Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
Bex
W iping my hands on my pants to dry the nervous sweat, I take a deep breath. My heart jackhammers, but this isn’t a new feeling. It happens before every race. Granted, it might be pounding a little harder because the stakes are bigger. I’m in Formula International, the pinnacle of racing. I’m solely responsible for the strategy that will make our drivers win or lose. With ten teams, that means there are only ten of these jobs in the world, and I’m the first woman to hold this position.
Today are the qualifying rounds and tomorrow is the race. Yesterday were the practice rounds and both Nash and Matthieu had excellent runs, and surprisingly, I got little pushback from the latter. I don’t dare hope it will be that easy today or tomorrow, because qualifying and the race are infinitely more stressful than just practice runs around the track.
I was so proud of Nash yesterday. He’s got demons to conquer and no matter how much stolen simulator time he takes at night, no matter how hard he studies the tracks, no matter how hard he works out, he told me last night that there’s still a tiny bit of him that isn’t quite sure he’s ready.
He’s wrong, of course. And I told him that. I’ve watched him closely, combining what I knew about him three years ago and the man I see today, and I’m confident he’s going to be better than he ever was before. I told him that much and I think he heard me. He came off the practice rounds beaming with pride and an eagerness to get back out there today and battle.
And it will be a battle.
Qualifying is everything. It determines where each driver starts on the grid—a staggered order of starting positions according to their qualifying times.
There are three qualifying rounds—Q1, Q2 and Q3. In Q1, all the drivers hit the track, but only the top fifteen fastest advance to Q2. From there, the field narrows again, with the top ten moving on to Q3. That final round is where the fight for pole position—the coveted first spot on the grid—happens and getting that spot can make you upward of sixty percent more likely to win the race.
Qualifying isn’t just about raw speed, though. Timing your laps to avoid traffic, managing tires and finding the perfect rhythm all play a role so strategy is crucial. Every decision counts because a good qualifying result can make or break your race. Both Nash and Matthieu made it to Q3, which is a feather in my cap given my new position with the team.
We’re getting ready to start the Q3 round and once again, I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants, even though it’s lovely weather. March in Australia is like fall in Europe and the telemetry data shows it’s a cool twenty degrees Celsius, around seventy Fahrenheit, with a light breeze. There’s no rain in the forecast and the only downside is that the sun is very bright without any cloud cover, which could affect driver vision.
I’m seated at the pit wall, headset on, monitors lit up in front of me.
My focus is razor sharp.
It’s do or die.
“Get Nash out there,” I tell Alex. He is well versed in our strategy, ready to relay all the detailed information we’ve been formulating for days plus everything we went over during our morning meeting.
“Nash, you’re up,” he says into the mic. “We want you to go for a strong banker lap. Tires are primed.”
“Copy that,” Nash replies, his tone calm but with an edge of determination. He’s been like this all weekend—focused, driven and calm in a way that reassures me, minus that small creep of doubt he had last night.
As Nash pulls out of the garage, I glance at Matthieu’s data. He’s in his car, helmet on and ready for our command.
I motion to Petr who will talk Matthieu through the round.
“Matthieu, we’re going to have you go out as soon as Nash comes in,” Petr says over the comms. “Tires are optimal, so let’s make it count.”
There’s a pause before he responds. “Understood.”
Nash’s first sector time pops up on the monitor—purple. The fastest of the session so far.
“Sector 1 is strong,” I say to Alex, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction.
Alex relays that and adds, “Keep it up. The rear looks stable. No need to push too hard on this one.”
“Copy,” Nash replies, his voice clipped but focused.
The lap unfolds beautifully. He’s hitting every apex, carrying speed through the corners, and the data shows he’s managing the tires well.
“Sector 2—purple again,” I say after activating my mic so it’s my voice Nash hears, and I’m unable to hide my excitement.
“Copy,” he says, and I expected nothing more. He’s still driving at upward of three hundred kilometers per hour and is concentrating hard.
There’s nothing slowing him down and his focus is so on point, he executes almost every turn flawlessly, shaving valuable hundredths of a second off his previous runs.
When Nash crosses the line, his time flashes up on the screen—provisional P1, meaning he is currently in the first position on the grid.
It doesn’t mean he’ll stay there. There’s still ample time on the clock for another driver to put in a faster time.
“Nice work, Nash. That was a strong banker,” I tell him, indicating his initial lap time in this round was his best. I glance over his data and take in the other cars on the track. “That’s a really strong time but Moreno and Hemsworth are running fast. We could keep you out for another try but I think it’s safer to bring you in and not risk the car. Worst case, I’m guessing you might drop to P3.”
“Copy,” he says again, but I hear the satisfaction in his voice. “My nature is to try to stay out and beat my own time, but it’s probably safer to stick with what we’ve got.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Come on in.”
I feel like my chest is about to burst I’m so damn proud of him and, to an equal extent, proud of my engineering team. Alex and I high-five and I even see a grudging smile out of Hendrik. Luca gives me a thumbs-up and we all turn back to the screens.
Nash rolls back into the garage and while I’d dearly love to jump into his arms and give him a hug, that’s not possible. I still have a job to do.
Matthieu takes to the track and my focus shifts immediately, scanning his telemetry. His tires aren’t coming up to temperature as quickly as Nash’s, and his Sector 1 time reflects it—only P5, or fifth position, on the grid.
“He’s off pace in Sector 1,” I say to Petr.
“Matthieu,” Petr says into the comms. “Sector 1 is off the pace. Let’s push a bit harder through Sector 2.”
He doesn’t respond, but his driving shows he’s pushing harder. He throws the car into Turn 3, the sharp left-hander, with more aggression than before. The telemetry feed shows a flicker of improvement—his tire temperatures climb incrementally, but it’s not enough to close the gap to the leaders.
“Careful, Matthieu,” Petr advises. “Clean exit through Turn 5.”
Matthieu threads through the high-speed Turn 6 and barrels into the tricky chicane at Turns 9 and 10, pushing harder than he did on his out-lap. The car snaps slightly as he exits the chicane, but he catches it with a flick of the steering wheel. I hold my breath as his Sector 2 split flashes onto the monitor.
“Improved, but still not where we need to be,” I say, leaning closer to the screen. He’s P5 in Sector 2—respectable, but not enough to challenge for a better starting position.
“Matthieu,” Petr says again, his tone clipped but calm. “You’re P5 in Sector 2. Let’s keep it clean in Sector 3. Attack the apex at Turn 13 for a strong finish.”
Matthieu’s car dives into the high-speed Turn 11 but he brakes later than I’d like, the tires squirming slightly under the strain. The telemetry shows a minor lockup, but he recovers quickly.
“Easy,” I murmur under my breath, willing him to find the balance between aggression and control.
Matthieu powers through the final corners, threading the needle through Turn 14 with precision. The tension along pit wall is palpable as his car roars down the main straight, the timing screen updating in real time.
When he crosses the line, his final position flashes up and he unfortunately dropped to P6. It’s respectable, but I’m already bracing for him to lay the blame game.
I scan his telemetry, analyzing where he lost time, and the lockup seems to be the issue. That has to do with timing, and it will be something we’ll have to address with him in debrief. I’m already dreading it.
Petr commends his driver. “P6, Matthieu. Good effort, but we’ll need to debrief on Turn 11 but otherwise, well done.”
“Understood,” Matthieu replies curtly, his voice lacking any hint of satisfaction.
I watch as his car slows on the cool-down lap, my mind already racing with adjustments and strategies. It’s a decent result, but I can’t shake the feeling that we could have extracted more from him—and from the car.
Then Matthieu’s voice crackles through the comms. “The car’s not right. It’s too twitchy in the corners.”
“We’ll address it,” I say evenly, answering for Petr. The data doesn’t back up his complaint, but I’ll hear him out.
I take off my headset, as does everyone else on pit wall, and we cross over to the garage just as Matthieu’s rolling in. Nash is standing there, the top half of his suit unzipped and tied around his waist. He’s drinking water from a large bottle with a thick straw, his face still covered in sweat. I shoot him a wink and a thumbs-up and his lips twitch back his happiness with his status at P1. There are still other good drivers going out, so that could change.
Matthieu disengages the wheel, setting it on the hood of the car, and climbs out. He takes off his helmet and balaclava and it’s to Hendrik he immediately starts complaining. “If she knew what she was doing, we’d be higher up.”
I don’t let it show, but his words hit like a slap. My strategy was solid, and he performed well when he followed our advice. That lockup happened because he overbraked on a turn. That’s all on him.
“I don’t even trust her strategy for tomorrow,” Matthieu says to Hendrik, but it’s so loud that everyone in the garage hears it. Hendrik merely puts his hand on his shoulder and walks him to the back of the garage and to the staircase that leads up to the hospitality suites, I’m sure to try to calm him down.
Possibly commiserate since I don’t think Hendrik is my biggest fan.
My face flushes to be called out, and I wonder if his pit crew believes that. They are loyal to him but also privy to our strategy instructions, so they have the complete picture.
“Keep it together,” Nash says quietly as he comes up behind me, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves.
I realize my hands are curled into tight fists and I exhale slowly. “I am,” I reply, my voice clipped.
We turn to one of the screens on the garage wall and watch the remainder of the Q3 round as the minutes tick down. Now we wait to see if Nash and Matthieu can hold their positions. Nothing else to be done but hope.
When the last car finishes, Nash drops down to P3, which is still fantastic, barely nudging out Reid Hemsworth. Lex Hamilton takes P1 and Carlos Moreno P2. They’re definitely shaping up to be the ones to chase this year.
Matthieu thankfully stays at P6, and I’m grateful only for the fact I don’t want to add any more fuel to his already hot flames of discontent.
There’s a sudden increase in chatter in the garage and I turn toward the commotion. I’m shocked to see Brienne Norcross walking through the ocean of mechanics and tire engineers. She’s followed by an enormous man with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail.
I did my research on Brienne before I took this job, and I know a lot about her ownership of the Pittsburgh Titans hockey team. I know the man with her is her husband, Drake McGinn, who also happens to be the Titans goalie.
She moves through the garage, shaking hands and taking the time to talk to people. Luca is also with her and seems to be explaining things about the car. Drake is completely fascinated, bending over the seat, looking inside. I imagine he’s got every man’s fantasy of wanting to drive one of these things.
“I wonder why Drake’s here with her,” I muse. “Don’t they have their hockey season going on right now?”
“He’s dealing with a groin injury,” Nash says, and of course he’d know. He’s a big hockey fan, American that he is, and while I happen to know he’s a Chicago Bobcats fan, I expect he’ll become a Titans fan before too long, especially with the racing team moving to Pittsburgh.
Brienne looks my way, and I can tell she knew I was standing here all along. She touches Drake’s arm and says something, to which he smiles in acknowledgment. She winds her way around the cars to where Nash and I are standing.
“Well done, Nash,” she says as she reaches us, offering her hand to shake.
“Thank you,” he replies. “Felt good to be back out there.”
“I’m glad. I knew you could do it and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
She then turns her attention to me. “Got a few moments we can talk?”
I blink in surprise because I can’t think of any reason she’d single me out, not when there are people present who are far higher up the chain of command.
“Of course.”
“Is there somewhere private we can go?”
“I’ve got an office upstairs,” I say, motioning for her to accompany me.
I shoot Nash a bewildered look and he gives a slight shrug, but I move through the garage and Brienne follows. When I look back, I see Nash talking to Drake about the car and I’m betting they’re both a little starstruck with each other.
Upstairs in my office, I hastily move to straighten all the scattered telemetry reports from my desk. When we’re seated, I say, “I didn’t know if you’d be able to make the race.”
Not only does this woman own the hockey team her husband plays for, but she runs a multibillion-dollar holding company. I can’t imagine it was easy to find time in her schedule to travel all the way to Australia.
Brienne smiles. “I won’t be able to come to many races given my other responsibilities, but this just happened to work out since Drake is off for a few weeks with an injury. We thought it would be fun, and well… I have a vested interest in cheering on Nash since he was my pick to join Titans Racing.”
“You should be proud of him. He’s really put his all into this team, and his talent and dedication are unmatched.”
“From what I understand so far in talking to Luca, he’s more than earned the number one driver slot, not just in his performance so far but in a leadership role.”
That surprises me, because while I understand that as the owner of this team she would receive direct reporting from Luca, I guess I didn’t think she’d be interested at that level. She seems more like the type who only cares about the end results.
“It’s well deserved” is all I can think to say.
“And what about you?” she asks.
I stare at her, unsure of what she’s asking. I feel like I’m getting ready to step into a minefield, so I answer cautiously. “I love working here. The challenge, the people. It’s a dream job.”
Brienne cocks an eyebrow. “That sounds rehearsed. How are you really doing?”
I don’t know if she knows something—like my struggles with Matthieu and Hendrik—or perhaps she’s just guessing that as the first female chief strategy engineer, I might have an uphill battle, but I can’t afford to show any weakness. “Like I said… it’s been a challenge but nothing I didn’t expect. I like being kept on my toes.”
“Hmm.” She studies me. “Are you being treated fairly? Given proper respect?”
I’m not about to bring my complaints to her doorstep. I meant it when I declared that I could handle these issues on my own. “I’m asserting myself when needed.”
Brienne smiles, and it’s a little too knowing in my opinion. But she nods, accepting that I’m doing fine enough to suit her. “I’m glad. I have high hopes for you because it’s important to me that we give females an opportunity in this sport.”
“And I very much appreciate your confidence in me. I won’t let you down.”
“I like your surety. I’m certain you’re going to be quite the star. Now, there is one other thing I wanted to talk to you about, and it has to do with what I just mentioned… women in this sport.”
“Okay,” I drawl, my eyebrows knitting with confusion.
“I’m considering bringing Francesca Accardi onto the team.”
My jaw drops wide and I’m so stunned, I can’t even close it. Brienne seems amused. “I imagine that will be the reaction of just about everyone in this company, but I wanted to get your thoughts first.”
“Me?” I exclaim, startling out of my stupor. “What does my opinion matter?”
“Because you are a woman in a male-dominated sport. You’re the only one in your position. You can say everything is fine, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve been running into some walls and that you’ve been unnecessarily tested.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I’m a woman in a male-dominated world of business and sports. I’m questioned every damn day merely because I’m not a man. So I know how hard it is for you even if you won’t admit it, and I expect it would be hard for Francesca. You’ve been in racing your entire life. You worked your way up through the ranks, and I know your history, Bex. You’re a hard worker. So is Francesca and she’s a damn good driver. But as pioneering as it was to bring on a female chief strategy engineer, it’s going to cause shockwaves through the entire industry to promote a woman to FI. I simply want to know if you think I’m crazy to consider it.”
Oh wow.
Holy shit, this is big.
I stare out the small window that overlooks pit lane with the track just on the other side. Brienne remains quiet, allowing me the time to contemplate.
Francesca Accardi is an amazing driver hailing from Italy. She currently races in FI2, one level below FI racing, and if she came up, she’d be the first and only female driver to race at this level. It would shatter the ceiling for females in this sport.
But a thought strikes me hard, and I look back to Brienne. “You already have two drivers here at Titans Racing. Who would you cut?”
Brienne’s laugh is husky and amused. “I can tell by your tone you’d be disappointed if I said Nash was on the chopping block.”
“He’s the best driver,” I say. That’s the truth.
“I would buy out Matthieu’s contract or extend him a position in development driving. But then again, we have to see how the race plays out tomorrow, won’t we?”
My stomach sinks. If Nash has a bad race—and I potentially would be an integral part of such a failure—he could lose his shot in FI.
I can’t let that taint my opinion though. This is too important. “Accardi is a tremendous driver. I’ve been following her closely and I think she has what it takes to compete at this level.”
And that’s saying a lot.
Formula racing isn’t designed with women in mind—not yet, anyway. It’s not about skill because there are plenty of female drivers with the talent to compete at the top level. But the physical demands of the sport are grueling, and the cars themselves are engineered for an ideal driver physique that’s tall enough for leverage but compact enough to fit into the tight cockpit. Add to that the immense g-forces the driver endures, which puts extraordinary strain on the neck and core muscles, and the stamina required to maintain focus at over three hundred kilometers per hour for two hours straight, it requires peak physical strength and conditioning.
It’s not impossible for a woman to handle it—far from it—but the reality is that fewer women are encouraged or given the same opportunities to develop the physical and mental conditioning necessary to thrive in this world. That’s why someone like Francesca Accardi, who’s dominated in FI2 and proven she has the strength, skill and mental resilience, is such a rarity—and why I can’t dissuade Brienne from this idea. I don’t know any other team that would be willing to give her the chance.
I choose my words carefully, thinking particularly of Hendrik, the chief engineer. “There are some here who are going to buck against a female driver, but I suspect you can set the tone for that.”
“Do I need to set the tone now?” she asks, again making me feel like she knows something about my situation.
“I think I have everything under control,” I assure her, and if I’m not mistaken, I see respect flare in her eyes.
“I don’t know Francesca personally,” Brienne admits. “Does she have the ability to handle the hurdles that will come just by virtue of her sex?”
“I’ve talked to her on a few occasions, and I’ve studied many of her races. I’ve watched interviews, and Nash knows her pretty well as they were both at the Bauer academy together. But from what I know… yeah, she’ll easily handle her toughest critics.”
Brienne beams in satisfaction as she stands. “That’s what I needed to know.” I scramble out of my chair. “And Bex, if you need my help with anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“I appreciate it,” I say as I follow her to the door.
She stops before reaching for the knob and turns to look at me. “How are things with you and Nash? You seemed friendly enough when I observed you down in the garage.”
“We’re getting along very well, thank you.”
Brienne’s lips curve upward. “Let me be nosy… is there a chance you two have reconciled?”
I can’t stop the blush, which I guess gives her somewhat of an answer, so I don’t think about lying. “We’re taking things one day at a time,” I say, unwilling to offer more details than that.
“Well, good luck. And I mean that sincerely. As someone who’s recently found my soulmate, I’m a big fan of romance.”
The words are so silly I want to snort, but at the same time, they make my heart pulse, thinking of all the opportunity Nash and I might have to reach a happily ever after if I can just get him out of his own head.