Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
Bex
I sit at my parents’ kitchen table, picking at the orange scone beside my tea. I haven’t had much of an appetite the past few days and I’m still not sleeping well. I feel like I’m moving through a haze and having a hard time getting my bearings.
My homecoming wasn’t the open arms, we love and support you no matter what reunion I thought it would be. My mum was optimistically supportive. “You’re going to bounce back from this. You always do. Maybe this is just a sign that something better is waiting for you. A door closes, and a window opens, right?”
My father? He was a bit harsher.
After showing up on their doorstep and telling them everything that happened, he stared at me with piercing eyes. “You made a stupid mistake,” he said bluntly, his voice cutting through the room like a knife.
My head jerked back as if he’d physically slapped me, not that he has ever done so in his life. My parents are the most loving, supportive people you could ever want in your corner. My mum was visibly shocked, but kept quiet.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, my spine straightening as the defensive fire ignited in me. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was the right call. Matthieu was too far back to make progress with a safe strategy. The data supported the risk. The tires just degraded faster than expected, and the traffic didn’t help. It was bad timing, not bad strategy.”
Dad didn’t react to my outburst. He was maddeningly calm as he set his glass down on the side table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I’m not talking about the strategy,” he said evenly. “I’m talking about you quitting.”
The air left my lungs in a rush. “What?”
“You heard me,” he replied, his tone hard and unyielding. “The strategy didn’t cost you your career. Resigning did. That was the real mistake.”
I blinked at him, stunned into silence. He pressed on, his voice gaining an edge. “You didn’t even fight, Bex. You let Matthieu and Hendrik—two men who couldn’t hold a candle to your talent—push you out. And instead of standing your ground, you ran. You’ve faced tougher battles than this and won. So why the hell didn’t you fight this time?”
“Because it was…” I faltered, struggling to find the words. “It was untenable. I couldn’t… I couldn’t work with them anymore. They didn’t respect me.”
“And you think quitting will earn you respect?” he countered, his voice rising slightly. “You think walking away shows strength?” He paused, letting the silence weigh down on me. “It shows weakness. You handed them exactly what they wanted. You proved them right.”
I had no words. I mumbled an excuse about being tired and hightailed it upstairs to my room where I remained holed up the rest of the night. Granted, Mum brought me some cookies and sat with me while we chatted about anything but racing.
But my dad… well, I’m not sure how to talk to him about this now.
While I know my father loves me deeply, I am bothered by his disappointment in my actions. I never want anyone to consider me a quitter, my father being at the top of the list.
But unfortunately, his advice is a little too late. One does not hand in her resignation to a position that there are only ten of in the world and then go crawling on hands and knees, saying she made a mistake. There’s no way Luca would give me a second chance because it was such an immature, impulsive decision that speaks to my inherent character flaws, which are antithetical to good strategy. I seem to have thrown all my critical thinking and logic out the window and decided based on pure emotion and irrational fears. These things don’t belong in the race world, and I don’t know that they can be forgiven.
Resting my chin in my hand, I gaze out the window to the little courtyard garden and consider my future. I don’t know what is available out there. We’re at the beginning of a new race season and all the positions are secure. I’m not even sure I can find something back down in FI2, although I suppose a very low-level data analyst position might be possible. But what a fall from grace that would be. Going from the highest, most coveted position in strategy to the lowest. I’m not sure my bruised and dented ego can handle that. The humiliation would simply be too much.
Which brings up another possibility. I could move into open-wheel racing just the way Nash did before he came back to formula. Potentially, something might be available to me there, but that’s an American-only sport.
Do I want to move to the States? It was something I would’ve had to do eventually with Titans Racing, but that’s because I held an executive position, and the headquarters would be based in Pittsburgh. Would I be willing to relocate away from my family for something that would just be mediocre, not as well-paying, and certainly not as fulfilling?
And then the last possibility… a new career altogether. My degree can be applied across a broad spectrum of industries. I could transition into aerospace, analyzing optimization of aircraft systems. I could easily use my experience in data analytics for any number of tech companies or financial firms to predict markets, but that sounds so boring.
Or I could move into the renewable energy sector using my mechanical engineering skills and forte in predictive analytics to help improve efficiency and design for those types of technologies.
These are real possibilities—fields where my skills would be valued without the relentless pressure and politics that come with this sport. I know I could thrive in any of them, using everything I’ve learned about systems, data and problem-solving to make a difference elsewhere. But the thought of leaving racing, leaving everything I’ve worked for, twists something deep inside me. This isn’t just a career. It’s my passion, my identity. And yet, how much more can I take before the love for it all burns out completely?
It’s not a decision I have to make right now. I’m in the safety of my parents’ home and I might take my sister’s offer to come spend some time with her. Take some downtime and do nothing at all. Hell, I have enough in savings I could travel around for a bit, maybe head to Thailand and veg out on the beach.
Maybe join a cloistered nunnery. Something that would remove me far away from thoughts of Nash because one thing is clear to me… now that I am no longer with Titans Racing, I have no future with Nash. There’s no way I’d ever be able to handle the heartbreak of being by his side, being that close to the action and not be an integral part of it. It would be too painful.
When I gave my resignation to Luca, I was also calling it quits with Nash. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time. Operating on pure emotion, I was only focused on my job. It wasn’t until I was packing up my belongings to head to London that I realized I was leaving him behind. I didn’t have the heart to call or text him, and he’s not happy about it.
He’s been blowing up my phone since yesterday when he learned I had resigned. He even went to my apartment looking for me. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to hear the same recriminations that I heard from my father, making me feel like shit about myself.
I knew it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark or without explanation, so I did text him back. I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. If you haven’t figured it out yet, Hendrik was calling for my dismissal and Luca was strongly considering it. I thought it was best for me to resign. I’m in London at my parents’ and I’m safe. I don’t have a future in that industry anymore so I think it’s best that we part ways so you can focus on your racing. I love you, Nash. I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader.
I cringe as I think about that text. I never thought I would break up with somebody that way, but I couldn’t stand to hear his voice. Nash never responded and that was two days ago, so I assume he’s moved on.
My father walks into the kitchen, having just woken up. He’s wearing a thick blue robe, his blond hair sticking up on one side. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose and his face has graying stubble.
“Good morning,” I say cautiously.
“Morning,” he mutters.
I don’t say anything else. Conversation between us has been stilted at best and I don’t like the struggle of attempted connection that gets shot down, but I figure my dad will eventually come around.
I watch as he pours water from the kettle into a cup and stands at the kitchen window, looking out onto the side patio while his tea steeps.
Utter silence between us.
There’s a knock on the front door and I’m surprised because it’s barely seven thirty a.m. My father glances back at me and says, “Do you mind getting that? Your mum is in the shower.”
With dad in his robe and me fully dressed, that’s a no-brainer. “Of course.”
I make my way to the front door and pull open the brass cover over the peephole, and I don’t know that anything in my life could shock me more: Brienne Norcross is standing on our stoop.
I’m frozen, trying to fathom why this woman is here at my parents’ home. It makes absolutely no sense.
She knocks again and it jolts me out of my stupor. I unlock the bolts, swing open the door, and stare at her in confusion. “Ms. Norcross… what are you doing here?”
She is so posh and regal. Her hair is swept back in a perfect chignon, her trademark ruby lipstick staining her full lips. She has on a matching red wool overcoat with oversized black buttons, black leather gloves and black high-heel leather boots. She looks like she could be on her way to high tea with the king, and yet here she is at my house.
Her hands are clasped in front of her. She looks slightly standoffish and her tone confirms that. “I was wondering if you would be willing to take a ride with me, Ms. Toliver?”
I pick up on several things. She’s not happy with me. Her tone is icy, and she addressed me as Ms. Toliver when the last time we talked I was Bex.
“Where are we going?” I ask cautiously, because for all I know, she’s pissed off enough, maybe she’s going to throw me into the Thames.
“I have called an emergency meeting of all my top executives, and we are headed to Guildford. I would like you there.”
“I no longer work for Titans Racing,” I point out. “I turned in my resignation to Luca three days ago.”
Brienne’s nose wrinkles and her lip curls in disdain as she drawls, “Yes, I’m aware you turned in your resignation. That means I had to drop all the things I had going on in Pittsburgh and fly here. And I do not accept your resignation, by the way. Therefore, you’re still a member of the executive team.”
My jaw drops. “I don’t understand.”
Brienne’s expression morphs into one of irritation. Her eyes narrow at me. “I thought you were smarter than that, Ms. Toliver. What don’t you understand about the fact that I flew across the Atlantic Ocean to come here and rectify the mess you made of your position with this company? Tendering your resignation was rash and ill conceived, but I am willing to give you a pass because you are young, and I understand that you are up against indomitable forces. And with this pass I’m giving you, you’re to make this a learning experience.”
“A learning experience?”
“You would be learning that you broke a barrier as the first female chief race strategist in our industry and for you to just walk away from it will set women’s roles back decades. I’m not about to let you quit when you stand for something in this industry. Are we clear?”
I have never been so thoroughly chastised, put in my place, and yet inspired all at the same time.
Before I can answer, I feel my dad’s hands on my back. He pushes me over the threshold and out onto the front porch. “She understands fully, Ms. Norcross.” I turn around to look at my dad in shock and get a face full of my wool coat as he throws it at me.
I grab hold of it as he leans past me and extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming here and cleaning up the mess my daughter has made of things.”
Brienne’s lips tip upward in pure, genuine amusement. She pumps my father’s hand as he clutches the top of his robe in a modest position. “It is absolutely a delight to meet you, Mr. Toliver. You seem like the kind of guy who I should sit down and have a pint with.”
“I imagine we will have to set that up.” He laughs heartily.
I look back and forth between Brienne Norcross and my father who seem to be creating a friendship along the lines of best mates. So damn weird, it’s freaking me out.
I slip into my coat. “I’m ready to go,” I say briskly, hoping to put this back into a more professional scenario.
Brienne motions to a waiting limousine, its driver standing by to let us in. She starts to walk down the steps, and I hesitate a moment before turning back to my dad. I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Dad. I love you.”
“Go make things right. Knock ’em dead.” I turn around and start to trot down the steps as he calls out, “I love you too.”
Once seated in the car, I suffer an overwhelming shyness with this powerhouse of a woman. I fiddle with my coat zipper, unsure if I’m irritated, confused or humiliated. Brienne sits quietly, surfing on her phone, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk. The way she ignores me could mean she’s deeply involved in something far more important, or…
She could be testing my backbone.
Finally, I blurt, “Why are you doing this?”
She glances at me, her expression unreadable. “Because Nash called me yesterday.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“He told me everything,” Brienne says smoothly, angling slightly in the seat to face me. “He said you resigned and that Hendrik and Matthieu have been making your life hell since you joined the team. Oh, and he also said he’s quitting if you’re not brought back.”
My heart nearly leaps from my chest. “He… said that?”
“Yes. And I’m not about to let Nash Sinclair quit Titans Racing because of some bruised egos and bad leadership. So, no, you’re not quitting. End of story.”
I press my fingers to my temples, my thoughts spinning. I’m not sure what it says about me that I seem to be happier that Nash stood up for me rather than Brienne paving a path to get my job back. Nash has kept a barrier between us, but laying his career on the line for me is quite a statement.
But I have to put the subject of us on the back burner. “There are people on the team who don’t want to work with me. Hendrik implied they don’t believe in my abilities. I screwed up in Melbourne—”
“You didn’t screw up,” Brienne interrupts, her tone sharp. “I don’t know much about racing, but I’m learning. I talked to Luca after, and he explained many things to me. He said you made a risky call, and it didn’t pay off. That happens in this sport. You’ll make other risky calls, and some of them will win us races. He said that’s the nature of the job. Am I wrong?”
I stare at her, my chest tight. “No. You’re not wrong. But I had hoped to get a few more races under my belt before a risk blew up in my face.”
“Well, I’m sorry fate didn’t accommodate you,” she drawls with enough sarcasm that I blush. “You’re going to have to toughen up. You have all the skills, experience and knowledge. Now you need the thick skin.”
“I do have a thick skin,” I say, defending myself. “I tried to handle it on my own and—”
“See, that right there is a problem. Being tough and having a thick skin doesn’t mean you make yourself an island. This is still a team, and you should have gone to Luca with your concerns. He would have mediated it.”
“That felt like weakness,” I murmur.
“I’m telling you, it’s not.” Brienne glances out the window and then back to me. “Let me ask you something. If you had seen anyone working for Titans Racing struggling with their job in any form or capacity, what would you do?”
“I’d try to fix it if it was in my wheelhouse and if not, I would have involved the person who could fix it.”
“Right,” she says with a pointed look. “You never would’ve expected that person to just give up and walk away. You would have pushed to find a solution.”
I groan, letting my head hit the back of the cushion. “God. I feel so stupid when you put it like that.”
Brienne’s expression softens. “Look… you’re in a high-pressure job and as a woman, you’re going to face a steeper stair climb than a man in the same exact situation. That’s just the way it is. But I need you to figure out how to succeed rather than give up. Are you that person? Can you be that type of strategist for my team?”
“Yes. I can,” I say firmly. To say I’m having an epiphany is an understatement.
“Good.” She nods, satisfied. “We’re agreed. You’re going to stop letting other people dictate your worth. You’ve earned this position. I expect you to bust your ass to keep it.”
There are still many unknowns before me, but one thing is for sure… I’d just as soon die than let this woman down.