Chapter Fifty-One
Asher
“The fuck did you just say to me?”
Ilya gives me an unamused look. “Was I unclear? Allow me to repeat myself. Victoria’s going to be on the pit wall consulting, but she will not be your engineer for the race.”
Panic chomps its sharp, needle-like claws around my heart. No. How am I supposed to do well without her? It’s… I can’t—
Goddamnit, I need her. I’m not too proud to admit that having her in my ear is the reason I succeeded, and I’d rather get mauled by a bear than deal with Ethan’s insufferable fucking voice issuing shitty orders.
I’m… I’m not the best driver I can be without her. The realization is cutting, but also gives me incredible clarity, because it is fundamentally true.
“No,” I say quickly. “No, that won’t work for me.”
“It wasn’t a question,” Ilya clarifies. “I was giving you a courtesy heads up—”
“Then I’m not racing, and you can put in a goddamn reserve driver.
” I step forward, uncaring that we’re in the lobby of a hotel, where any number of reporters can spot us.
We’ve been here for days—we had free practices today.
I didn’t think much of Victoria not being in my ear because Ilya and Declan were; they tend to control practices, but leave qualifying and race-day to engineers.
Ilya cocks his head, arching an eyebrow. Everything about his stare tells me to back down, but I won’t. I can’t. If I drive with Ethan in my ear, then the upgrade package won’t matter. None of it will matter. Does that make me a liability to the team? Maybe.
But me and Victoria together… we’re Gaston’s best shot.
“Are you sure this is the route you want to take?” Ilya murmurs. “You just landed a fancy sponsor. It would be a shame if he had to withdraw his support so soon, on account of you conducting yourself like an absolute idiot.”
“I am an idiot,” I growl. “And a moron, and a fool. I am every bad thing that I ever was without her—including a fucking terrible driver. Pulling out would be doing you a service.”
“You’re telling me that the sole reason for your recent successes has been a lowly intern?”
“Call her a lowly intern again.” I murder him with my eyes, uncaring that I’m threatening my boss. “See what happens.”
“Is that a veiled threat?” Ilya appears genuinely shocked. I’ve threatened team leadership before, but never him. I respect Ilya too much to cross that boundary, or I did… up until now. I won’t tolerate anyone insulting Victoria.
“What veil?” I ask dryly.
The corner of Ilya’s lips quirk up. Slowly, at the pace of molasses, an easy smile overtakes his lips. “It’s about damn time,” he murmurs with a nod and quiet laugh, as if he’s sharing a private joke with himself.
My head jerks back. “What?”
“You. Realizing that you can’t do this alone. That you’re not invincible, and that you’re capable of so much more with the right team. I’ll let Victoria know of the stakes.” His stare flattens. “But I can’t make any promises. I won’t force her.”
Then all I can do is pray that she has my back one more time… or I might lose the upgrades, the rankings, and the sponsors—none of which I would’ve gotten without her.
Victoria
“Dear god, you look like shit,” Delilah says, raking a critical gaze over me. “And what the hell are you wearing?”
Compared to her perpetual corporate-elegant look, everyone looks like shit.
Even fresh off the plane, she’s wearing a dusty pink skirt suit that shows off just enough cleavage to be enticing, and three-inch stilettos that scream try me and I’ll be the one fucking you.
Her multicolored blonde hair is up in a beautiful French twist, and she looks ready for a runway.
In addition to being insanely hot, my best friend happens to be a stone-cold diva who sure knows how to make one hell of an entrance.
I haven’t seen her in person for the better part of a year, but I could not be happier that she’s here with me.
Even if her love language is made up of mostly insults.
“Lilah.” I pull her across the threshold to my hotel room and engulf her in a crushing hug. She drops her designer bag and hugs me right back, the tightness of her embrace telling me what her lips never will; that she’s missed me, too.
She pulls back and holds my shoulders. “Jesus. Have you had any sleep since the breakup?”
I release a slightly watery laugh. “No.”
“Hmm. Well, we can fix that. Do you have anything to do for the rest of the day?”
Sulk and bemoan my status as a single woman. “Not particularly, no.” I’m free until qualifying tomorrow—Ilya excused me from the finishing touches of setup so I could work on my algorithm.
“Good. I drew up the licensing agreement you asked for.” Her expression sours. “Have I mentioned what a fucking idiot you are for doing a handshake deal?” she shakes her head. “What would you do without me?”
“Wallow in misery.” I lead her over to the small dining table, where she pulls two folders bulging with papers from her bag and sets them down.
She seats herself in a comfortable cushioned chair, neatly crosses her legs, and drawls, “Let’s get to it, shall we?
We have a lot to go over and not enough time. ”
I arch an eyebrow. “You think this will take all night?”
“Perhaps. Sit your pretty ass down and listen. These pages are filled mostly with legalese and bullshit that only attorneys understand, so I’m going to give you a Licensing Contracts for Dummies version.”
For the next hour, that’s exactly what she does. She goes over clauses, meanings, and parameters. She also tells me she’s already copyrighted my source code to protect it from being stolen, and is working on getting a patent for a few of the more technical points.
“You’re leasing your beta-version algorithm to the team for sole use, not for inspection or development,” she says in summary.
“In return, they will grant you freedom to be the only user of it during the term of this contract—through this season.” She smiles.
“That way, no tech bros will have the opportunity to even try to steal it.”
I frown. “Then what’s the point of leasing it? I was already going to push to be the person who actually uses it. It’s still in early versions, so few people would even understand how to properly prompt the program in real-time.”
“Pushing is not legal terminology.” Delilah rolls her eyes.
“Trust me on this. The catch is that you cannot share it with anyone else until the end of the season—even investors, which means you’ll have to wait on those.
But I wouldn’t worry too much. Holding out for a bit is how you build interest and prove the value of your work. ”
“I don’t care about—”
She leans forward and slaps a hand over my mouth. “Yes, you do. Trust me. I had a friend from Harvard Law review the basics of what you’re doing. You will make an obscene amount of money on this.”
I pull my head back. “Whatever. But what if I stay in F1 and only use it for whatever team hires me?”
“Your source code is versatile, yes? Build versions applicable to different industries. License those versions out to the highest bidder.”
My head is starting to spin from the possibilities of actually getting rich on a passion project.
I’ve never really been fueled by money. It sucks to have to check my bank account every time I want to eat out, but I’d rather be struggling and happy than rich and miserable, which is what I’ve seen wealth do to people, again and again.
My half-siblings might be rolling in money, but they also have serious problems. Drug addictions. Long stints in rehab. Public, ill-advised marriages and even more public divorces.
“I’ll think on it.”
“You do that. And, while you’re doing that, work on it.” Delilah sits back and checks the time on your phone. “Huh. That only took an hour. We’re making good time.”
“Good time on what?” I frown. “Do you have somewhere to be?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “But there is someone else who broke his tour schedule to—” she cuts off when there’s a knock on the door. “And there our drama-queen is.”
My lips part. Keith wanted to be here terribly, but he was stuck on a tour in Europe. Did he…?
I launch out of my seat like a rocket, fly over to the door, and wrench it open so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off the hinges.
“My god, the iceberg was right. You do look like shit,” Keith says.
“And you look like the meanest pretty-boy I’ve ever seen.
” My voice is faintly choked. Keith does look as beautiful as ever, like a modern-day Adonis.
Perfectly blonde, stylishly cut and fluffed hair.
Brilliant eyes like glittering emeralds.
The lean physique of a swimmer or runner, and facial features so symmetrical, it’s hard not to feel ugly next to him.
I haven’t been near Keith and Delilah at the same time in ages; we’re all constantly busy and our schedules never quite match up. But he’s here—they’re both here to support me in my time of need.
“As long as I’m pretty, who cares how bitchy I am? Now, I understand a fortuitous late departure means I’ve missed the boring parts of this meet-and-greet. So, why don’t we order a bottle of obscenely expensive wine and gossip?”
“God, I’ve missed you.” I don’t know how I get the words past the tightness in my throat.
“Of course you have, my love. Let’s get drunk and catch up.”
“Already ahead of you, pretty-boy,” Delilah calls out. “We’ve got three bottles of wine on the way.”
And, just like that, one of the darkest moments of my life starts to feel just a little bit brighter.