Chapter 28
Milton Keynes, United Kingdom
Orbital Campus
OTC
Lou Wilson’s office has floor-to-ceiling windows and an unobstructed bird’s-eye view of the OTC lake. If I had Zen scenery like this, I would use my office a lot more than the three, four times a year he comes in. But then, I’m not a billionaire.
“Justine. Please sit.” Lou sweeps his arm across his wide onyx table. It has only four seats, though it could easily fit a ten-course Thanksgiving dinner.
I choose the chair across from Lou. The leather padding smells like the inside of a new Lamborghini.
“Morning, Justine.” Frank gives me a reassuring smile, though today, I don’t need it.
“Now, I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise, but after much consideration and discussion…” Lou draws out his last word for effect. “We’ve decided you are our choice for the F2 seat next year. Here’s your contract. Please review and have it back to us within the week.”
I automatically reach out to receive the stack of paper Lou slides in front of me. The contract is printed on thick, textured parchment. It’s funny to think I would have kissed the ground to have gotten this, to hear Lou say the magical words, only a few days ago.
“Congratulations, Justine. I know it hasn’t been the smoothest of seasons, but you prevailed, and we’re very excited for next year.
” Lou smiles benevolently, as if he wasn’t the one who decided to fire me after the tabloid article, leaving me to fight my own publicity battle after using me as ammo all season.
I thumb through the pages. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t accept.”
“Excuse me?” Lou’s smile vanishes.
“While I have greatly enjoyed my time at Orbital”—I recite the words I scripted out yesterday—“I have decided to accept another offer that was made in the interim. I’ll be moving to Maranello and driving for Marino next year.”
The look of absolute shock on his face is both insulting and satisfying. It clearly never crossed his mind that another team would give me a contract.
“Are you sure about this?” Frank speaks up. “You’ve already been with us for a year. You have a good rapport with the engineers, the mechanics. That can be hard to replicate.”
He’s right. It is more work to go to a new team.
To build up relationships and prove myself all over again.
But I’d rather take my chances with the group that backed a low-level female employee against a top-performing F1 driver than the one that hung me out to dry at the first sign of trouble.
Not to mention, Mom wrote into my contract that any contemplated Marino female-empowerment campaigns using my likeness need to be run by us first. Not because I don’t want them—I can’t wait—but so we can make sure the messaging is authentic and true.
Lou turns red. “This is ridiculous. You have no idea what you’re doing, little girl. That team is brutal to their drivers. They’ll chew you up, spit you out.”
“I think I can handle it. It’s not like I haven’t already been chewed up and spat out this year.” This wasn’t part of my planned speech, but I couldn’t help myself. I push back my chair and stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have packing to do.”
“Fair’s fair,” Frank says. “Good luck, Justine.” I swear there’s an approving gleam in his eye if I look hard enough.