Chapter Fifty-One #2
Too much sweet wine and a large plate of fries to wash it down later, the three of us are sprawled out on the bed.
Keith is painting my nails with a studious expression—he proclaimed that nothing is more important than looking fabulous even when you feel like shit—and Delilah is, of course, reading a nonfiction book, though she looks markedly more relaxed than when she walked in here.
Her hair is even down from the twist, framing her face in vibrant blonde locks.
A silly romcom plays on the flatscreen TV across from the bed, but none of us are paying attention.
We haven’t had a night like this in years—it’s been long overdue.
“So,” Keith purrs. “Nine inches? Ten?”
“People need to stop asking me about that,” I mutter into the pillow, wincing when Keith tightens his hold on my finger until it hurts.
“Eleven, then.” Keith winces. “No wonder you’re making him chase you. Dealing with an asshole who’s packing a kraken is hard.”
Delilah chuckles. “And long. And I’m willing to bet thick—”
“Why are we talking about the guy who broke my heart?” I ask sourly, burying my face deeper into a delightfully fluffy pillow.
Traveling with the F1 team has been more comfortable than I imagined—and for this race, they’ve upgraded me from a shoebox room in a nice hotel to a suite.
I’m guessing that someone in management wants to keep me happy and on their side.
“From what you’ve said, he’s desperately trying to mend it,” Keith says. “Bringing you coffees every morning? Looking at you like a lovesick puppy? Giving you space even when it’s clearly killing him?” he scoffs. “puh-lease. You’d be stupid not to give him another chance.”
“Keith.” My voice is embarrassingly small. “He passed me up. At the first sign of turbulence, he lashed out and set me aside for his previous engineer—who he hates and calls a moron.”
“He was angry and concussed,” Delilah says. “I’m not saying he shouldn’t work for it, but… even I have to admit, he’s obviously head over heels for you, Vic. Just like you are for him.”
I don’t even bother denying it. My love for him just makes me depressed, because it’s still rooted deep in my soul. I had hoped that it might begin to fade, but it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
I do my best to avoid him because looking at him reminds me of what we almost had. Of how I almost fully let him in, and how he made me pay for it.
“In sum, you’re being a coward. Make him give you a couple orgasms and then give him another chance.”
I’m not being a coward. Am I?
What have the last weeks been, if not cowardice? Hiding from my feelings and succumbing to the fear of being hurt?
But that fear is extremely, profoundly real, and it’s not going anywhere. It’s with me every minute of every day, and each time the thought of giving in crosses my mind, it’s surpassed by the sheer terror of doing so.
“All done.” Keith sits back and examines his handiwork. “Now you just have to let them dry—don’t touch anything, you heathen, you’ll smear them!” he shrieks when I reach up to push my hair out of my face.
“Have I ever told you I love you?” I lower my hand to the mattress, palm-down, smiling.
“Yes, far too often. You’re almost as in love with me as I am. It’s endearing.”
“You’re the best,” I chuckle.
“But she can’t be as in love with you as she is dickmatized by Asher Lawrence.” Delilah flips a page in her book. “He must give really good oral.”
“So, qualifyings tomorrow.” Keith thankfully shifts the subject. “Will you forgive Asher then, or wait until after race-day?”
“I’m not forgiving him.” My mood plummets right back to sadness at the rawness of my soul. “God, I want to, but…”
“You’re a coward,” Keith surmises.
“And you’re such a bitch,” I mumble.
“Proudly so,” Keith agrees. “I give her until tomorrow night to forgive him.”
“Really?” Delilah laughs. “I was going to put money on after race-day.”
“Shall we do our usual amount?” Keith inquires politely.
My head snaps up. “There’s a usual amount?”
“No. I just got fired, so let me find a job first,” Delilah says—
Wait, what?
“The fuck you say?” Keith asks.
“Back up,” I shriek, shooting into a sitting position. “You got—”
“Fired. The partner got sick of me denying him, so he gave me the boot.” Delilah’s tone is casual, but I detect a note of concern. She was the youngest and most promising senior associate at her firm… and they just kicked her out?
“Is that even legal?” I ask.
“It’s somewhat within their rights, though several of the bylaws were disregarded. I could sue if I wanted to, but I don’t.”
Jesus Christ. My buzz wears off as suddenly as it came on. “Lilah, are you—”
“Okay? Perfectly. I’ll find another job soon. I already have some firms interested, but…” she sighs. “It’ll be tough without a recommendation letter, which I’ll certainly struggle to get.”
“If you need anything, you know I’ll always help.” Keith’s tone is also stained with unusual concern. I share a look with him, and a silent agreement passes between us; if either of us ever runs into the partner who did this to Delilah, we’re going to kill him.
“Besides, corporate law has already bored me. I’d like to do something more hands-on and less structured, like…” she trails off. “I dunno. Being in-house council somewhere. It’s whatever. We’ll see what ends up happening.”
It’s not whatever… but I know my best friend, and I know that as always, she needs to work through this on her own. Outside interference right now will only upset her.
“Back to you,” she says breezily, flipping over to face me. “It’s time you fess up. Ten inches or eleven?”
Knowing that two of my favorite people in the world are cheering me on from the VIP lounge—which Keith managed to talk his way into—gives me a gust of strength, and in return, I give my all to the team.
Just not in the way Asher evidently demanded.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Ilya. “I can’t be in his ear. I… I can’t hear his voice. It’d be too distracting. I’ll be in your ear if you want, but—”
“Victoria.” Ilya’s tone is harsh. “I have made great allowances for you this season—”
“And I’ve taken a checked-out driver and made him into a strong player on the board,” I cut him off unbendingly.
“None of your allowances have been misplaced or misused. In fact, I’ve done nothing but go out of my way for this team, and get paid less than minimum fucking wage to do it, so do not talk about allowances. ”
Ilya tilts his head sharply to the side, but I think there’s a new glint of respect in his expression. Hopefully that’s not just wishful thinking.
Ilya takes my arm and pulls me to the side of the pit wall. “I hope that what I’m about to say doesn’t go to your head, Victoria. You might’ve made incredible strides this season, but you are, fundamentally, still just an intern.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I quip.
“Asher needs you,” Ilya says without preamble.
“Forgive my forwardness and unprofessionalism, but he needs you in order to do well. And Gaston needs him to do well. Now, I imagine whatever he did to cause such a… rift between the two of you is substantial. And you can go back to despising him or avoiding him after the race. But, as a favor to me, please. Talk him through it.”
My throat tightens. Not here. I can’t get emotional here, in front of my boss. Delilah and Keith would never let me live it down.
“Tomorrow,” I say after a few beats, my voice surprisingly strong. “You sprung this on me today. I’ll be in your ear, or Ethan’s, or whoever’s speaking directly to him. But tomorrow, I’ll try to be in his.”
Ilya’s jaw clenches, but he gives me a nod. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”
It is enough—but only just barely. I see Ilya uncharacteristically pull Asher aside just before he buckles in. Whatever exchange the two of them has leads for Asher to finish qualifying in P11.
It’s objectively a good place.
But I know the car—I designed it. And I know Asher. He should’ve finished firmly within top ten.
And I can’t help but feel like I’m at fault for not buckling up and doing what needs to be done.