“Thomas, good to see you. Victoria, you’re tracking Elio’s performance for your forecasting thing?” Declan asks.
I guess the kid is named Thomas. I think I’ll just go withFuckface.
“Yes.” Victoria lowers her tablet. “I’m getting a lot of great information. I’ll also need to see how driver 2 does in the sim chamber.”
“Is his name that contagious?” Declan sounds vaguely amused.
“Of course not.”Why does she sound flustered?And why the hell is that so satisfying?
She clears her throat. “I need to seeAsherin the sim suite next.”
“We called him in for that purpose. He should be here in half an hour. After you have what you need from him, run it up the flagpole. It should be useful for Elio’s car.”
Wait—what the fuck did he just say? Thatmysimulation runs would somehow benefitElio?
I’ve never had a thing for numbers, but that math is not mathing.
Victoria must have a similar sentiment, because she asks, “What?”
“He doesn’t put any effort into racing anymore,” Declan shrugs. “Hasn’t since he got here, frankly. There’s no point in pushing for upgrades on his car since he won’t use them, so it’s smarter to allocate resources over to Elio. He might not be the best driver, but at least he tries and works with what he has.”
My jaw tightens. Objectively, what Declan’s saying makes sense. I’mnotdoing what I’m supposed to be doing. But to find out that I’ve been called in for a bullshit simulation forElio’ssake? I’m fucking fuming.
I’m getting a taste of my own medicine, and it’s bitter and acrid, like the ashes from a chemical fire.
“Oh.” Victoria clears her throat again. Is that a tell of hers when she’s uncomfortable?
Again, why do you care, asshole?
“I heard you bribed Oliver with baked goods,” Declan comments, switching topics. “He bitched to me about having to dig through archives to get you data for your little project. Also raved about your chocolate-chip cookies. For future reference, just about everyone here will be nicer to you if you bring them sugar.”
“It’s not a little project.” Her voice is terse. “It’s a forecasting model that—”
“Nobody cares.” Declan sighs. “Not until you can prove they should care. Peoplewouldcare about chocolate chip cookies, though. Oliver said they were better than the ones at our coffee shop.”
They continue talking about innocuous, meaningless bullshit while I afford myself the time to calm down, so that I don’t make a complete fool of myself when I join them. My efforts prove to be entirely in vain when Elio steps out of the sim suite, pulling off his headset and unclipping himself from his harness with the practiced ease of an idiot who actuallyenjoysbeing there. He has his usual, ridiculous Colgate smile plastered on his face.
“How was that?” he asks, tipping Victoria an over-the-top wink. He glances in my direction, and I swiftly duck behind the door. Being caught standing here like a stalker is not on my to-do list today.
“It was great.” Victoria’s voice is still tense. “I got a lot of good info, thank you.”
“No problem. Always happy to help out a member of the team. I hear you’re in the market to conduct interviews; I’d happily make myself your willing victim. Schedule a time with my PA.”
He’sreallylaying it on thick, and now there aretwopeople who deserve dismemberment for coming onto Victoria. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much, but it is. She’s already proven to be utterly useless; why are people praising her for it?
“Speaking of interviews, there’s this party tonight—” I choose that moment to intervene and stride into the room, cutting off Elio’s offer before he can make it. All four of them turn to look at me. Declan appears confused that I’m here early, Victoria’s expression of surprise swiftly melts into irritation, Elio looks outright pissed, and Thomas looks like he couldn’t give less of a shit if there was a gun to his head.
I jerk my chin at Declan. “I was summoned.”
He recovers quickly. “Get your ass in the sim suite.”
I pause, tapping my chin like I’m considering it, then shake my head. “Nah, I think I’m good. I know everything I need to know already.”
“Do you? Because you drive like you don’t know your ass from your elbow,” Declan says drily. “We need at least a couple laps from you.”
“For what?” I challenge. I doubt he’ll admit that he only wants me in the sim suite to help Elio out. “You have the data you need from my racing.”
“We havesomedata,” Declan corrects. “We need more. It’s for a special project we’re working on.”
