Chapter Forty-Eight
Asher
Icut straight to the chase when I drag my ass into headquarters to meet with Ilya. “What do you want?"
"Hello to you too, Asher. I’m quite well, thank you for asking. How are you? Are you fully recovered?”
“I had a very mild concussion and some bruises. I’m fine.” I probably didn’t do myself any favors with my liquor binge, but still. After flushing out my system with the disgusting smoothies Gio makes, I feel significantly better, physically.
Mentally and emotionally is another story.
“That’s good to hear, since we have another race in just under two weeks.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” I snarl.
“A few points, now that you mention it. First of all; enough with being an asshole. You made good progress. Stick to it.”
On the heels of my rudeness comes a wave of exhaustion. Being a dick used to take no energy and occasionally deliver gratification. Now, it’s just tiring.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Second: Ulrich is suspended for the season.”
It takes me a moment to process his words. When I finally do, shock grabs me in a chokehold. “What? I thought it was determined that his swerve into my car was accidental.”
“On the day of the race, yes. Then, members of this team submitted new data for analysis, along with a report threatening to make a lot of noise if the FIA didn’t take action.” He smiles thinly. “Considering our proof was conclusive, action was taken.”
New data. Only one person had access to data that nobody else did. Victoria. I vaguely remember her mentioning Ulrich in my hotel room, but I wasn’t exactly functioning on all cylinders.
The pieces click. Victoria didn’t refrain from visiting me in the hospital because she was caught up with Elio or stuck in a debrief.
She stayed behind at HQ because the hours after a race are the most critical time to catch inconsistencies and push for penalties, especially if wrongdoings were cleared.
Making the stewards backtrack a decision is no easy feat.
Of course she managed to make it happen. Victoria’s never been anything less than exceptionally brilliant and phenomenally hardworking.
“That’s good,” I nod. “He was fucking reckless and dangerous.”
“As were you.” Ilya gives me a hard, unamused stare.
“Victoria told you not to overtake before the crash. That was a direct order from her and me. We saw things on the track that you didn’t.
While I’m not unused to you ignoring orders, doing so in circumstances like the Miami race isn’t just frustrating and reckless; it’s incredibly stupid and phenomenally dangerous. ”
I yawn. “Is this your way of firing me?”
Ilya’s jaw flexes. “No,” he bites out. “Though your behavior right now is tempting me. There’s one other piece of good news. Something you absolutely do not deserve, but you’ve had quite the lucky start to your season.”
I narrow my eyes. “Did I get a sponsor?”
“Yes, but that’s a topic to discuss with your manager,” Ilya says. “What you’re getting from me is a new car.”
…what?
“Come again?” I repeat.
Ilya’s just berated my driving in the last race. I have not met the conditions he set forth for giving me an upgrade package. There is absolutely no reason he would have to do me this favor.
“Upgrade package,” he bites out. “It’s being worked on as we speak. You’ll have it by Montreal.”
I give my head a shake. Has my drinking spree led to hallucinations? It’s wildly implausible that Ilya would call me in here to tell me that, first, the man whose skull I want to crack has been publicly ousted from F1 for the season, and second, I’m getting my wish for a better car.
“Why?”
“Because you are extremely—fucking—lucky.” Ilya’s glare hardens even more.
My mouth shuts with a click. It isn’t often that I hear Ilya swear.
When I do, I have the good sense to shut the fuck up.
“Someone on this team made great concessions to grant you what you’ve been after.
Believe me when I say, nobody was more surprised than me. ”
“Victoria?” I ask, stunned. I don’t know who else would fight for me to get a better car.
“Yes. And she’s the one who delivered the mockups to me. Before Miami, because she was that confident that you’d keep to your end of our deal.”
But… why? Ulrich I understand; that was before our fight in the hotel room.
“Why the fuck would she get me an upgrade package?” After how I treated her? After I cast her aside for Ethan, who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow?
“I suppose that she sees something in you. As for what else, I expect you’ll be able to speculate much more successfully than me.”
You find a woman who accepts all of your endless flaws and your boorish behavior, and you push her away?
This woman wanted you and fought tooth and nail to help you. When a bleak moment comes, you discredit all of that and toss her aside like yesterday’s leftovers?
Gio’s words float through my mind, haunting me.
Victoria had—has—my back, even after how I’ve treated her. She didn’t just push for me to get the upgrade package. If what Ilya’s saying is true, she designed it in the first place, weeks ago.
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and quite frankly, I don’t care so long as you keep it to yourself.
But I will say that you are a complete and utter moron for whatever you did.
She is one of the most promising pupils I’ve seen in F1, and she made sacrifices for the sake of a risky driver who, by the looks of it, broke her heart. ”
My mouth runs dry, and a resounding, jarring ache seeps into my bloodstream, flowing deeper into my body with each beat of my heart.
Victoria’s still there for me, even after I made it clear I wouldn’t be there for her. When was the last time someone in my life had my back so completely? Showed up for me even when I didn’t show up for them? When, worse, I ridiculed them?
What the fuck have I done?
I don’t realize I’ve said the words aloud until Ilya releases a sardonic laugh.
“I don’t know and I don’t want to know. But whatever it is, I suggest you work hard to undo it, because you will not find another person who will go to such lengths for you.
Especially given you continue to be an insufferable dick. ”
I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office for being bad in class. Knowing deep down that I fucked up is one thing; having it laid out for me so plainly, so succinctly… it cuts me in half.
Ilya and I have never been particularly close. I see him as competent, capable, and I think Gaston is below his paygrade. I suspect he sees me as a waste of talent—or that’s how he saw me until this season.
“I…” A flash of ice-cold terror skitters up my spine. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Then that is a true shame.” Ilya pointedly turns to his computer monitor. “You had a prodigy in your hands. One who is obviously head over heels in love with you.”
“What?”
“Dear god, you are truly a moron.” Ilya cuts me a scathing glare.
“She gave me exclusive use of her algorithm for the remainder of the season in return for giving you a flawless upgrade package that she personally designed during her nonexistent free time. A woman only goes those lengths for a man she loves. Why she feels that way, I could never say. I do hope that she recovers from her bout of insanity soon.”
Now it feels like I’ve been tarred, feathered, and put on display. Holy fuck. That algorithm is Victoria’s baby. She just… gave it away? To help me, after what I said to her?
“I… don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admit quietly. This is surreal. Sitting here with Ilya, my boss, who’s lecturing me on matters of the heart.
Then again, who else do I have to talk to about it? Gio would only ridicule me.
“Pull your head out of your ass, acknowledge you love her, and fix it. Or, if you don’t care for her, then keep your distance. She has a bright future in whatever field she decides to move to; it would be cruel of you to hinder it.”
“She’s leaving?” The blows just keep coming.
“Not this season—our deal made sure of that. After that? Who knows. I guarantee you that putting her algorithm on the market would make her millions. Everybody will want to buy it.”
And she gave it away for free, for me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The worst part of it all is that I do fucking love her. I have for a while. Even before our first kiss.
I love working with her—she pushes me to be the best version of myself and doesn’t put up with my bullshit.
I love that she enjoys my favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants and bars as much as I do.
I love spending time with her. Waking up knowing I get to see her, and going to bed with thoughts of her clouding my mind. I love her insecurities, her flaws, her temper—I love everything about her.
For the umpteenth time, I ask myself: What the fuck have you done?
I have to fix this. It isn’t a desire, it’s a need. I have to apologize and make this right.
“Thank you for the upgrade package. And for… talking sense into me.” I stand up. “I have to go.”
“Your leave of absence ends tomorrow. I expect you to be the first to come into HQ every morning and last to leave. Go over tapes, spend time in the simulator, work with your team—whatever it is, your feet better be glued to headquarters grounds, or I will revert the algorithm’s rights back to Victoria and cancel your upgrades. ”
At another time, I might take issue with the fact that Ilya is choosing a girl he’s known for a few months over the driver who’s been with him for years. Right now, I don’t much care about anything aside from finding Victoria and making things right.