Chapter Thirty-Four
Asher
Victoria rebounds quickly, turning back to her usual, ball-busting self. After our sim session the next day, she approaches me with a serious expression. “I set up lunch for you and Elio today.”
My head jerks back. “What?”
“Yeah. Ilya sent me an email about your conversation yesterday. He also informed me that I’m the new middleman between you and the rest of the team, and told me I’m now going to be your race engineer during races.
” she half-smiles. “You know, I was planning to ask for your car to be upgraded, but it sounds like you beat me to it. And I’m going to help you work through Ilya’s terms.” Another shrug.
“I set up a lunch between you and Elio with Amanda. Lucky for you, he has an opening today. Since we’re leaving for the next race tomorrow, I figure it’s best for you to go out with him now. Maybe there’ll be less animosity—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Absolutely not. No. I am not having lunch with that asshole.”
“Then how else do you propose to satisfy Ilya’s condition?” She gives me a challenging stare.
I give her a flat one in return. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Will you?” her eyes harden. “Because I think it’s more likely that you’ll keep putting it off until it’s too late. If you’re serious about a podium, you’ll do this.”
…fuck. “Do I have to?” I sound like a whiny teenager, but I can’t help myself.
“Yes. It’s not optional. You will go out with Elio in…” she checks the time on her phone. “Ten minutes, and you will make an effort with him. Or I’ll stop bending over backwards to try to get you on the podium.”
“There are other ways I’d prefer you bend over backwards for me.”
The tips of her ears brighten, but she remains admirably composed. I do see the moment she remembers the other day in the pizzeria… and satisfaction eases my posture and my temper. “Fine. I’ll go with Elio. Where?”
“Amanda has you two booked at some kind of soup-salad-sandwich place. Have fun.”
“I fucking hate my assistant,” Elio mutters half an hour later. The restaurant Barbie sent us to is high-end, swamped even at lunch hour, and has a menu made up of bullshit artisanal salads and sandwiches that cost fifty bucks a piece.
“Then fire her.”
Elio glares at me. “I can’t. Her father’s my biggest sponsor, and one of the most important investors on the team.”
Right.
“Sounds like a you problem.” Be nice, jerk, the angel on my shoulder—who sounds suspiciously like Victoria—sing-songs. “So… are you looking forward to the next race?” I toss the menu on the table separating us.
“Obviously. Why wouldn’t I be?” Elio gives me an aggressive glare.
I shrug. “Just trying to make small talk.”
“Cut it out,” he growls. “Nobody wants to hear your voice.”
Fuck this. Why am I putting in the effort when he’s trying to give my bad temper a run for its money?
“If you don’t want to be here, there’s the door,” I say flatly. “I’m trying to extend an olive branch—”
“An olive branch?” he repeats with a dubious laugh. “After years of you only giving me attention when you wanted to insult everything about me? Please. I know you’re here because Ilya wants us to become best friends. It isn’t happening.”
Alright, this might be more difficult than anticipated. Elio’s got a lot of anger to unpack.
A month ago, I would’ve told him to shove his grievances so far up his ass he chokes on them, but now… “Lay it on me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let it out,” I clarify. “Everything you’ve been wanting to say. I won’t insult you.”
He narrows his eyes, gauging my sincerity. I don’t particularly like the idea of making myself a target, but if that’s what it takes to get an upgrade package, it’s what I’ll do.
“You’re an asshole,” he surmises.
“And you’re a—” I cut myself off before I can say something mean. “A solid driver.”
“Really? Because you’ve spent the last seasons telling me how bad I am, even though I place above you every single fucking time.
You’ve never once given me helpful advice or even constructive criticism; all you do is try to make me feel like shit.
That’s what you do with the entire team.
” He leans forward, and I clutch my leg so tightly my nails nearly stab through the fabric of my pants.
“You are goddamn insufferable, and I can’t stand that you might actually get re-signed.
Do everyone who knows you a favor and, if you get an offer somewhere else, take it. We’re fucking sick of you.”
He hits me right where it hurts. Telling me that he and the entire team want me gone…
Your father needs to head to Italy for some inspiration. We’re thinking of staying there for at least a year, so you’ll need to do boarding school again…
Sorry, I can’t make your graduation. I have a gallery opening…
No, you can’t come with us this summer—being on the road is no place for a child.
I want to shout at Elio. I’m this close to making a goddamn scene.
Instead, I stand, drop a few bills on the table, and stalk out. He can eat an overpriced salad or sandwich on his fucking own.
Except he doesn’t have the good sense to stay behind, because the idiot follows me out.
“What, nothing to say?” he taunts. “Because you know I’m right. You’ve pushed everyone who might’ve liked you away. But don’t worry, man, because I’ll take very good care of the intern when she tires of you—”
My next motions are purely instinctual. I round on him, fist his shirt in my hands, and slam him up against the brick wall of the café right next to the restaurant.
“Don’t. Fucking. Talk about her,” I hiss. “Say whatever you want about me, but don’t even think about her. I get it; you hate me.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure I’ll lose countless nights of sleep over your insignificant opinion. But Victoria?” I shake my head. “Off. Fucking. Limits.”
A camera flashes somewhere to the side of us.
Shit. I release him as quickly as I grabbed him and turn in the direction of a flash.
It’s not the paparazzi, thank fuck, but it is a bystander who obviously recognizes us.
She’s standing with a group of girls who are probably on their way into the restaurant.
Shit, shit, shit.