… “It would be beyond humiliating if I tracked him down and came onto him only to get friend zoned.”
“So don’t act like you’re there for him, silly. Let him come to you. And later, make sure you come hard for him.”
“Keith,” I groan.
“Okay.” His tone sobers. “You want a strategy talk from a professional?”
I squat down by my suitcase and finger the fabric of the dress. It’s velvet, sapphire-blue, and manages to be elegant while showing off skin. I got it when Delilah and I met up in New York over the summer and splurged on a shopping spree.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the strategy professional here,” I say absently.
“When it comes to data, numbers, and algorithms, yes. Not when it comes to seduction. That’s where I’m the professional, and my long roster of relationships attests to it.”
“You call fuck-buddies relationships?”
“No, the media does, and I never turn down publicity. So, strategy.” Keith clears his throat, turning business-like. “Tell me about the afterparty.”
“It’s for the drivers, team, and sponsors to mingle,” I say. “Everyone from the team is technically invited, but usually only the important people show their faces. I am not important enough to go.”
Then why am I clutching the dress?
“Didn’t you say that a sponsor showed interest in your work? Malibu Barbie’s dad?”
I pause. “Yes.”
“Excellent. So, you go to talk to him since you didn’t have a chance to this week, update him on the race, and maybe work him as an investor for your program. Don’t you need money for it?”
“I don’t know. MIT funded all the basic research I needed before getting started, but I guess when it’s finished it might.” I haven’t really thought about that as much as I should.
“Well, it’s nearing completion, isn’t it? So, go work a potential investor, wear something hot, and then take one of the most beautiful men in the world for a spin when he shows up. Simple as that.”
“Simple?” I repeat dubiously.
But… it is. All I need is some confidence to execute the plan, along with a fuckload of courage, because if Asher lets me down or confirms he’s dating—which is seeming increasingly less likely—I’ll be humiliated beyond saving.
“Yes, simple. Text Malibu Barbie if you really want a good reason to be there. Say she invited you.”
“I got a text from her half an hour ago about it,” I murmur. She always messages me about team events. We’ve taken to having coffee at HQ together whenever we can manage it, and I’m finding she’s not as airheaded or unpleasant as I first assumed.
“Perfect, so you already have your reason for showing up. You’re there to talk to her and maybe her father. Let the rest of the cards fall as they will. Now, I’m going to hang up, and you’re going to get prettied up and go out. Deal?”
Shit, shit, shit. I’m actually going to go for it. “Yeah. Deal.”
“That’s my girl.”