Chapter 1 #2
“I’m sorry, Ronnie.” Sloane shook her head. “I don’t think I’m the best fit. Trust me when I tell you to call Jeff White or Melinda Nash. Either would do a fantastic job getting your drivers ready for F1. I’m a distant has-been away from the circuit for far too long to be of help.”
“I’m not accepting an answer today. Today is just a conversation.” Veronica said it as simply as she would her sandwich order.
Sloane laughed, reminded of Veronica’s tenacity. “I didn’t realize. Excuse my mistake. I’ll tell you no tomorrow instead since it sits better with your schedule.”
Veronica held up a manicured finger. “I want you to take a look at my offer first. It’ll be in your inbox before you get home.”
“Are you planning to throw money at me? I’m a Foster for God’s sake.
” It was challenging to woo the rich. Sloane was the granddaughter of Benjamin Foster, who’d founded Foster Foods in the 1960s.
Her brother, Royce, now ran the very successful company, responsible for a variety of hugely popular brands on grocery store shelves.
They were a well-known, well-to-do family.
Racing was an expensive sport, and without her family’s money, Sloane wouldn’t have had half the opportunities that had come her way.
“The money is mediocre. I can admit that,” Veronica said, as if not pleased with that part. “We’re new and not exactly rolling in cash. Yet. I’m hoping when we wow the masses, that will change.”
Sloane laced her fingers under her chin and rested her elbows on the table, lured by the glint in Veronica’s eyes. “What’s your plan for the wow factor?”
“I’m pulling in a few new drivers who might … garner us some attention. The kind that sparkle.”
Sloane narrowed her gaze. “You’re padding your leaderboard with eye candy?”
“No, but … yes.” Veronica leaned in. “How are women supposed to gain traction in this sport? We have to create our own opportunities, and recruiting a high-profile driver or two into the academy is good for them and good for us. And if they bring their Instagram following with them, even better. Advertisers will love it.” She sipped her latte like a cat enjoying its cream.
Sloane was reminded that racing wasn’t just a sport, it was a business. “Who do you have in mind?”
“I’ll send you the file tonight. I’d love to have you on board.”
“I don’t want to look at your file.” Sloane knew the moment she opened the door to that world, it would be hard to close it. Veronica knew it, too, which was why the ambush was planned. Sloane would have summarily declined the meeting, the way she was declining this file.
“Can we get you two anything else?” Autumn, the owner of the coffee shop, asked.
Her red curls were gorgeous today, and her bright smile filled the room with the kind of positivity one couldn’t bottle.
Sloane really liked Autumn. They’d even gone on one date once upon a time, well over a decade ago, and quickly realized they were way better suited as friends, which they’d been ever since.
The Cat’s Pajamas was Sloane’s favorite haunt when she was home for any stretch of time, her morning security blanket.
Veronica looked up, smiling at Autumn. “I don’t understand how this coffee is so good.”
Autumn placed a hand on her hip and leaned in. “Because I’m a woman obsessed with my craft.”
“It’s true.” Sloane grinned and sat back. “I’ve traveled the world and never found anywhere as good.”
“I wouldn’t mind a second one of these to go,” Veronica said with a hopeful look. “It’s a lavender latte.”
“My specialty. Coming right up.” Autumn headed to the front of the shop and, once she was safely past their table, gestured to Veronica, added a saucy look, then raised her palms in silent question.
Oh. She wanted to know if Sloane and Veronica were a thing.
A romance. A couple. A forbidden tryst. Sloane shook her head emphatically, prompting Veronica to frown and flip around in curiosity.
The idea of romancing Veronica Vance, the strongest-willed woman in the world, was laughable.
She’d eat Sloane alive. Not that Sloane didn’t love her type A, highly driven friend.
“Was that charades?” Veronica asked. “Am I the subject of a silent TED talk?”
“Yes,” Sloane said without hesitation as Autumn, wide-eyed, scurried away, caught and convicted in the romance-themed pantomime act.
“But as an act of penance, I’ll put that second coffee on my tab.
” She stood. “Thanks for making the trip. I’m sorry to disappoint you about the academy.
But here’s the thing. I know it’s going to be revolutionary in your hands, and I will be cheering you on every step of the way. ” She meant it, too.
Veronica didn’t flinch. “Look at the file, Sloane. For me.”
She sighed, crumbling like a sandcastle in high tide. “I’ll give it a glance, but only because you once bought my dinner when I left my wallet in that cab that smelled like seaweed.”
“Well, thank God for seaweed cabs. And just take a little glance through. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Will do.”
Sloane left Veronica at the Cat’s Pajamas, still shocked by her visit and the ripple it left in its wake.
Her morning had just been tossed into the air with pieces of herself and memories raining down all around her.
She attempted to pick them up, each one a reminder of the past she’d been forced to move on from.
Her racing days had meant everything to her, but she had no intention of returning to them.
It was a powder keg that was best not to disrupt.
Later that night, after a Zoom call with Honda to go over their new engine upgrades, Sloane poured herself a glass of the Bordeaux she’d picked up last week in France.
She could unwind with that new medical drama everyone was talking about or maybe start a new book.
She’d been on a biography kick lately, with the most recent from Michelle Obama having energized her for more.
Then she remembered her promise to Veronica and the email she’d seen sneak into her inbox a few hours earlier.
She could take a few moments to check that box and officially let Veronica know she wasn’t interested in working with the academy’s slate of drivers.
Settling in on her ridiculously comfortable cream-colored sofa and careful not to spill her wine, Sloane flipped open her laptop and started to read.
Not only had Veronica included the offer, but she had also taken it a step further and attached the schedules, goals, rankings, and dossiers for each driver.
Before Sloane realized it, over an hour had passed as she pored through the material, lost down the rabbit hole into a world that used to be her one true love.
The pull was still there and just as potent as ever.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. She ran a hand through her blond hair, half aware of the dangerous game she was playing but too hyped up to rein herself in.
She scrolled back to the schedule and, just for fun, compared it to her own.
Only a couple of actual conflicts because she refused to book herself too far out.
She liked keeping her options open, going where the water was warm.
She’d had no idea she’d be in France earlier this month until days before. Just how she liked it.
But, wait. Was she actually considering Veronica’s offer?
She took a fortifying breath, did something she’d never done, and let herself go there.
Sloane closed her eyes and let herself drift back to her F1 days.
The roar of engines pressed against her chest like a living thing, vibrating through her bones.
The smell of burning rubber and hot oil clung to the air, mingling with the faint tang of sweat.
Her hands flexed as she remembered the feel of the steering wheel, slick and warm from countless laps, fingers tightening instinctively around the worn grip.
The tires screamed over asphalt, a high-pitched wail that was both terrifying and intoxicating.
Wind whipped against her helmet, carrying with it the taste of dust and adrenaline, and she could almost feel the centrifugal pull of corners, her body leaning into the curves as if the car and she were one.
For a moment, every worry melted away, leaving only the pure, unfiltered thrill of speed and control.
For a brief moment, she lost herself in the sensory overload.
Dizzying. Wonderful. That is, until she remembered how it all ended and shut the laptop as if it were on fire.
“What are you doing right now?” she asked herself and took a quick lap around her kitchen, needing to burn off this extra energy.
“This is a bad idea, and you know it.” Sometimes hearing her voice out loud served as a wake-up call.
But not tonight because it was already too late.
Somehow, the mixture of Veronica’s words and the lure of the world she used to know had worked their way beneath her skin.
Two days later, she called Veronica.
“I wondered when I might hear from you,” Ronnie said instead of hello.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sloane paused but only briefly. “So, when do you want me there?”
Reese scanned the beige and blue living room of the junior suite she’d been housed in for Formula Next’s opening weekend in Miami.
She’d arrived well in advance of race weekend to meet the other drivers in the academy and attend the various events Veronica Vance had arranged.
There was a reception on the schedule, a few presentations, some press junkets, and some meet and greets with fans to get everyone excited for the upcoming season.
She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail as she moved through the small space. While the academy felt like a step down from F2, she was also grateful she’d landed anywhere at all after the disastrous end to her season.