Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Bexley
Y es, this must be a dream because as I look around at the people in this room, I’m having a hard time comprehending this is my life. The long, polished conference table is bare, showcasing the intricately carved Titans Racing logo in the center, epoxied in the same purple and gray of this city’s hockey team.
I’ve never been to Pittsburgh before and I’m suffering serious jet lag, but when the Titans Racing owner, Brienne Norcross, says to cross the pond for a meeting… well, you hop across the pond.
The hum of conversation buzzes around me like the vibrating drone of a bee’s wings, yet my mind can’t seem to break through what’s actually being said. I only met these people a week ago, but I already feel the weight of their expectations.
I can also hear their discontent, and they don’t seem to care that I’m listening.
No one has made an effort to include me in the discussion, which is mostly focused on their bitter disappointment that they’ve been summoned. Instead, I focus on my surroundings and keep my ears open.
The meeting room is spacious, bright and modern, with sleek, angular furniture that stands out against the gleaming white floors. The walls are a soft, muted gray with accents that give the room an industrial yet polished feel. It’s a far cry from the headquarters in Guildford, England, where racing history hangs thick in the air.
But that was then… when this company used to be known as Excalibur Racing.
This is now, and it looks like Titans Racing will be moving to Pittsburgh.
I slide my fingers over the surface of the conference table, not willing to join in the grumbles from the higher-ups. I just got this job—chief strategy engineer—and I’m not about to do anything to muck it up.
“Brienne’s going to lose half the staff with this move,” Michel Dubois says. As the team principal and highest-ranking member of the executive team, he’s controlling the conversation, his lilting French accent at odds with his harsh tone.
Markus Reinhardt, the head of operations, clears his throat but it doesn’t dissipate the guttural German roll to his words. “I’m concerned we don’t have access to a decent test track. Montreal is the closest and that’s over nine hundred kilometers away.”
“I doubt she’s moving everyone at once.” This from Nadine Sheffield, the head of logistics, her voice clipped and precise—entirely British. I estimate her to be in her mid-thirties and she seems as pragmatic as they come. I speak to this with understanding since I’m a fellow Brit and I value efficiency.
“Very diplomatic,” Michel practically sneers. “Tell me you’re looking forward to relocating?”
Nadine blushes and averts her eyes.
“I certainly don’t want to relocate,” Hendrik Voss says. He’s also German and is the team’s chief engineer and my direct boss. While he hasn’t quite voiced his opinion in my presence, I get the impression he’s not happy with my hire.
I have to assume I was the most talented strategy engineer to apply for the job. Ultimately Michel made me the offer, but Hendrik has been dismissive of me this entire first week I’ve been part of the team.
I have a lot to prove and I’m more than ready. I’ve been working my entire life for this opportunity. There are not a lot of positions available for women in motorsports, but I’ve got all the credentials and experience to do this job well.
My interest in racing started as soon as I could walk, my father being the chief of the pit crew for Union Jack Motorsports. I got both my undergraduate and master’s degree from Imperial College in London in mechanical engineering with a focus on optimization theory, regression analysis and statistical models. My dad calls me “The Brain” and I’ve used that part of my body to excel in this world. After graduation, I secured a position as a junior strategy analyst at Bauer Performance Racing, an FI2 team based in Vienna. I worked my way through the ranks by demonstrating the ability to make quick, data-driven decisions under pressure, which is the crux of what a strategist does. In only three years, I became the lead strategy engineer for Bauer, helping them to secure multiple wins and a Driver’s Championship.
Michel reached out to me about this job, and I jumped at it as fast as possible.
Luca Moretti finally speaks up. He’s the technical director for the team, second-in-command only to Michel. He’s made a few comments here and there, but he seems objective. “The truth is, it’s going to be a burden to relocate to Pittsburgh. We not only have to worry about enticing people to make the move, but there are logistical hurdles, given the lack of a test track. Regardless, it’s not our decision and we better start wrapping our minds around it.”
Michel huffs in anger. “We don’t have to wrap our minds around it. We are the essential members of this executive team and without us, Brienne doesn’t have anything. We hold the power, and I say we insist on keeping the core team in Guildford.” He sniffs almost imperiously. “The nerve of her summoning us here to Pittsburgh as if we don’t have more important things to be doing with the race in Jeddah just a week away. We’re trying to get Bernie up and ready to take Tomas’s place and we’re here wasting time with this… this woman who thinks she knows racing.”
Hendrik nods, a slight sneering lift to his lip. “This woman might know hockey, but she doesn’t know racing.”
I glance at Nadine, the only other woman besides me on this executive team. I wonder if she finds their dismissiveness of Brienne as offensive as I do just because she’s a woman. Nadine keeps her gaze lowered to the table.
They continue with hushed tones, not wanting their complaining to carry out to the hall beyond the closed door. No telling when Brienne will walk in, and glancing at my watch, it could be at any minute now.
A voice cuts through the room again and I glance over at the only person besides me who has been quiet. Matthieu Laurent is the second driver on our team and will likely move to the number one slot with Tomas’s injury this past week. He’s known for being arrogant, cocky and far too sure of himself for someone who hasn’t yet proven anything. His French accent thickens the air. “With Tomas out, it’s obvious I’ll be number one. And I’m in agreement… I’m not moving to Pittsburgh and I’m willing to use that leverage with you.”
Matthieu’s ego fills the space like a balloon about to pop. I know he thinks he’s entitled to everything, just because Tomas was the “star,” but I know from my own history how fragile that belief can be.
“Now wait a minute,” Luca says, his Italian accent so subtle I hardly hear it. He’s in his early sixties and is an icon in the racing world. “No one is leveraging anything against Brienne. She’s our boss and while I have concerns, I’m not about to make a stand against the one person who can put me out of a job.”
Michel scoffs dismissively and looks at Matthieu with what might be fatherly pride. “You definitely have leverage as the number one driver now. We won’t forget that.”
There’s a ripple of tension, and I notice the subtle shift in the room. People are uncomfortable, and it seems sides might be forming—Michel, Matthieu and Hendrik the most vocally irate over being called to this meeting, while Nadine, Luca and Markus are a bit more objective.
And I remain quiet, not enough standing or experience to have a say in anything. I just want to keep my one-week-old job.
There’s a knock at the door—loud, decisive—causing me to jump. Everyone goes quiet, glancing at one another, unsure who it is.
There’s no time to ponder and the knock wasn’t meant to be a request. The door swings open and Brienne Norcross confidently strides through.
I did my research on this woman. Being from England and steeped in the racing world, I knew nothing of her. Hockey wasn’t on my radar as a sport I enjoy watching and given that she’s an American billionaire, she never reached my insulated world. But you can bloody well bet that I googled the hell out of her when it was announced that she’d bought Excalibur and it would be rebranded Titans Racing. I wanted to know everything about her and the more I read, the more I admired her. It was the achievement of my lifetime to be offered a job here on this team, but I must admit, a good deal of my excitement has had to do with a woman owning it.
I have no time to admire Brienne’s beauty or her fashionable tailoring, because walking in right behind her is the last person in the world I thought I’d ever see again.
Nash Sinclair.
He steps into the room, his presence commanding attention immediately. My heart does a strange leap in my chest, and I can’t help the flush that creeps into my face.
The Nash Sinclair.
I can’t breathe. My mind whirls.
Brienne looks around the room, her gaze sweeping over the assembled engineers and executives, and she beams a lovely smile at all of us. “Welcome. I’m glad you’re all here.” She moves to the empty seat at the head of the table, but I can’t stop looking at Nash. He’s yet to see me, his gaze pinned on Brienne as he closes the door behind him.
“I know this was short notice,” Brienne says as she remains standing, her hands clamping down on the back of the chair before her. “I know we have a race to get ready for, but this meeting was necessary. I also wanted to show you the new Pittsburgh headquarters and I hope you’ll indulge me after this meeting for a grand tour.”
Her words slip into my ears but I’m still staring at Nash.
God, he looks amazing.
Different though. His dark hair is cropped short, his hazel eyes a little more lined with what one would assume were laugh crinkles since I last saw him three years ago, but it’s probably from pain and worry. His strong jaw, the familiar set of his shoulders, the way he holds himself—it’s like nothing has changed.
Except everything’s changed. We’re not the same people we were when we last spoke, when I last saw him.
I glance at his scarred hands, the brutal proof of how much he’s changed. My heart squeezes with empathy for him.
Brienne continues. “I intend to make this transition to Pittsburgh easy and it will be done over time. We certainly need to discuss logistics and I know there’s a burden with this sort of change. But before we get into that, I think everyone in this room knows my guest, Nash Sinclair.”
He stands there, hands clasped before him as his gaze drifts around the conference room table, nodding silent greetings to the stunned members of the executive team.
When he sees me, rather than sliding by with a polite smile, he remains riveted. He examines my face, as if searching for some sign that I’m anyone other than Bexley Toliver—former fiancée and heartbreaker.
And as expected, painfully so, his eyes glaze over with a frosty dismissal. His attention goes to Markus sitting to my right before moving back to Brienne.
The silence remains heavy, all the big talkers unwilling to say a word. My attention goes back to Brienne, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight smirk on her face that seems to indicate she knows exactly what conversation was taking place in this room just before she arrived.
“I would like to offer Nash Sinclair the open driver’s seat rather than giving it to our reserve driver, Bernie. While he appears to be a fine backup and test driver, we need to look to a stronger future. I believe that rests with someone like Nash, who has the experience in formula racing.”
It was quiet before, but the collective shock seems almost deafening. It’s Michel who finally jolts out of his stupefaction. His face beet red as he stands up, unable to contain himself. “You cannot just make decisions like this. You are new to this sport and don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I am new to this sport,” Brienne replies, in such a friendly tone that it puts Michel further on the defensive, as evidenced by the stiffness in his shoulders. “But I’m not stupid and you shouldn’t treat me as such. However, I am not making this decision. I brought Nash here to talk about it, although it is my preference we offer him the job. I’m more than willing to hear everyone’s opinions.”
Michel doesn’t heed the warning and waves his hand dismissively. “You cannot throw away months of work that we’ve put into Bernie.” His gaze moves to Nash with contempt. “And he’s not a formula driver. He competes in the OWC. You’re going to risk our future with a driver who’s been out of the sport for years? You’re basing this on some romantic idea of redemption?”
The tension crackles on my skin. Michel is red in the face, but Brienne seems cool and collected as she stares back at him. “I’ve invited a discussion, but you seem to have your mind made up, not about Nash, but about me. I wonder why that is?”
“Because I’m the team principal,” he sneers, unable to hold back his contempt. “I’ve been leading this team for the last two years and—”
“You haven’t been able to crack the top five in the Constructor’s Shield,” Brienne says quietly.
Ouch. A not-so-nice reminder that Excalibur Racing—now Titans Racing—wasn’t competitive under his watch.
Michel fumbles for his words and I swear I see steam coming out of his ears. He draws himself up. “This team was built with tradition in mind, not rash decisions like this.”
“And I want to build a team that wins,” she says coolly, glancing over at Nash with a nod. “I think he’ll help us get there.”
“I won’t agree to it,” Michel says adamantly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Brienne’s mouth draws downward, and she shakes her head. “That’s a shame, because I was inviting discussion before a decision is made. I brought this idea to the table for us all to discuss, but you’re making your stand before even listening to all opinions?”
Michel lifts his chin. “I won’t agree to it, no matter what anyone says.”
Brienne nods in understanding. “I’m sorry then, Michel. You’re fired.”
Nadine inhales so sharply she chokes, and I scan the room to see shocked expressions that I assume match my own. Matthieu looks angry, his lips pressed into a flat line. I expect he’d be against Nash since Nash is a better driver and will probably become the number one for the team.
Everyone is simply stunned at the swiftness by which Michel is terminated.
Except for Nash. He looks thoughtful.
Michel’s mouth falls open, his eyes rounding in confusion as his arms fall by his side. “You’re… firing me?”
“That’s right. You’ve proven to me that you can’t work in a collaborative environment and well…” She motions around the room. “This is a team and we all work together for the betterment of Titans Racing. You clearly don’t have that mindset, so I’m firing you effective immediately. I’d like you to leave this room now.”
Michel doesn’t move a muscle, and I doubt anyone dares to breathe. It’s like the world stands still, two opponents facing each other down, but it’s Michel’s shoulders that sag. He grumbles in French, I’m sure unleashing expletives, and storms from the room.
When the door closes behind him, Brienne looks around the table, her gaze lingering a bit longer on Matthieu. “Does anyone else have an opinion contrary to mine about Nash joining this team as a replacement driver for Tomas?”
I’m stunned when Luca immediately raises his hand, although his expression is worried. “I have concerns,” he says cautiously. “And I believe they warrant discussion.”
I’m stunned when Brienne smiles broadly, pride evident on her face. “Well done, Luca. A discussion is indeed warranted.” She pulls the chair out and sits, waving to Nash to join the circle. He sits at the far end from me.
“First order of business,” Brienne says as she folds her hands on the table. “Luca… I’d like to promote you to team principal. Is this a responsibility you’d like to accept?”
Luca is no fool. He nods in affirmation. “I would be honored.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. “You and I will meet later to discuss your replacement, but first, let me hear your concerns not only about Nash but about the worries you and the team were discussing before I came into the room.”
We all freeze again. She doesn’t say what worries, so it’s unclear if she’d been eavesdropping, but maybe she assumed that was the nature of our conversation given Michel’s hotheaded approach.
Luca leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he steeples his fingers in front of him. His voice is calm, measured. “I understand your commitment to bringing in Nash, but I must admit, I have reservations. It’s not just about the driver we need for the short term—it’s about the long-term future of Titans Racing.”
He pauses for a moment, his gaze flicking to the others around the table, as if making sure everyone is following. “Nash has been out of Formula International for three years. Yes, he’s done well in the OWC, but that’s a different beast altogether. That series doesn’t require the same skill set, the same precision. It’s one thing to win in the OWC. It’s another to come back to FI after a serious injury and expect to jump straight in at the top. There’s a reason we hire backup drivers—they’re there to fill a gap, so we can take our time to find the best fit.”
I feel the weight of Luca’s concerns. There’s logic in what he says and I doubt Brienne disagrees.
The new Titans Racing owner stays calm, her voice steady. “I agree that we need to be cautious, Luca. But I’m not looking for someone who’s going to jump into a title-winning car immediately. I want someone who can develop with the team, who has the experience and the mental toughness to get back on track after a setback. Nash is that person. He’s got everything we need—skills, experience and a work ethic that will inspire the team. What’s the alternative, then? To give Bernie the seat and wait for him to find his way? No, I believe we need someone who will challenge the status quo, someone who will help us evolve as a team.”
Luca nods but it’s to Nash his attention is given. “And you think you’re ready? After everything you’ve been through? You know how FI can be—it’s cutthroat. If you struggle at the start, we risk everything. The team’s morale, the sponsors, the momentum we’re building. If you’re not 100 percent mentally prepared, we might face a bigger problem than we anticipated.”
I wince inside because he’s calling Nash out in a way I’m not sure is appropriate. He had a devastating crash, was injured himself, and watched Matteo Ricci basically burn to death in his car. I remember watching it on TV, equally horrified by what was happening while my heart was shredding that Nash had to endure it. We weren’t together anymore, but I still loved him.
Probably always will.
All eyes are on Nash as he sits at the far end of the table. He hasn’t spoken a word yet, just silently observing the conversation. I know this man so well and I recognize that he’s trying to remain neutral, but the strain on his face betrays him. I look back to his hands, clasped in mirror image to Brienne’s on the table. Except his are different… covered in thickened skin and red scars from the burns and reconstructive surgeries. It’s the ugly evidence of what he’s been through. It’s the pointed reminder that he suffered physically, but Luca’s probing goes toward the mental trauma and whether he can handle the pressure.
Nash sits up straighter, his gaze unwavering as he locks eyes with Luca. There’s a quiet strength in his posture, but beneath it, I can see the weight he’s carrying. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it—a hint of something deeper, something he’s been trying to keep buried.
“I’ve been through hell and back, Luca,” Nash says, low but steadfast. “I know what it’s like to feel as if you’re losing everything, to be at rock bottom. But that’s what makes this different. I’m not the same guy who walked away from FI three years ago. I fought my way back. I don’t have any illusions about what this sport demands. It’s ruthless, and I’ve seen firsthand how quickly it can tear you apart.”
“But can you handle it?” Luca presses, and I admire his ability to step into his new role with such confidence.
Nash leans forward in his chair. “Honestly, Brienne hit me with this only a few hours ago and I haven’t had much time to reflect. I’m going with my gut here. Technically, I’m ready. I’m strong and recovered. If you want to take a chance on me, I’ll prove I can handle the pressure. I’m not here for a consolation prize or to be anyone’s second choice. I’m here to race, to win, and to put everything I’ve got into this.”
His words hang in the air for a beat, and I can see Luca processing them, weighing Nash’s conviction. There’s a moment of silence before Luca speaks again, but Nash’s response has set the tone. Whatever happens next, he’s not backing down.
Luca nods slowly, a hint of approval flickering in his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of guts, Nash. I respect that.” He then turns to Brienne. “I think you understand my reservations.”
Brienne nods, satisfied with Luca’s handling of the matter—his assured questions, his desire to voice his concerns while being respectful. She looks around the room. “We’re not just a team that’s here to survive. We’re here to win. If we falter, we’ll adjust, but I truly believe Nash is the key to unlocking our potential. Does anyone have anything else to add? I’m a fair listener, just as I appreciate you to be the same.”
I glance around the table. Nadine looks unsure, her fingers tapping nervously. Markus stares blankly, and Hendrik is clearly harboring some reservations but remains quiet. Matthieu looks like someone rubbed dog shit under his nose, obviously unhappy with this development.
Brienne looks to me and smiles. “What about you, Bexley? We haven’t had a chance to meet formally, but I was very happy to see them put a female in the position. I saw your résumé… it’s quite impressive.”
I don’t dare look at Nash because he stokes weird emotions within me. I also have no clue if Brienne is aware of my past relationship with him. So far, not one person has looked at me weirdly or even made mention of it.
I clear my throat before answering. “Thank you for the opportunity to be here. I’m excited to be a part of the team. As for the decision on whether to offer Mr. Sinclair the job, I see both sides. However, you just said something that I believe in. If we falter, we can adjust. I don’t think you ever win championships by playing it safe, and while it’s a gamble to bring him on, I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”
Brienne smiles. “Well put.”
I dare to look down the table and Nash’s eyes are lasered onto me, but his expression is blank.
Luca draws my attention. “Bexley makes a good point. Formula racing is all about the risk-reward dichotomy. I think we should go for it.”
Brienne nods approvingly, looking from Nash to Luca. “I think we’ve got ourselves a plan. We’ll need to work out the details of our offer, and I suggest we do that in private.”
“Um… Ms. Norcross.” Nadine’s hand goes up, asking permission to speak.
“It’s Brienne,” she replies graciously. “What can I do for you?”
“Is it your intent to move the team to Pittsburgh and if so, when might that happen? My logistical brain is in overdrive.”
Brienne pauses, looks around the room. “While I had wanted to discuss this with Luca first, I need you to know it’s my intent at the start of next season we are fully transitioned to operate out of Pittsburgh. This year, however, we are going to have to figure things out.”
Nadine nods tentatively. “It’s just… I’m worried about some of our workforce not wanting to relocate.”
I glance at Matthieu, who adamantly stated to the team just moments before Brienne walked in that he wasn’t relocating. His gaze is focused on a piece of dead skin he’s picking off his finger.
“And we don’t have a test track available,” Hendrik adds, apparently feeling safe to talk. “It’s important we are able to get our cars on a track.”
“All valid concerns,” Brienne assures them. “And problems I can’t control right now.”
“Which means we need to stay in Guildford,” Hendrik cuts in over her.
Brienne’s responds, not with anger, but amusement. “I am in the process of purchasing a private cargo plane that we can use to transport our cars to Montreal for testing. Also, I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve purchased a wind tunnel that will be based here in Pittsburgh. I assume that will help the engineering department?”
Hendrik’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and I feel a slight tingle of excitement course up my spine. A wind tunnel could be a game changer.
It will also go a long way toward enticing all the engineers to move here to Pittsburgh. Brienne Norcross is so freaking savvy, it’s a little scary.
“A wind tunnel would be incredible,” Hendrik stammers. “When will we have access to it?”
“Very soon. We purchased it from NC State University’s engineering department as they’re upgrading, but it should give us everything we need.” She looks around the table. “Now, if there aren’t any more pressing issues, I’d like to meet with Luca and Nash so we can work out the details of a contract offer. Perhaps we can all gather in a few hours to tour the new facility together.”
Everyone stands, Markus leading the way out of the room. I don’t look back at Nash, not wanting to see either hate or apathy, two emotions I’m sure he’s keeping in check around me. We’re going to have to talk though, and soon, because as of now… it appears we’re teammates.
Not only that, my job as the chief strategy engineer means we not only have to work closely together, but we might butt heads on occasion. Given the hard feelings between us, that could cause problems and I don’t want to risk my job. Nash Sinclair has priority standing over me—I’m expendable.
As shocking as this job offer was to me, I didn’t have it on my bingo card that Nash Sinclair and I would ever speak to each other again. But somehow, I’m going to have to make this work.