Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Bex
T he conference room at the Guildford headquarters is small, its walls bare except for a single screen displaying the replay of the Jeddah race. It’s just me, Hendrik, Matthieu and Nash seated around the sleek black table, our goal today to further deconstruct what happened and apply our learned lessons to Melbourne.
Bernie isn’t present because he’s officially in backup driver position now and won’t be called upon to attend any strategy sessions, although he’ll continue to work in the simulator on the off chance he’s needed.
But for now, we are focusing on Nash and Matthieu and the strategies we will employ for them individually and as a team.
Matthieu sits across from me, his arms crossed and a scowl etched on his face, which I’ve come to conclude has everything to do with me. He is open, gregarious and engaging with Hendrik and the other engineers, but with me… I’m still the enemy. I’m guessing there’s no forgiveness for what I said to him after the Jeddah race, and I’m sure he even blames me for the hard line Luca took with him.
I can’t let that deter me though.
He’s also got an attitude with Nash at times. It’s a hit-or-miss kind of thing, but there’s no doubt he has some jealousy brewing since Nash has been slotted as the number one driver. That means he gets the best car and the first crack at upgrades, which will always put him in a stronger position.
Hendrik is to my right, scrolling through his tablet, occasionally glancing my way with an expression I can’t quite read. Nash sits back in his chair, legs stretched out, his sharp hazel eyes watching everything unfold with a casualness I find oddly comforting.
He left my flat early this morning, both of us having managed to fall back asleep following his nightmare. He drifted off quickly and I marveled at his lack of fear that another nightmare might hit him.
I wasn’t so lucky. I found sleep hard to attain as I brooded over the entire interaction. It wasn’t the horror of the night terror and how bad I felt for him, but rather how badly his distance hurt me. He never had to come out and say the words directly, but there’s no doubt he’s not as confident about our reconnection as I am. I was forthright in my feelings, having given in to them the minute we kissed. Conversely, he was quick to shut them down and was clear… he can’t promise me anything.
One would think that would mean we just cut our losses and go our separate ways, intent on being nothing more than business teammates. But he confused the hell out of me just before he left this morning. He pulled me into his arms, kissed me so sweetly I almost swooned and asked, “Can I stay again tonight?”
I should have said no, because this probably has disaster written all over it, but I can’t push him away. I want the opportunity to try to get back what we once had, even if there’s a chance it could destroy me in the process.
“You can stay with me every night,” I replied.
The blinding smile I got gave me hope, especially when he said, “I’ll pack a bag with a few things, so I don’t have to go back and forth to my place.”
With the remote control, I pause the race footage at the exact moment Matthieu went flying past the pit entry, ignoring the call to box. My stomach burns not only with anger but with the humiliation that he so blatantly ignored me. I keep my expression neutral.
“Let’s start with the undercut,” I say, my voice steady. “Matthieu, we had a clear opportunity to gain three positions. The data was sound. You were losing time on worn tires, and the call to pit was the right one.”
“So I’ve been told on more than one occasion,” he snaps, his French accent thick with irritation. “Do I have to hear it again? Besides, I know the way the car was feeling, and I think it was just as plausible for me to stay out. The pit change was a second too long, so I’m not fully to blame.”
Hendrik clears his throat, his gaze flicking to me. “Matthieu does have a point. Drivers have a certain feel for the car that data can’t always capture. We do need to balance that.”
I grit my teeth, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Hendrik wasn’t there for the dressing-down Luca gave Matthieu following the race and it’s clear here today, Hendrik isn’t going to have my back the way our team principal does.
I hold my ground though because Luca isn’t involved at this level, and I have to handle this on my own. “The data is more objective than a driver’s gut. Historically, we rely on it time and again to make those decisions.” I feel like I’m on auto repeat with the same words, desperate to get them to sink in. “The lap times were dropping. The cars around him were pitting and gaining time on fresh tires. The undercut wasn’t just a gamble—it was a calculated move that would’ve worked if it had been followed.”
“And yet, it didn’t work,” Matthieu says, leaning forward, his tone smug. “Because it was a bad strategy.”
My temper flares, but I force myself to stay composed. It’s like arguing with a fucking child, and Hendrik is the bad parent who lets them get away with poor behavior. “No, it didn’t work because you ignored the call. If you can’t trust the strategy, Matthieu, then what’s the point of having a strategist at all? This is a team sport. The success of the team depends on everyone doing their part—including you.”
Matthieu’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might argue further, but he leans back in his chair, his expression stormy.
Hendrik clears his throat again, his tone more measured. “Let’s not dwell on what’s already happened. We need to focus on what we can improve for Melbourne.”
Well, that defeats the whole purpose of having a meeting to deconstruct the errors in the Jeddah race, but I decide to move on. Matthieu is never going to agree with me.
“Fine,” I say, though my voice is clipped. I turn to the screen, switching to footage of Bernie’s collision. “But I want to spend just a moment on this. This crash was avoidable. The call was clear. Maintain pace and conserve tires. Instead, he attempted an overtake that wasn’t there, resulting in unnecessary contact and damage to the car. I want this to be a reminder that while taking risks is a big part of racing, they must be made at the right time. I think some of this can be attributed to Bernie’s inexperience and eagerness to prove himself, but it points out the fundamental differences in our race philosophies. Titans Racing is building their legacy on patience, data-driven decisions and talented drivers. They have to work in harmony.”
A bit of a soapbox moment for me, but it’s just one more way for me to put Matthieu on notice that he must respect the race strategy. Hendrik nods but doesn’t say anything, his silence annoyingly ambiguous.
The meeting continues as we discuss the Melbourne track and last week’s simulation data, which we’ll continue to tweak this week. We also go over our practice strategy for our test time tomorrow on the Silvercrest Circuit.
Thankfully, Nash and Matthieu both have insightful feedback, and we have a somewhat productive discussion. I think that’s only due to the fact that Nash is a professional through and through, and Matthieu seemed to be taking cues from him. Regardless, by the time we wrap up, my nerves are frayed because I spent the entire time bracing for an outburst from Matthieu or an unsupportive comment from Hendrik. There’s no mistaking the vibe of doubt and animosity within the room.
As the others file out, Nash lingers by the door, waiting until it’s just the two of us.
“You did good,” he says, his voice low and steady.
I let out a pent-up laugh, gathering my notes. “It’s so frustrating.”
He steps closer, his gaze softening. “You held your ground, Bex. That’s what matters. They’re just pissed because they know you’re right.”
I shake my head, my anxiety bubbling over now that I have the safety of Nash’s supportive ear. “It’s not just about being right, Nash. It’s about getting them to listen. Matthieu doesn’t trust me. Hendrik doesn’t trust me. How am I supposed to lead a team that doesn’t believe in me?”
“You make them believe,” he says simply. “One race, one strategy, one decision at a time. You’ve already proven you’re capable. They just need to catch up.”
His words hit me in just the right way. It’s the old Nash. The man who was my biggest champion, and I feel a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Anytime.”
No one’s around and it would be the perfect time for him to lean in and kiss me. Or maybe just a touch to my cheek. In the old days, it was natural for those small tokens of affection, but we are in a different time.
“I’ll see you at the simulator run this afternoon,” he says.
I nod. “Yeah. See you then.”
“And I’ll bring dinner over to your apartment tonight.”
“Sure. That would be lovely,” I murmur and then he walks away.
I watch him disappear down the hall, wondering exactly what we are, but it’s probably too early to label things.
Checking my watch, I see I’m running a few minutes behind for my next meeting. Luca requested it, and I have no clue what he wants to talk about. It doesn’t concern me too much as Luca has been supportive of me in all ways, but I also know he’s probably hearing rumblings from Hendrik who’s passing up rumblings from Matthieu.
The door is open when I arrive, and Luca waves me in, gesturing for me to take a seat across from his glass and chrome desk. His office is surprisingly bare, save for a few framed photos of past races and a sleek laptop before him.
He smiles at me, his cheeks ruddy, and I’m guessing he just recently came in from the cold. It was a frigid minus-six degrees Celsius this morning, and the gray overcast skies make it seem even colder.
I sit in one of the two available chairs, perched on the edge, hands in my lap. It’s a position as stiff and uptight as I feel.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, his tone warm but his gaze sharp. “I know you didn’t get off to the best start in Jeddah and I wanted to see how today went.”
“I’m fine,” I say, lifting my chin with an air of confidence. “Looking forward to Melbourne.”
He leans back in his chair, studying me. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, Bex. I know things are challenging right now.”
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. No clue how much he knows. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say carefully, deciding that I’m going to deal with Hendrik and Matthieu on my own.
Luca raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. “Good. I have confidence in you. Now, tell me about your strategy.”
I launch into my plan, outlining the importance of tire management and timing pit stops to capitalize on Melbourne’s unpredictable conditions. Depending on qualifying rounds and grid positions, I might want to employ a bit riskier tire strategy. Luca listens intently, nodding occasionally, his expression thoughtful. I can tell he’s really absorbing what I’m saying, and I see respect in his eyes.
“It’s a solid plan,” he says when I finish. “But Melbourne is tricky. I need you to prepare for contingencies.”
“Of course.”
“And Bex…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let the noise get to you,” he says, his tone firm. “Hendrik, Matthieu—they’re testing you. Push back. Show them why you’re here.”
I nod, his words both comforting and motivating. “I will. Thanks, Luca.”
He smiles faintly. “You’ve got this. Just do what you do best.”
As I leave his office, a renewed sense of determination fills me. The road ahead won’t be easy, but I’m not about to back down.
Not now.
Not ever.
At least where racing is concerned. I have no clue if I can apply that fortitude toward rekindling something with Nash, but that’s so far out of my control, I’ve got no choice but to let him lead things.