Sunday is when everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
Chapter Forty-Four
Asher
Iknow it’s going to be a shitty day when the weather reports a thunderstorm incoming during the second half of the day, coinciding with the end of the race. Since this is Florida, which I generally consider to be the divine’s urinal, there’s no way to know when it’llactuallyhit and fuck everything sideways.
My spotty outlook on the day only intensifies when Finn fucking Ulrich decides to approach me while we’re waiting to buckle in. I’m leaning against my car, watching Victoria talk to Declan about something from afar, fantasizing about my plans the next time we get a few hours alone together. I find it to be an extremely successful way to lower stress before a race.
Ulrich takes a spot beside me, dirtyingmycar withhisslimy presence. It’s been years since we traded insults—about the same length of time it’s been since I decided to check out and do the bare minimum. Now that I’m back in the game, old feuds are going to rise to the surface.
“I wonder what has your interest.” Ulrich’s thick German accent makes the words come out even harsher than intended—and I don’t assume he’s here to be nice.
I pointedly tear my gaze away from Victoria and look at the stands housing thousands upon thousands of people. “The usual. The weather, that there are too many people, the annoying fucking drivers—”
“The intern.”
I don’t give Ulrich the satisfaction of a reaction; instead, I force a bored yawn. Internal team chatter is one thing;otherteams catching on is an entirely different game, and means that the time has come to announce our relationship.
My vote was for announcing it the night of the gala, but I tried to respect Victoria’s boundaries. My patience has just about run out.
“Well, she is my engineer,” I point out. “Some attention has to be allotted to underlings.”
“Funny. I’ve heard a rumor that she spends a lot of time under you in various ways.”
Don’t react. Don’t react. Do not fucking react, or he’ll smell blood in the water.
“Prone to gossip, Ulrich? What other hobbies occupy your free time? Smutty book clubs? Knitting groups?”
“Can’t blame you,” Ulrich goes on as if I hadn’t spoken. “If I had a girl that pretty at my beck and call, you can bet my favorite hobby would be fucking her raw.”
My hands clench into fists, and my posture tightens. I know he’s trying to bait me—that should be enough to keep me cool, but it isn’t. I can’t stand him eventhinkingabout Victoria, let alonetalkingabout putting his filthy goddamn hands on her.
She’s mine. I willnotshare her, and I want to kill Ulrich for even thinking of her.
When the hell did I become so possessive?No matter; it is what it is. Only thing I can do now is roll with it, and try not to catch a first-degree over it.
“I hear she’ll be shopping around some fancy software she’s building.” Ulrich must not possess even asinglebraincell, because the idiot keeps fucking gabbing on. “When you’re done stretching her out, I might put in a good word for her with Thorsten. Bring her over with me, and use up what’s left of her—”
That’s all I can stand. I round on him, baring my teeth. It takes every bit of control I possess to not punch this fuckwad in the face, and the only thing holding me back is imagining Victoria’s expression of disappointment. “I don’t care about your assumptions, grandstanding, or bullshit,” I lie. “But get rid of any designs you have onmyintern. And you better watch your fucking back on the track, Ulrich. It’d be areal goddamn shameif something were to happen to your piece-of-shit car.”
An announcement goes off, calling the start of practice lap in just a few minutes. Ulrich doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. He simply offers me a thin smile, letting me know that he’s onto me.
“May the best man win.” He walks away.
Ulrich is starting out in P18 after a series of fuckups during qualifying. If I have even a bit of luck mixed with my strategy, I won’t have to worry about him… too much.
“We’re starting you out with the sea for as far as the tide can rise, then moving you to the desert for the bulk of the race,” Victoria murmurs in my ears after warmup, using the code developed for this particular race. Since I don’t want every other team to know my tyre strategy, we have code words to speak freely without tipping the world off. Translation: we’re starting out on softs and keeping them until they’re useless, then hards for the bulk of the race, and then we’ll pick a strategy based on the rain.
Typically, we would’ve gone over this in briefing, but with Florida being God’s urinal, it’s wise to leave some decisions to the last second.
“Got it,” I reply smoothly, eyes flicking to the starting lights as the first one blinks on. I adjust my grip on the wheel, and breathe deeply.
I’ll break top 10 this race. I have to, or I’ll be cutting itwaytoo close to the wire. I have the advantage of a solid starting position, and I have Victoria and the entire team on my side. Even Elio told me last night that he was willing to run support/ interference if that helped get the team points.
Only problem there is that he’s absolute shit at defense, but I appreciate the thought.
The last starting light turns on. I force myself to relax, and ignore the sinking sensation in my gut that this race is going to prove to be anythingbuta smooth ride.
