“I find people I think are qualified, then I talk to the people who’ve worked below them. Everyone is nice to their boss. They have to be. I want to know how people treat their admin staff, their interns, their rivals. That’s the only true way to measure a person.” He drains the last of his espresso. “In your case, it was Billy Gaines, Ella Fairchild, Tony Carson, Maria Coutreau, and Sam Austin. I always speak to at least five people, to ensure a fair sample.”
I sit silently, feeling sort of stunned. Billy Gaines was a sixteen-year-old kid who was going through karting, who spent a month with Porteo a few years ago. Ella was the team manager’s assistant. Tony was a physiotherapist. Sam was one of the mechanics. And Maria... it takes me a minute to place her. I think she was my teammate’s girlfriend.
“You are an extremely talented driver,” Tom says. “But so are a lot of people. You treat people well. You work hard. And you’ve overcome a hell of a lot over the past months. I can imagine what it’s taken for you to get to this point.”
“Uh—yeah.” I clear my throat. “It’s been... a lot.”
He nods. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you, you’ve still got a lot of hard work ahead of you. And if you slack off, or start acting like a jackass, you’ll be held accountable.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Now, come.” He stands. “I’ll give you a tour of the place and walk you through our expectations of you.”
I stand automatically, then abruptly sit down again.
“Sir,” I say, in a voice that sounds distant.
“Yes?”
I swallow on a dry throat. “I want to be part of this team,” I say. “You have no idea how much I want that.”
Tom frowns as he sits back down. “Okay.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms. “There’s something you should know.”
Be completely honest, Amanda said. That way, if you get the job, you know it’s because they really want you.
Tom inclines his head. “Go on.”
I have to swallow a few more times before I can speak. “The year leading up to the crash... I was dating someone.” My heart is hammering.Spit it out, I order myself. “Another driver.”
Tom’s eyebrows lift, just for a moment, then he stares at me so intensely I can feel myself start to sweat.
“Travis Keeping,” he says.
Holy shit.
“Um.” My hands are shaking. I wasn’t going to tell him it was Travis. “I don’t know if I should say...”
Tom is still staring at me. “It will not leave this room.”
I swallow hard. It’s just occurred to me that I don’t know this guy—this straight multimillionaire—at all.
And yet, something about him makes me trust him.
I rake a hand over my head. Have I gone completely insane?
I must have, because I find myself nodding jerkily. “How did you know?” My pulse spikes in sudden panic. Was it completely obvious to everyone, all that time?
“Travis is our team’s greatest competition. He is almost faultless as a driver. We were interested in signing him four years ago when he was coming out of F2, but Harper-Torrent got to him first.” My eyebrows lift. I didn’t know that. “His performance was incredibly poor in the race after your crash, and he was distracted for several races afterward, which is uncharacteristic of him. And he has always seemed withdrawn, as people who perceive themselves as outsiders often are.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly.
He studies me again for a moment. “I won’t pretend this doesn’t make things... complex.”
My stomach sinks. “Right.”
“All of our staff sign strict nondisclosure agreements, however I am not fool enough to think that those agreements stop them from speaking to their partners and spouses about our work. But none of those partners or spouses are drivers who’ve just beat us in the championship. And if you were ever to drive against him...” He trails off and drums his fingers on his desk, looking so serious my heart rate triples.
