Chapter 10 Under Pressure
Under Pressure
February sunshine beat down on Juliette’s shoulders. The air was a burning hand pressed to the back of her neck. The track sliced through the heart of the desert, littered with reporters and cameras. Perspiration trickled down her nose. She wondered briefly if it was possible to sweat to death.
God, what she’d give for a nice orange juice.
“All right,” Ranya said. “Nothing fancy today. Just an easy lap followed by some pictures for the cameras. Is that understood?”
Their team principal leaned on a cane, an iced lemonade in her hand. Juliette looked enviously at the perspiration on the glass.
Dominic shifted. “Define easy.”
He wore a navy race suit, his face shaded by a baseball cap.
He looked tired, Juliette observed, or possibly hungover.
She hadn’t spoken to him since their unexpected embrace with the pirate ship last night, but she couldn’t imagine Dominic’s conscience had kept him awake.
As far as she was aware, he didn’t possess one.
Ranya gave him a look. “Don’t break the car. You’ve got your headsets?”
More nodding. Ranya took a sip.
“Keep our race engineers informed. If you feel the car acting up in any way—understeer, oversteer, too much downforce—then I want that communicated. We can’t win with a half-decent car.”
“Noted,” Juliette said.
Dominic nodded. Or he probably did. She’d spent the last twenty minutes without making direct eye contact; it had begun to feel like a contest, and she had no intention of losing.
“Good,” Ranya said. “Let’s get started.”
Dominic turned and walked back toward the cars. Juliette was about to follow him when Ranya caught her arm.
“Juliette?”
She paused.
“Just take it slow today,” Ranya said. “Follow Dominic’s lead.”
Heat prickled at Juliette’s ears. She was acutely aware of Frederick smirking from the shade of an umbrella.
She hadn’t seen the arsehole since the final race at the academy when he’d tampered with her car, although he’d decided to show up today to “lend a hand with the feeder drivers.” Could he hear what Ranya was saying?
God, she hoped not.
“I can handle it,” she said.
“The car will feel bigger,” Ranya warned. “It’s a harder machine to control than what you’re used to driving.”
Juliette crossed her arms. “I’ve done the simulators.” She’d driven the Bahrain racetrack eight times last night. Hell, she’d even done it with her eyes closed.
“It’s different on track. You’ll need to ease into it.”
She looked away. The sun burned her neck, sending sweat trickling down her spine.
She was suddenly twelve years old again, running after Cap and Baz through sprinklers, then being chastised by a neighbor because her T-shirt was transparent; she was crying to her mother, wringing the water from her shirt.
I don’t understand. Cap and Baz didn’t get in trouble.
Logically, Juliette knew that Ranya was taking her aside because she was a rookie. Dominic had been driving these cars for years. He didn’t need the same level of handholding. But emotionally…
Her stomach clenched.
“I can handle it,” she repeated.
Ranya’s mouth tightened. “Just remember what I said.”
“Ranya!” A journalist waved her over. “Can we get a few comments?”
Ranya shot her a look before starting toward the reporter.
Juliette had made it halfway to the car when Frederick appeared, looking annoyingly unaffected by the heat.
His bleached hair was bone white in the harsh sunlight, and he wore a rubber bracelet that said #MenForWomen.
She’d spotted it at a designer store last week; it retailed for approximately a month’s rent.
“I wonder what will take longer,” Frederick mused. “Changing your tires during a race or changing your tampon.”
Juliette yanked on her balaclava. “I’m not in the mood, Von Galen.”
Frederick clicked his tongue. “Testy. If you need a break, let me know. I don’t mind showing everyone how a car should be driven.”
“Funny,” Juliette said coolly. “I remember outqualifying you in every race at the academy.”
“I beat you in the last one.”
Juliette’s chest tightened. “Only because you fucked with my rear suspension.”
Frederick’s smile grew.
Juliette hopped into the car. If it was any other day—or literally anywhere else—she would have told Frederick Von Galen to go fuck himself.
But there were cameras trained on them from every angle, and she knew the sort of things that journalists liked to write about angry women: If a man raised his voice, he was asserting authority; if a woman raised her voice, she was hysterical.
It was like one of those Magic Eye puzzles: The same thing was happening, but there were two ways to see it.
“Von Galen,” a male voice said. “I heard about Taurus. Congratulations.”
She looked up. Dominic Hastings stood by her car, watching them with an unreadable expression. He crossed his arms, and Juliette caught the flash of something on his forearm. A tattoo. It must be new, because she couldn’t recall it from before.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t friends.
She didn’t care.
“Hastings.” Any malice that had been in Frederick’s voice was gone. In fact, his voice seemed to have miraculously dropped two octaves. “Nice to see you, mate.”
Dominic nodded at the car. “You ever driven one of these?”
“Oh, yeah,” Frederick said. “All the time. Dad bought me one for my fifteenth birthday.” He shot Juliette a smug look, and she resisted the childish urge to roll her eyes. Barely. “Some of us like to build up experience.”
“Interesting.” Dominic’s dark eyes glittered. “So you’re familiar with all the parts?”
“Extremely.”
“And the rear suspension?” Dominic asked neutrally. “Are you familiar with that?”
Juliette’s heart sped up. The way Dominic was looking at Frederick, with dark fire in his eyes…But how did he know? Frederick—who was slowly going pink—muttered something under his breath before storming toward the throng of people. Dominic’s frown was thoughtful.
“I remember him from teaching at the academy. A right little arsehole.”
She had the alarming urge to laugh, although thankfully, she managed to resist. “Ranya told you.”
“She did.” Dominic took off his sunglasses. “Von Galen should be penalized. That could have cost a lesser driver their life.”
“I’m fine.”
“As I said,” Dominic murmured. “A lesser driver.”
She drew a sharp breath. She’d forgotten about the flecks of gold in his eyes, like stars streaking the night sky. Or had she? Maybe it was more that she wanted to forget, that she’d convinced herself that she’d outgrown the shape of him, like outgrowing a pair of old jeans.
“Don’t be nervous,” Dominic said. “You’ll do well.” His eyes flicked over the controls, as if reassuring himself that everything was in place. “Just take it easy. The tires blister easily when the track’s this hot.”
Juliette punched a button. “I know how track temperatures work.”
Dominic hesitated. “I didn’t mean—” His throat bobbed. “You’re right. That was condescending. I’m sorry.”
Juliette stared. The apology was so unexpected that she was momentarily speechless. Was this an ill-disguised attempt to throw her off her game? Or was it only because of the cameras? She didn’t have time to wonder, because farther down the track, Ranya waved her cane.
“Hastings!” She tapped his car. “Let’s get a move on.”
Dominic jogged backward. For a bizarre moment, she thought he might wish her luck, but instead he said, “Let’s stay out of each other’s way, all right?”
Juliette started the engine. She was acutely aware of dozens of eyes as she guided the car onto the track, her hands sliding over the buttons.
Race start. Brake balance. Gearbox neutral.
She took a deep breath. The car wasn’t that different; it was just bigger.
And faster. And liable to kill her. She kicked the engine into gear, gritting her teeth as the car roared to life.
The track disappeared beneath her, the hungry tires devouring the aggregate.
Her radio crackled.
“How’s the balance feeling?” Hamish, her race engineer, asked.
Juliette slid into the first corner. “Fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Quite the opposite. Too much rear brake, probably, although she didn’t want to say until she was sure. Maybe it was just the size of the car.
Keys tapped. “You’re skidding a wee bit.”
“Just give me a second.”
She sped up. The car shuddered beneath her, whining as she switched gears.
Her pulse thundered in her chest. Shit. Shit.
She’d never encountered anything like this; it wasn’t like the simulators at all.
It was like riding a tricycle your whole life and then trying to ride a unicycle on a tightrope.
Dominic’s taillights were growing fainter.
She piled on more speed, her hand working at the paddle behind her steering wheel.
Hamish’s voice was tense. “Ease into the chicane.”
“I have it.”
A note of alarm crept into his tone. “The corner! Watch the—”
Her car struck something.
The front wing jerked. Juliette swore. And then she was spinning, hurtling toward the barriers.