“I was wondering about the upgrade package for Asher.” I step in and motion to the armchair before the desk. “May I?”
Ilya considers me for a moment before acquiescing with a nod. “Please.”
He waits until I seat myself and set my bag down. “I assume you and Asher have discussed the deal he struck with me?”
“He has,” I nod. “And, as you can see, he’s making excellent progress towards meeting your terms.”
Ilya acknowledges this with a slight incline of his head, dropping into his office chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “He is. But let’s not forget, he has two races to make it into top 10, or his upgrade package may be delayed… indefinitely.”
Believe me, I fucking know.He and I are both working overtime to make sure he achieves his goal.
“I know. He’s in the simulator constantly, practicing and improving so that he’ll break top 10. I wholeheartedly believe in him.”
“I don’t care for yourbeliefs,Victoria. I care for results.” Ilya’s tone is hard. He won’t bend on this point, and I don’t expect him to.
“Of course. I’m here to ask if I can see the mockup of the upgrade package you’re planning to deliver, so I can start analyzing how the new car will impact his racestrategy. Where it’ll be a benefit, and anything he’ll have to adjust to.” My tone has a slight challenge beneath it.
Ilya tilts his head to the side. “What makes you think we have mockups ready?”
“Common sense,” I reply. “That is, if you’re the strategist I’ve come to believe you are.”
Ilya’s eyes glitter with warning. “Be careful, Miss Linden,” he says softly. “I’m fond of you because of your work, but you only get so much leeway.”
“Consider this meeting me calling on any leeway I get.” I reach into my bag and draw out a swath of papers tucked neatly into a folder. “In the case that your belief in Asher has not been strong enough to merit mockups, I’d like to submit some of my own for your consideration.”
Ilya gives the file an amused look, then meets my eyes as he opens it slowly, as if he’s doing me a favor. In reality, I’ve spent half of my nights doinghima massive fucking favor. I’ve been sketching, modeling, and testing potential upgrades on Asher’s car, using my algorithm and the many years I spent in a mechanic shop with an F1 fan as guides.
“You’re a race engineering support intern, not—” Ilya’s words die on his lips as he glances down at the first page. His mouth shuts, teeth clackingtogether. He reads over the first page. Then the second, third, and fourth. Each page has an in-depth description of recommended changes and their reasoning, accompanied by sketches that can inform mechanics working on the carandbe submitted to the FIA—the governing body of F1—for considerationand approval.
After several minutes, Ilya looks up. “How long have you been working on this?”
I don’t see how that’s relevant, but… “A week, give or take.”
“This would’ve taken our teammonths,” he murmurs. “How did you do this in aweek?”
I spent the best times of my childhood in a sweaty shop with a man who taught me the ins and outs of every part that makes up a car. A man who was a gigantic F1 fan, and an engineer himself. But, to put it in terms the PhD sitting across from me can understand… “I studied engineering at MIT.”
“Your thesis is data and physics geared. I assumed that was your educational focus, notthis.” He taps the papers.
“My undergrad was mechanical engineering, with leeway for me to design my own concentration. I went for performance systems, instrumentation, and practical application of physics. My graduate degree built on it.” I lean forward, and show the sort of impertinence that could get me fired when I tap my designs. “That is optimized for everything—and I meaneverything. It’s informed by hundreds of thousands of data sets that both I and my program have combed through. You will not get a better plan in time.” I stand up. “Shall I move forward with training my program on the assumption thatthiswill end up being Asher’s car for the rest of the season?”
“You haven’t already?” Ilya arches an eyebrow.
Of course I have. Ilya would be dumb not to at leastconsidermy sketches, and he is far from stupid. “Not without approval.”
“IfAsher continues to meet my terms, andifhe breaks top ten either in Miami or Montreal…” Ilya glances down at the designs. “These would be an excellent fit for his car.”
I tamp down my rush of excitement, reminding myself it’s premature. It will still be ridiculously difficult to get Asher in the top 10, but based on what we’ve been testing recently, it’s theoretically doable under the right conditions.
Miami experiences sweltering heatwaves and terrible weather patterns during setup week. It’s either blazing hot or storming every day, which makes being on the track hazardous and depressing.
I don’t get to spend any time in the city or do anything fun; whenever I’m not in the paddock or garage for setup, I’m in my hotel room, hiding from the terrible weather and working. Asher and I barely see each other for several days, though he does visit my room late one night and fucks me so hard I nearly pass out.
The tricky part about the insanely unpredictable weather in Florida is having to plan strategies around every eventuality. From tyre to battery to racing maneuvers, things become alotmore convoluted when Mother Nature doesn’t play nice.
Free practices on Friday go very well—Asher executes everything he’s been practicing in the simulator flawlessly, and Elio sees a notable improvement, as well.
Saturday qualifying ends with Asher inP11and Elio atP15. I count that as a resounding success.
