“You called me a jerk.”
“Because I was trying to change the topic of the conversation, and because it’s true. In any case, I’m yet to witness you in any mood other than a bad one, so that’s irrelevant.” I lean forward. “Let me help you.”
Asher releases a long sigh. “You just don’t fucking give up, do you? Get it through your head; I have no interest in whatever you’re planning on doing. It won’t change the way F1 has devolved.”
“Even if this is your last season, don’t you want to go out with a bang? And I’m not talking about the crashes you’re prone to.”
“Being a bitch isn’t helping your case.”
This man has the remarkable ability to make someone want to commit mass murder. “Asher,let me help you.”
“Help me,” he says degradingly. “Even if I said yes, what do you think you could achieve? You’re what, twenty? And one of two women on this team?”
“If you say one more thing about my age or sex, I’m going to give you a black eye,” I snap. “Cut the misogynistic, asshole act. At least give me a chance before writing me off.”
“Sweetheart, sex is thelastthing on my mind around you.”
My cheeks heat in embarrassment. He’s acting like I’m coming onto him when the only organ of his I have any interest in is his brain. I need to deconstruct how it works so I can quantify it.
“Good, because I’d rather chew a lightbulb than sleep with you.”
“There wouldn’t be anysleepingif you managed to sneak your way into my bed.”
Now my face is warm all over, and for a completely different reason. A brief image flashes through my mind, there and gone in an instant, but the effect of it lingers for several moments and renders me speechless. Asher is stunning when he’s scowling and fully dressed; I can hardly imagine what he might be like if his passion for hating and insulting me was turned into a different kind of passion.
Abort mission.
I clear my throat. “Since neither of us have any interest in that, it won’t be a problem.”
“Correct. I’d sooner let a great white shark blow me than—”
“Listen up!” Declan shouts from the front of the van. I glance up to see that Elio’s boarded and wrangled himself a seat in the first row, with Amanda right next to him. Declan stands before the pair, looking jetlagged and appropriately tired. I’m starting to think the man subsists on coffee and ambition alone. “It’s an hour to the hotel, which is a five-minute drive or a fifteen-minute walk to the track. Those of you involved in setup will be at the track first thing in the morning. Drivers, you’ll be there at 10am sharp for tests and strategy. Initial briefing is at 11am. Any stupid questions?”
Nobody makes a peep.
“Good. What you do tonight is your prerogative, but if you’re late, you’re sidelined.” Declan’s stare bores a hole into my head, and then Asher’s. It’s just my luck that I’ve been grouped in with the other team failure.
Declan sits, and the van takes off. I turn to Asher. Since he won’tagreeto let me help him, I’ll just have to throw questions at him and taunt him into answering. “Are you always pissed off during race week? Or can your shitty attitude be attributed to limited intelligence?”In other words, do I need to calculate for you always being angry?
His eyebrows slam down. “I’m pissed because I’m perpetually surrounded by morons who don’t know the first thing about F1. Present company included.”
Dickdickdickdickdick. I clear my throat, managing to maintain my composure. “Why did you have boost mode on for the entirety of last week’s race?”
“Because it’s faster.”
My lips part as I stare at him. Jesus Christ, does he not understand F1 car mechanismsat all?When was the last time he actually paid attention to all the functions of his vehicle and race strategies that come with it? Or the changing regulations in F1?
How the hell did he get into F1 in the first place with this ridiculous lack of knowledge?
“That’s not how batteries work,” I say slowly, enunciating every syllable like I would with a toddler.
“Don’t mansplain my car to me.”
Then show the faintest bit of knowledge on how it works.
“Why didn’t you activate X-mode at all?” It’s a huge advantage in a race, allowing drivers to switch into a mode that angles their front and rear wingsperfectlyfor rapid acceleration and overtakes. The places and times when it can be used are limited, but immensely important. “There were several moments when you were perfectly positioned to attack—”
“Because theengineersare supposed to do that,not me!” he growls. “Theycontrol the wings.”
