I try to keep the sour expression from my face. Two things I hate: men ordering for me and drinking red wine. But, since I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with Elio the same way I did with Asher, I force a smile. “Sounds great.”
Two hours later, my glass of red wine stands untouched while Elio’s on his fourth drink, and I’ve made my way through most of the questions I have for him.
The most important thing I need to know is what his greatest points of dissatisfaction are—and he’s spent the last half hour monologuing about what an asshole Asher is, making him the focus of conversation. Every time I try to divert, he drinks more and talks more. His voice isn’tquiet, either; if Asher wasn’t sound asleep several rows back with his Air Pods in, I’d be worried.
“And he can’t even fuckingdrive,” Elio says. His cheeks are flushed from the liquor; his eyes are slightly glazed. I wouldn’t say he’s drunk just yet, but he’s rapidly approaching that stage. “I mean, everyone raves over how good he was when he started, but that wasforeverago, and he’s lost his touch. Asher’s a classic never-was. And an asshole.” He takes another swallow of amber liquor.
“Is Asher really your biggest complaint?” I ask. “Nothing about the car, the engineers, the mechanics, the—”
“Everything else has its problems, but they’re navigable. Lawrence will never change or become easier to work with, and I’m stuck with him for the rest of the season.” He leans in conspiratorially. “It’ll be his last, though. We actually have bets going on it around the team. Half think he’ll quit before the season’s over; the other half are sure his contract won’t be renewed. Everyone knows he’s on his way out.”
“Is that why his car hasn’t had substantial, non-regulatory upgrades in two years?” I ask curiously. “Or could it be the other way around?”
“He drives like shit now; how would upgrades change anything?” Elio shakes his head. “He’d need to show some serious improvement for an upgrade package to even be considered, and he won’t put in the work. He’s always the last one in, the first one out, and the shittiest for morale all around,” Elio says, reaching up to scratch his chin. His Rolex, studded with enough diamonds to almost blind me, catches the light. I hide a wince. While everyoneelse is dressed down for travel, Elio’s wearing designer apparel from head to toe. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants attention or genuinely feels most comfortable in it.
I blink to clear the flash of diamonds from my eyes and focus on Elio’s complaints. They happen to be important to my work, if not insufferable. It seems the entire team agrees that Asher’s bad attitude brings everyone around him down. His shitty personality is an emotional,humanvariable that I somehow need to plug into my algorithm. Which is no easy task, because it requires me quantifying the human condition and making it into a formula that my system understands.
“Is that why you hate him?”
“Idon’thate him,” Elio says. “I’m just sick of his shit. We came to the team at the same time, you know? And I looked up to the guy. But then—”
“I get it; Asher’s a jerk,” I say loudly.Tooloudly, because Declan—who’s sitting across the aisle from us—swivels his head and shoots me a scathing glare. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place; being hereandtalking shit on the driver I’m assigned to isn’t a good look for me.
I lower my voice. “Could you tell me about—”
“First, tell me about yourself.” Elio knocks back the rest of his drink, and signals the stewardess to bring him another. “What brings you to F1? You’re too pretty, and according to some, toosmartto be wasting your time on Gaston.”
Irritation prickles at my chest. “I’m here because I love F1.”
“Why?” he laughs. “It’s not exactly the most glamorous sport. I mean, if it has to do with your daddy issues and your surrogate father being a mechanic, I guess that makes sense, but don’t pretend you’re here for the love of the sport.”
My lips part, and my heart thuds in a rapid, staccato beat. His insinuation that I have daddy issues is hurtful enough, but his knowledge that the man I considered my surrogate father was a mechanic…
A blonde head of hair pops up from the row in front of us. Amanda faces me, her expression aghast. She gives Elio a harsh look that makes him go quiet, then turns to me.
It clicks quite easily. She passed on a report of our conversation to Elio, and she must’ve beenverydetailed when she gave him the rundown. That’s why she invited me to coffee. I wonder if she told him that she made him sound like a shallow diva. If I wasn’t so taken aback, I might mention it to him.
“I’mso sorry,” she says emphatically. “I… he…”
“It’s fine.” I try to ignore the way my voice cracks. I give Elio an acerbic smile. “Thank you for your time. I think I’m going to find another seat for the rest of the flight.”If there are any.
“Take mine!” Amanda squeaks in offering. “Really, Victoria, I’m so—”
“Please stop talking.” I stand. We trade seats; I ignore her attempt to make eye contact, and keep my gaze glued to the carpeted floor.
I’ll give credit where credit’s due; she genuinely does look sorry, but I genuinely don’t give a fuck. A single, absentminded slip on my end just turned into one of the premier F1 drivers calling me out fordaddy issues.
And he doesn’t even get the tip of the iceberg. I don’t have issues with my father; I have problems with my entire family, including my six-plus biological siblings and a dozen kind-of-stepsiblings. Out of all of them, I am the only one who doesn’t have my father’s surname.
Even mybrotherhas that prick’s last name. All of his other children, who were the product of his countless other marriages, have his last name. I am literally the black sheep in every conceivable way.
My cheeks burn long after the Elio insult, and I stare pointedly out of the window, fighting the tears threatening to spill over my eyes. Whether or not he intended to be a drunk asshole and say mean shit in front of the entire team, he did.
I let myself sit in the pain for a bit, and then, I turn it into motivation. There’s no question in my mind that Asher absolutely does not deserve my help, but he’s going to get it. I’m going to make him improve this season, even if I have to threaten or taunt him into doing the right thing. He showed me his hand of cards when he went into the sim chamber and drove with the exclusive goal to beat Elio. Iknowhe can be better.
I take my tablet from my bag, set it up with the keyboard, and connect to the plane’s Wi-Fi. Since I doubt my aspirations to sleep through the flight will be achieved, my best bet is to work through it. Finish writing a parser,get into the data that I need, and as a bonus, start figuring out a way to quantify driver emotions.
If I have anything to say about it, this will be the season when Gastondoesn’tembarrass themselves.
