Chapter Forty-One
Victoria
After breakfast, Asher drops me off back home, allowing me to forgo the walk of shame. We meet in headquarters an hour later, where he does an admirable job pretending like he wasn’t fucking my brains out of my body last night. I, on the other hand, flush and blush every time I see him.
Only concern over our preparedness for the next race keeps me in check.
My algorithm is still processing the data on other teams I’ve fed it, but it should be ready in time for the next race.
It’ll be far more advanced in giving accurate and well-rounded suggestions, so I’ll have less options to choose from… but it still won’t be perfect.
I’m screwing around on my tablet in the cafeteria when Asher joins me, plopping into the seat across from me.
I set my tablet down and arch and eyebrow at him. “This is new.” Translation: what are you doing here? Act normal!
Asher offers me a dazzling smile. Heat gathers at my core. “I figured there’s no harm in spending time with my favorite intern.”
“I’m your only intern.”
“You’re my only, period.”
My breath catches in my throat. His words wriggle their way under my armor more effectively than mind-blowing sex ever could. “Sometimes, you say things that sweep me off my feet,” I admit softly.
His smile turns roguish. “Then it’s a good thing you’re sitting down. And if you weren’t, I’d catch you.”
He pulls something from his pocket, my phone, and slides it across the table to me. “Good as new.”
I pick it up, turning it over in my hand. The screen is shiny and free of any fissions.
“Thank you,” I say, a touch awkwardly. I’m still uncomfortable accepting the present from him, but I pick it up and power it on. There are a few texts from Hunter about the rapidly approaching engagement party, and… shit, I have to stop blowing Delilah and Keith off.
The bet Delilah told me about feels like a lifetime ago. Technically she did win because I held out on full-blown sex for a week…
“Anytime.” Asher leans forward. “How long are you going to insist we try to keep this on the downlow?”
Nerves string me tight. I knew this conversation was coming sooner or later, and I’m still somehow unprepared for it. “Um…”
“Victoria. People are already catching on, and more will catch on as time goes on. It’s better not to let them get concrete proof before we go public.”
I fiddle with a piece of my hair. He’s right, but… “The optics aren’t good. It’ll look like I fucked—”
“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.” Asher’s tone morphs from reasonable to furious in the span of a heartbeat.
“You did not fuck your way anywhere. You are the reason I’ve started doing well in races, and I’m more than happy to publicly state that and praise your work.
If people still want to think the worst after that, let them. Fuck them. They’re irrelevant.”
“It’s harder for me than it is for you,” I say quietly. “We’re—”
“Asher. Victoria.” I look up at Elio’s voice. I’ve been so entrenched in conversation with Asher, I didn’t see him approaching the table. I hope he was far enough away not to hear anything.
“Elio,” Asher hisses, twisting in his seat to face the first driver. “What do you want?”
Elio looks between Asher and me, slowly and deliberately. “Victoria, I was wondering if you’d be available to help me run some simulations this afternoon.” His smile isn’t kind. “It’s not fair that Asher’s getting all the help, now, is it?”
I stiffen. “Actually—”
“Declan already approved it,” Elio says. “It’ll just be for an hour or two. I’d deeply appreciate your help.”
I look at Asher—tendons and veins bulging in his neck, side profile brick-hard, fist curled around the edge of the table. I want to say no, and I should be able to say no.
“I’m technically assigned to the second driver and car,” I point out.
“Your focus is on the second driver, but you can move between teams.” Elio’s tone is firm. “Two o’clock in sim control, please.”
“Er…”
“I’ll see you then.” He strolls away.
Asher turns to face me, betrayal stamped on every feature in his face.
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t show up,” I say immediately.
“I support you. I want you to succeed. I’m on your team.
I don’t hate Elio, but I’m not a fan of his, either.
” He strikes me as a wannabee and a sellout, and I’ll never forget that time on the plane when he drank, insulted Asher, and insulted me.
I’m sure there’s more to Elio than what meets the eye, but I’m also not interested in finding out what it is.
Asher’s features soften. He releases a long sigh. “No, you should go. Just… don’t leave my team for his.” His brows pinch. “I don’t know how I’d cope with that.”
My eyes sting at the raw vulnerability beneath his words. He’s been left behind by people all his life—his parents, his grandparents. Maybe even his brother.
I’m determined not to make it on that list of people. “I won’t,” I promise. “I’m on your team. I want to help you onto the podium.” I slide my leg farther beneath the table, until my foot bumps his. “Let’s talk later about the other stuff?”
Asher nods curtly. “Later.”
Elio has me set up his simulation to the last race. His performance was, once again, extremely underwhelming. It’s almost like Asher’s rise has caused him to fall to the back of the pack.
In stark contrast to Asher, he listens to the suggestions I give him and executes them without question. He’s a solid driver, but he’s a bit… reckless. Unpracticed. He’s only been on the circuit for two seasons, and while he has some raw talent, he doesn’t have enough discipline.
I don’t know when my dislike of Elio started.
I don’t know if there was a differentiating before and after point.
I remember being at least a bit dazzled by him when I first saw him, but that was shortly tempered when I realized just how…
showy he is, and how he can kind of be a prick when he wants.
He seems to live for the sponsors and flash of a camera, which is just a touch disingenuous for my taste.
I prefer people who are raw and real, even if that realness means embracing their inner jerk—within limits.
I prefer Asher. I think I always have, even when he was trying his best to get me fired. At least he’s real.
I have to admit, though, I admire Elio’s determination, capability to listen, and hard work. While he’s in the sim, I start to pull up the strategies he’s been assigned during races this season on the side… and that’s when understanding clicks.
His engineer advises him based on strategies that the top-performing teams are using. Theoretically, a strategy with proven success is good to follow, but in all practicality, it’s flawed. Elio doesn’t have the same car as other teams. He doesn’t have the same skillset that other drivers do.
It’s cruel to even think it, but I have to wonder how the hell Gaston has survived until now. Probably through sheer luck and perseverance. They need a complete overhaul on how they manage drivers.
Elio steps out of the sim suite, looking a mixture of frustrated and dejected.
I’ve been reading him in on his numbers and speeds throughout the last hour.
He hasn’t seen any notable improvement, but that’s probably because I was modeling my suggestions based on his previous strategy.
I made assumptions regarding his capabilities based on what he’s been doing so far, which was the wrong approach.
He needs a plan and suggestions tailored to him and his car, not one ripped off from the top performers.
“I finished in the same rank.” He frowns. “How is that possible? I’m better than the worst in F1.”
You just have shittier strategy.
I eye my computer for a moment, gaze at the ceiling, and sigh. I guess now’s as good a time as any to test the capabilities of my algorithm.
I navigate over to Elio’s profile within my system—one that’s been built based on the heaps of data ingested by the algorithm.
I don’t have time to study his prior performances and try to discern his strengths and weaknesses, but it’s already done so automatically, and I can access a page that will list all of his best and worst-performing maneuvers.
That should give me a solid basis to build on.
“Mind if we try again and switch things up a bit?” I ask, scanning the outputs and recommendations.
I love technology.
Elio looks at me doubtfully. “Why? I keep doing the same thing and getting the same result. Didn’t Einstein say that’s the definition of insanity?”
My eyes flash up, colliding with Elio’s. I didn’t expect someone like him—basically a grown version of a preppy jock—to know who Einstein is, let alone one of his most infamous quotes.
Something tells me there’s a lot more to Elio than what he shows the world.
“I was running the team’s built-in strategy for you. I can run my own.” I pause when Elio brightens a bit. I should get something out of this. “My condition is that you give Asher a chance.”
His expression shuts down. “No,” he emphasizes.
“Yes,” I volley back. “This feud between the two of you is ridiculous.” I lean forward.
“The fact that you used me to rile him is personally insulting. I’m letting that slide because I understand he’s been an asshole, but he’s trying to turn a new leaf.
You want my help? I’ll give it.” Some of it.
“If it works, I’ll pass everything I learn and all my suggestions to your team.
But only if you give me your word that you’re going to keep an open mind with Asher. ”
Elio’s jaw clenches. He inhales a few deep breaths, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? Lawrence has only exhibited two behaviors consistently; cruelty and unreliability. He might be different because he’s trying to get inside you, but—”
I stand from my seat, incensed. “Finish that fucking sentence, golden boy,” I hiss. I grip the edges of the table and lean forward. “I dare you.”