Fritz and Henry stare at each other like they’re communicating telepathically. That’s a weird dynamic.
Thank God Rafael and Davide don’t do that kinda shit—Julien might start to suspect something.
“Anyway, I’m gonna head out.” Julien was supposed to ask about VFIBR, but he doesn’t really care anymore.
“While you’re thinking—” Henry raises his hand to stop him. “I know it’ll be difficult to do, but try not to consider the money. If you go where the opportunity is, the money will follow.”
“Right.”
But how is Julien supposed to know which opportunity to take? For all anyone knows, fuckingMcLeancould be the next to build a championship-winning car.
Back on the plush hotel bed, Julien lays on his stomach in front of his laptop and scrolls through a spreadsheet of notes.
Pete was very thorough with compiling all of the information and making it easy to digest, but some of his stylistic choices are a little questionable.
Julien pauses, staring at the red background Pete chose to represent Red Boar. Though the color of the column doesn’t exactly matter, it still feels wrong. Almost as wrong as the purple he used for McLean.
Why would someone who doesn’t care about Formation 1 agree to represent him? Doesn’t he have better things to do?
Julien huffs, clicking through and editing the columns to the correct team colors. At the very least, it helps him avoid the impending question—the decision that will change the course of the rest of his entire life.
“You doing okay?” Rafael asks, eyeing the computer.
“It’s a lot to process.”
Once Julien fixes the colors of all the teams, he mindlessly scrolls the list again. None of the information has changed in the past few minutes, but he drags the cursor back and forth just in case.
“Who stood out the most?” Rafael’s phone smacks the nightstand before he rolls over and lays with Julien. The meetings are probably supposed to be private, but the Brazilian’s fingers glide over the touch pad anyway. “No red?”
Julien flicks the curious fingers away and guides the chart back over to dark green. “Ashton Marvin was pretty impressive.”
“Theywere?!”
Yeah, it’s hard to imagine since Laurent and Gio are consistently at the back of the grid. “They have a lot of interesting plans for the future. They could be fighting for wins soon.”
Butsoonin Formation 1 could be years. Is Julien willing to suffer years at the back of the grid, fighting for a single point, waiting until they figure out how to build a car?
Or would it be better to take the deal from Adam Stone? Two years of hell at the back for a straight shot to the front?
Then again, what about Mercenary? They’re already racing at the top every weekend—battling for a podium place. Not many wins, but it’s better than scrambling not to come last.
“The whole Ashton crew always seems so depressed.” Rafael shifts closer and rests his chin on Julien’s shoulder. “What kind of team environment would you like? They’re all different vibes.”
“I don’t know.” Julien has been in the Ferraro driver’s program his whole career—sincekarting. What should he expect from anywhere else?
“I’ve hopped around a bit, so I can help you figure it out. What would you like to do every week? Social media games? Sim runs? Investor parties? Brand photoshoots?”
“I like sims.” But there’ll be far less of it when he becomes full-time. “I dunno. I don’t think I care about the rest.”
It’s all the same level of necessary evil.
“Well, try to think about it. Picking a team isn’t just the ‘win every race’ and ‘be world champion’ stuff—everybody wants that—but imagine the day-to-day stuff too. The environment. Teams are like a second family.”
Everybody wants that.
Do they, though? “I don’t want that.”
“A second family?”
