Chapter 3
THIS IS FINE
The room had been dressed to impress. Sleek cocktail tables draped in white linen were scattered across the glossy parquet floor, each crowned with flickering votives and delicate arrangements of tropical orchids.
Nice touch. Waiters in crisp black uniforms floated through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes and artfully plated hors d’oeuvres.
“Those look too pretty to eat,” Julie whispered as a server glided by with canapés.
“Yeah, Veronica Vance doesn’t mess around,” Reese whispered back, feeling intimidated for the first time in quite a while. She couldn’t pronounce half these foods.
“I see Rodney,” Julie whispered, gesturing toward Ravensport’s team principal.
Rodney Krauss oversaw both the drivers and the myriad of people supporting them.
He was at the top of the pyramid and also their boss, meaning they’d have daily interactions.
Academy or not, Ravensport took winning seriously and wanted as many points on the board as possible.
“I’m going to go check with him about the tire degradation data we received. ”
“Okay. Let him know I’m flexible on strategy,” Reese said, wanting to start the series as a team player. The one-woman show had never served her well, so her goal was to collaborate more. Not always insist she knew best. She could do that. Right?
Alone now, she studied the room. The buzz of conversation was thick, easy, practiced.
Everyone was already slipping into the rhythm of a season that hadn’t even begun.
Reese spotted a few familiar faces—two drivers she’d tangled with in karting days, one who’d beaten her soundly in a rain-soaked final.
Others she recognized only from her late-night Googling before hopping on the plane: names she’d studied, stats she’d memorized, faces that still felt like cutouts from someone else’s highlight reel.
She blew out a breath and adjusted her posture, trying to project confidence, but the memory of her earlier blunder with Sloane Foster tugged at her like a loose thread.
“Reese, hey.”
She turned at the sound of her name to see Delaney Rhodes, one of her truly good friends from when she was just a kid racing go-karts.
It had been what, a couple of years since they’d seen each other?
Delaney looked awesome as always, fashion-forward with a nod to European trends.
Tonight, she wore black pants, sockless loafers, and a sleeveless white blouse that showed off her fabulous arms. Her thick, chestnut hair was loose past her shoulders and shiny, offering the slightest, God-given wave.
A lopsided grin tugged at her mouth, the same one Reese remembered from podium photos years ago.
Delaney always managed to look effortlessly cool with a sweetness one didn’t suspect lurking behind the very chill persona.
Reese grinned, a little tension slipping from her shoulders at the sight of a familiar face.
“I was starting to think you’d ghosted me,” Reese said, breaking into a grin as she pulled Delaney into an immediate hug.
They were headed into the academy as teammates—the two drivers signed by Ravensport—and Reese couldn’t imagine a better pairing.
Delaney was fast, fearless, and exactly the kind of competition Reese wanted beside her instead of across the garage.
The fact that they’d both be wearing Ravensport royal blue only sweetened this new chapter of her career.
Their connection had always worked like this: no warm-up required.
Time fell away the second they were together, and they slid easily back into the rhythm of talking trash, trading life updates, comparing love-life disasters, and joking about which one of them would cross the finish line first.
“Did you ever imagine us here when we were teenagers? This close to it all?" Delaney glanced around, eyes wide, as if having stumbled into Disney World as a child. “We’re on an actual scout list for Formula 1.”
“No. I definitely didn’t,” Reese said. “We’re karters.” She leaned closer, not wanting to let anyone else in on the imposter syndrome. “Where are the hot dog stands and dollar-fifty beers, because this reception is not that.”
“Right? I’m feeling very much out of my league. Looking around this room, I see why they call F1 a rich man’s sport.”
Reese stepped closer. “Let’s make it so they can’t use the word man in that descriptor ever again.”
“I volunteer as tribute,” Delaney said to a laugh from Reese, who hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. Thank God for the friends who knew the real her.
“I think I could actually get used to this. F2 was cutthroat, but they didn’t throw us too many fancy parties. Make that zero.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been stuck in the Indy world and trying to find a way back to civilization.”
“All it takes is the right sponsor.” Reese wouldn’t be anywhere near the cost-prohibitive sport without people willing to back her financially. She didn’t come from money the way so many of her competitors had and wouldn’t have had a shot without convincing rich people to take a chance on her.
“Easy for you to say.” Delaney popped her in the arm. “People love you wherever you go. They want a conversation, a photo, or to join your latest live stream.” Delaney tossed her hair back as if to imitate Reese and underline the allure.
Reese laughed. “Well, I happen to like you, so you can come on my live stream anytime you want. And sponsors? You just have to get out there and hustle. Turns out, I can hustle my goddamn ass off.”
Delaney gave Reese’s chin a shake. “It helps when you look like this cover girl right here. Looks good on an energy drink poster. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that you on the cardboard cutout in the lobby?” It had been. One of her sponsors had it flown in.
“No comment.” Reese grinned because Delaney didn’t mean any harm, but her spirits took a dip, nonetheless.
Reese didn’t aspire to be a spokesperson for any product.
She didn’t want to be known for the cardboard cutout.
It was a necessary part of her job to keep the funds flowing.
At the very least, she hoped the racing world saw more in her driving than an opportunity to sell a drink. Sometimes she wasn’t so sure.
“Hey. You know I’m just messing with you, right?
” Delaney asked quietly with her signature arched brow.
She must have sensed Reese’s energy shift, having always been good at that kind of thing.
On the outside, Delaney Rhodes came off like a badass, but underneath, she was a thoughtful, sensitive soul.
“Yes, and you can fuck right off,” Reese said back with a shoulder bump, attempting to let her off the hook.
“There’s the Reese I know.” The two of them shared a smile hung on years of shared experience.
They’d always vibed in the midst of friendly competition that simmered underneath.
That was just part of racing. Everyone wanted to win, and that meant taking down the driver in front of you, even if you liked them.
Yep, it would be fun to race Delaney again.
She was quick and feisty behind the wheel, and the two of them had been known to mix it up.
One of their more notorious scuffles ended with Delaney tossing her helmet across the driver’s lounge and calling Reese a reckless and selfish dick.
They’d made up two hours later over a beer and girl-watching on the Las Vegas strip.
Delaney lifted her chin, which meant they were shifting into shop talk. “Ready for this weekend?”
“Hell, yeah. It’s been a minute since I drove under a checkered flag. Feeling a bit of withdrawal from high-adrenaline curves and fighting with assholes like you on the straights.”
“As long as you get out of my way.”
Reese tilted her head. “Or you could get out of mine. Just an idea.”
“Careful, Reese. If you’re seeing my front wing, it means you’re already in trouble.”
“Good. I like starting the weekend in trouble.”
Delaney laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, drawing a glance from a man in a thousand-dollar suit.
Reese felt herself relax, reminded that even though the league was new, the heart of it all was still racing.
This was her element—and she was among her friends.
They were built the same, and there was something comforting in that.
“It’s more than good to see you, Delaney.”
“Right? Can we hang out later? I can introduce you to some of the others.”
“I’d love that.”
At that point, the room seemed to quiet, which prompted them both to turn. “If I could have everyone’s attention, I’d like to say a few words.” Veronica Vance, in a gorgeous, dignified blue cocktail dress, stood before a podium and a microphone.
“First of all, thank you for being here on such a special occasion. Tonight, we celebrate more than just the start of Formula Next’s first-ever season—we celebrate the village it takes to be here.
Each of you, drivers and team members alike, represents the future of this sport.
You’ve pushed through late nights in the garage, early mornings on the track, and countless moments where most people would’ve quit. But you didn’t.”
Reese swallowed, nodding along with Veronica’s words because they rang true.