CHAPTER 27
Chloe
Las Vegas Grand Prix
Qualifying
Ithink about one hundredth of a second per lap,” Jasper says, wiping the grease from his hands as he reaches into his cigarette pouch.“Impossible to know until we see her race.We’re not going into the wind tunnel for testing anytime soon.”
“I see.”I try not to grin too much, or get too excited.Jasper has made so many minor adjustments—everything he can actually do to improve this car short of a complete rebuild.Now it’s up to the drivers to execute.
“Wanna smoke?”he says, holding out the rolled tobacco in my direction.
“Still no,” I say, laughing.“I think I’m going to part-walk the track.”I spot Alonso and his team out there already, sauntering past, chatting, laughing.Just like a team ought to be.“Take in the sights from the safety of the circuit.”
“Your drivers should be doing that,” says Jasper pointedly.
“Those puffed-up, spoiled peacocks?”I reply.
“Careful,” he says.“You’re still on thin ice, little lady.”
“That’s boss to you,” I reply, punching him in the arm.
I head out onto the pit.It’s busy as you’d expect for a street circuit with plenty of teams about.The officials and staff set up stands, erecting barriers along the wide boulevards.I wander along the winding tarmac to the edge of the lane and look up at the bright lights of the Las Vegas strip, starting to sparkle its famous colors against the sunset.
My god, I love this sport.I love the night races.I love the street circuits.I love it when we can bring our game so close to everything.
I find a crate where some workers are erecting the stands, and I decide to take a seat, pulling out a stick of gum, and drink in the pre-race atmosphere.Tomorrow, there will be three hundred thousand people in these stands, with more peering out hotel windows onto the strip.There will be sponsors too, looking at the next season and beyond and wanting to hitch their brands to a rising star.It feels so close at Arden.So many fragile, tentative, human threads that need to braid perfectly together to work this beast of a machine.
We could have been such an incredible story.
We could be going into qualifying today with another top-ten win, if it weren’t for my stupid mouth.
My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out.
I stare down at it, almost dropping it to the street with the anxious excitement of seeing his name.
“Matt,” I say breathlessly into the phone.“Where are you?You snuck off early this morning, and we never got to...well,talk.”I feel my cheeks heat at the memory.
“I know.I need to talk to you too.I’m walking the track,” he says, his voice light.“With Noah and Barry’s dogs, actually.We can see you.Wait for us.”
I turn back down the track and see them picking up the pace, heading in my direction, the two greyhounds trotting in front on long leads as they come.
“Barry asked us to walk Ginger and Roger,” Noah explains as they catch us up.“Matt’s been giving me some really great tips for the circuit.”
My eyes scan over to Matt, who offers a small smile.
“Come on,” Noah says, enthusiastically being tugged ahead by Roger and Ginger.“It’s a long fucking walk!At least we can see the whole strip.”
And then he’s off, racing ahead with the dogs, and Matt and I are left standing alone.Matt starts walking right away, slowly, following Noah and motioning for me to walk alongside him.
The sounds of the strip float across the barriers and onto the road.Above me, I can see the twinkling lights of the Flamingo and ahead the broad, brightly lit Caesars Palace.The air smells like heat, and tarmac, and the filth of the city, but I drink it in, Matt at my side.
I turn to look at him, and he glances sideways, grinning.“Well, we can talk now,” he says playfully.“I have to keep my distance.”
I ignore the warmth his teasing brings.“I’m sorry about what happened.I failed you,” I say.“I failed at my most important job as team principal and that is protecting my team.”
Matt stops, his eyes darting around cautiously.
