Now #2
“Understand,” he carefully starts, “that if I take you in, it means I’ll be kicking out another driver. And while you might be the best in the F4 championship, you’re still in the kiddie pool. F3 is where the action really begins.”
“I get that, sir. But I know for a fact that I’ve never encountered a challenge I couldn’t rise to and conquer. If you take me into your F3 team, I will win.”
The SUV stops, and when I look out the window, I see a black chopper waiting on the tarmac. Mr. Pryce doesn’t make a move to get out, which I take as a good sign.
“Do you know how much it costs to finance a Formula 3 season?” he asks.
“Around a million dollars,” Evie answers. “Two million for F2.”
“So, you’ve done your research. But it means you understand why I don’t easily give random drivers a chance.”
“You’re sinking billions into your dreams of owning a Formula One team. What’s another million dollars at this point?”
Again, he seems to appreciate her directness.
But it’s still not quite enough. So I add, “You don’t know us, and you have no reason to trust what we say, Mr. Pryce.
But if you believe in me and take me into your team, you’ll gain the lifetime loyalty of one of the best drivers in the world.
And I’d say that’s worth a lot more than a million dollars. ”
Something clicks in his expression, like the final barrier breaking, and he carefully says, “If I take you into my team, I will cover your seat, your testing program, and all travel expenses. Formula 3 only has ten race weekends per season, but if I take you in, you will follow a very strict, very demanding training schedule. All prize money and team earnings go through me first. I take my due, nothing more, and give the rest to the drivers. But from experience, even if you win every single race, it won’t be as much as you’re probably imagining.
Sponsor money would be all yours, but again, you need to win for that. ”
“Of course.”
“My F3 and F2 teams are based in Belgium, near Francorchamps. You would relocate there from March to September. Unless you can afford your own place, you will bunk with the others in the team housing. And I’m afraid that means little Miss Fender-Binder here isn’t allowed to come along. Would that be alright with you?”
Fuck, we didn’t think of that. We knew Europe would be the next step, but in my mind, I was never going to move there without her. I turn to her, seeking her gaze so we can try to sort it out.
But, still facing forward, she nods and says, “It’s fine. By the second year, the sponsors will pour in, and we’ll have our own place.”
Pryce laughs, shaking his head. “I like your style, young woman. I should hire you along with him to join my staff. Hell, you’d become the team principal within two months, wouldn’t you?”
“Hire him first, then we’ll see.”
A second passes. Then two. Three. Fifteen full seconds of silence, of him scanning us with intensity. And then he picks up the binder. “I imagine your contact information is in here?”
“Yes. Page two.”
“Perfect. I’ll pass it along to my team principal. She will be in contact with you soon,” he decides before handing the binder to his PA. “Madeline, as soon as we land, I want you to send this to Pattersen. I want her opinion on it ASAP.”
“Of course, Mr. Pryce,” she agrees with a nod.
“Thank you, sir,” we both say at the same time. “And sorry again for throwing the binder at you,” Evie continues with a wince.
“If the promises you’ve made are true, then you’re forgiven.”
Without another word, he exits the car. The PA follows him, offering us a sideways look and a small smile as she slips out. The bodyguards are waiting for them, and they get escorted all the way to the helicopter.
We watch it take off from inside the car, still stunned by the surreal moment we just experienced.
The only thing that breaks us out of this stupor is the partition that lowers behind us.
When I turn, I find the driver twisted to the side.
“I have instructions to drop you off wherever you’d like. So, where to, kids?”
Evie gives him the name of the hotel we’re staying at, a small place away from the strip, and he drives off.
We don’t talk as he gets us there, both ruminating on what was discussed. March to September is a long time. Seven months. Although we’ve been through so much together over the years, we’ve never had to do long-distance.
But we’ve dealt with worse, haven’t we? I’m sure we can make this work as well.
The loud rotor of the helicopter vibrates in my ears as we make our way toward the private jet. Wesley walks beside me as his assistant follows behind.
Once we arrive at the plane’s stairs, the chopper takes off behind us and flies away. I let Wesley climb first, then Madeline, and then follow them into the jet.
“Thank you again for letting me tag along,” I tell Wesley as I take a seat across the aisle from him. His assistant sits a couple of rows behind us and has already taken out her laptop and is typing on it.
“Of course. Mi plane es su plane, Jackson. Tell you what, if you win all the races this year, this plane will actually be yours.”
I offer him a dubious look. “You’d give me your own private jet?”
“For all twenty-four trophies? Absolutely.”
“Madeline, can you write that down?” I ask with humor.
“Already done and backed up.”