Chapter Forty-Two
Asher
“No.” I don’t even wait to hear what Elio has to say; I breeze right past him when I see him opening his mouth to spew some bullshit, heading to my car. It’s parked in the garage at the back of HQ, alongside rows of other less-impressive vehicles belonging to other employees.
“Prick,” I hear Elio mutter under his breath. Then, the moron has the audacity to chase after me.
I go about my business as if he weren’t there, unlocking my car and dropping my bag in the back seat. Despite my best efforts to ignore his existence, Elio hovers a few feet away from me. I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he silently fumes. It’s only mildly satisfying.
When I open the driver’s door, he steps forward and slams it shut for me. I inhale a deep breath, trying to temper my anger.
Victoria wouldn’t be happy if I slammed his hand in the car door.
But the idea is so fucking tempting. Especially after she spent all afternoon and evening running simulations with him.
Technically, he has the right to request her services, but I don’t give a fuck about technicalities when it comes to her.
She’s mine, and I do not share well.
I’ve never been overly fond of Elio, but for the most part, I’ve seen him as the irritating sellout who’s willing to trade anything for a spot on an F1 team—including his dignity.
After my disastrous attempt at trying to clear the air between us, I actively dislike him—which makes not being an asshole all the more difficult.
I’m not being nice by ignoring him, but I’m also not going out of my way to insult him, which I see as a major improvement. I was insulting him even when I was mostly indifferent about him.
“Stop being such a raging asshole for ten seconds,” Elio hisses. “I want to talk.”
“And I want to take a trip to Mars. Neither scenario seems likely.”
“Look, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. I don’t expect that to ever change,” Elio starts.
“Correction: I don’t give a shit about you, while you actively want me gone. Bit of a disparity in the dislikes, if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you,” Elio snaps. “But Gaston will suffer if we stay like we are.”
“That’s a factual statement,” I allow. This team won’t be doing anything crazy for itself this season—we’re too far behind, too low on points—but if I get a podium this season, it might set myself and Gaston up for success next season—if Elio can stop smiling for cameras and start fucking driving.
And if I’m still here next season. I intend to stay in F1, but there’s a chance I’ll end up leaving the team—especially if everyone continues hating me. I’d rather not hang around where I’m not wanted.
Does that mean I’d lose Victoria? I hadn’t considered that before. My only response to that is fuck no.
“So, let’s try to ease up the mutual dislike.
” Elio’s jaw tightens, and my eyes narrow.
Why the hell is he trying to give me an olive branch?
“You’re a… good driver,” he grits out. The word good sounds like it’s torn out of him.
“Even if that’s only recently become evident and is probably a fluke,” he can’t help but add.
“I’m willing to work to become a better driver than what I am now, and I think…
” he grits his teeth. “I think we could help each other.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds like it took a lot of effort.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not even if that was the condition to double my salary. What makes you think we’d tolerate each other? You made it clear you want me gone.”
“I might’ve been a bit harsh when we went to lunch. In my defense, I had years of shit to get off my chest.”
“And what’s changed?”
Elio stares at me straight in the eye. “The fact that you are one seriously lucky bastard.”
I know what he means without needing clarification. Victoria spoke with him. Whatever she said caused him to extend an olive branch of sorts, even if it’s coated with a hefty dose of derision.
Somehow, she convinced him to get over his scathing hatred and give me a chance. Old Asher would ridicule him for it.
Old Asher also hasn’t done me any favors in life. Victoria went out of her way to help me, again. If I don’t take the opportunity, I’ll effectively be insulting her as well as Elio.
Goddamnit.
“You want to get a drink?” I mutter.
Elio’s posture softens by the faintest margin. “Yeah.”
Half an hour later, we’re at the same bar I took Victoria to when I was wrangling her help. Considering where I am now, I got much more than I bargained for.
Elio and I order drinks and bar food, then sit in silence. Tension lingers in the air like a bad smell, but it’s slightly duller than it was when we went to lunch.
“How?” he asks after several awkward minutes.
“How what?” I volley back. “How am I so handsome? How am I so talented? How—”
“Are you that fucking insufferable?” Elio says without any real heat.
“How did you jump from P22 to P13?” Resentment swims in his eyes.
Elio usually holds rank in midfield, but he doesn’t get below P15 very often.
He’s solid and has promise, but he’s not great.
I think he could be good, but being on a team like Gaston—where mediocrity is the standard—doesn’t help.
He’s enabled instead of pushed out of his comfort zone.
I was enabled despite the barrage of bullshit I threw at the team. In hindsight, I don’t know why nobody pressed the morality clause of my contract to get me fired.
Our beers are delivered, along with large fries to split. I take a long swig from my drink. “You know how,” I say when I set it down.
“It wasn’t all her. The intern’s good, but nobody’s that good.”
I disagree completely. Victoria isn’t just good, she’s fucking incredible.
“The biggest reason I was failing is because I fell out of love with F1. I’m not a fan of change, and changes kept happening before I made peace with the previous ones—so I decided to just drive without implementing strategy.
When I caught up with changes and accepted applicable strategies, my talent and experience did the rest.” But it’s not enough. P13 is solid, but it’s not great.
I only have 2 races to crack top 10, and I don’t see myself getting a podium with my current car. It’s just not possible.
I don’t even see myself getting into top 10 with my current car… but maybe the right mixture of strategy, luck, and driving better than I ever have before will get me there.
And Victoria. I know in my bones I can’t do it without her.
“So you spent years just sitting on talent… because you don’t like change?” Elio shakes his head, resentment stamped into his expression. “You’re a fucking moron.”
“And you’re still a fucking rookie.” I sniff.
“This is my second season. I’m technically not a rookie anymore.”
“Doesn’t change that you drive like a rookie.”
Elio works his jaw for a while. “So how do you suggest I fix it?”
“Stop being a fucking sellout and carve your own path.”
Elio takes a swig of his beer. “Victoria suggested I redo my strategy.”
I dislike that she put so much thought into Elio, but… “She’s probably right. She knows her shit better than most F1 team vets.”
“Do you know how lucky you are to have managed to get her full-time help despite being such a raging dick?” Elio asks, shaking his head derisively. “You don’t deserve her.”
“You’re right,” I agree easily. I don’t deserve her help, and I certainly don’t deserve the privilege of calling her mine, but deserve has nothing to do with it. I’m taking both.
Elio’s eyebrows rise. “So. Are you two an item? Is that why she’s helping you?”
“Insinuate that again and I will fucking ruin you,” I hiss, pinning him with a vicious glare.
“Our personal relationship has nothing to do with our business relationship.” That’s not entirely true, I’m well aware Victoria wouldn’t be so invested in my success if she didn’t like me, but she’d still give her all to help me.
That’s exactly what she did before we ever touched each other.
“You’re admitting you have a personal relationship with her?”
“I’m admitting nothing.” But she better get over her bullshit of trying to keep us a secret fast, because it’s not fucking working, and because I’m already sick of it.
Why the fuck wouldn’t she want the world to know she’s dating me? I want the world to know I’m dating her. Mainly to scare away anyone else who has designs on my Victoria.
I get her worry that people will think she fucked her way up the ladder, but that’s mitigatable.
“It’s still obvious.”
“If you say so.”
“It is,” Elio insists.
“Alright.”
“God, how does she—or anyone—fucking tolerate you?”
A deprecating smile touches my lips. “Most people don’t. As for her?” I suppose the orgasms I gave her wouldn’t hurt, but before that… “I guess she saw potential in me.” When nobody else did, including myself.
We drink in silence for a while. Then, we order another round.
“Is there a world in which we can actually work together?” Elio asks. “I don’t like you, but I could learn from you.”
I consider him through narrowed eyes. He’s a better man than me for admitting as much. Maybe I can learn from him, too. “Ask me after another round.”
We have several more rounds, mixed in with mundane conversation and casual F1 gossip… which turns out to be surprisingly pleasant.
By the fifth round, it’s late, he’s halfway to drunk while I’m mildly buzzed, and that’s when he asks me again.
It could be the alcohol. It could be me trying to be less of a shit human being.
Whatever the reason, I say, “Yeah, there’s a world where we can work together. We’re living in it right now.”