A sense of necessity grips me as I rush outside, looking right and left… only to find Victoria and douchebag gone. I’m too late.
I have no idea why it feels like I’ve failed something spectacularly, but the sense of loss is undeniable. I feel…bereft. And on the heels of that comes another wave of sheer fury.
The intern thinks she can spend her nights going out with would-be sugar daddies and keep her job? I’ll make it my personal fucking mission to disabuse her of that notion.
For the first time in distant memory, I arrive at headquarters early without being forced. I try to limit my time here as much as possible for all the obvious reasons, but occasionally, something pulls me back.
Today, that happens to be the intern—though I do mydamnbest to try to deny it. So much so that I make my way directly to the sim suite. Not because it’s right next to the analyst’s cave, but because I could use some practice.
Yeah, right. I’ve never been talented at fooling myself.
A very startled Thomas hurries into the room after me. “Are you… heading into the sim?” he sounds disbelieving.
“No, I’m planning a trip to Mars,” I grunt. When he stares at me with absolutely no reaction, I roll my eyes. “Set it up to Melbourne Grand Prix.” I’m still too worked up to eventhinkof the last race, so I won’t be touching that disaster for a while.
As soon as I buckle in, the screens surrounding the wheel light up. Despite my disdain for simulators, I can’t find any fault with the tech; if it weren’t for the lack of sound, I’d feel like I were right back at the Melbourne Grand Prix, on the track. I wrap my hands around the wheel, press my foot to the gas, and start.
The first lap is as disastrous as it was during the race. On the second lap, I hear Victoria’s incessant and unwanted commentary in my ear. My eyes flick down to the controls, and Ialmoststart fiddling around with her suggestions.
Then, I remember her sitting across from Rich McDickson last night… and I deliberately ignore boost mode and X-mode, and just do the thing IthoughtI’d always do in F1: drive.
Countless laps and several hours later, I leave the chamber. I didn’t do well by any means, but for the first time in a long while, satisfaction eases the tension that usually bunches my muscles tight. I didn’t treat that session as practice; I treated it as something that’s become a foreign notion,fun.
Thomas is still exactly where I left him, except now, he’s accompanied by Declan, Ilya, and the head of the nerd army—Oliver. All of them are murmuring among each other, pointing at different areas of the screens they’re studying.
“Twentieth of a second here,” Declan murmurs. “If that was replicated on T2, we’d have been in business.”
“Sporadic gains,” Thomas mutters to himself. “Maybe if—”
“You’re all done gossiping, we can actually have a fucking conversation,” I cut in.
“Not gossiping.” Ilya turns to appraise me with hawkish eyes. “Just discussing. Your work in there wasn’t bad.”
Probably because I didn’t treat it like work for the first time in years. I just enjoyed the ride, so to speak. “Thank you for the glowing endorsement,” I say dryly. Then, I turn to Oliver, who’s produced a plate of chocolate-chip cookies out of nowhere and has begun hoovering them down like he hasn’t eaten in years. It’s safe to assume they came from Victoria, considering she’s been openly bribing team members with baked goods.
“Where’s the intern?” I ask. If he has fresh cookies, that means she’s here. I think it’s about time I ruin her day with threats over losing her job.
I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I’m being completely ridiculous. That seeing her having dinner with a man shouldnotbe taking up space in my head, but I can’t help myself. She’s onmyteam, assigned tomycar. Her focus should be onme, even if I told her to stay the hell away from me.
“Probably at her desk,” he says with a full mouth. “Why do you ask?”
“Yes, Asher, whydoyou ask?” Ilya takes a step forward. “You seem to have an… unusual fixation on her.”
He’s right. I absolutely do. I have no idea what the origins of that fixation are, only that it’s composed mainly of anger and a desire to make sure her thoughts are on me, even if those thoughts are miserable. It probably has something to do with how she introduced herself to me. I’ll make sure the shitty first impression she made haunts her.
“She’s the one constantly seeking me out and trying to lecture me on F1.”
“You could use a lecture,” Declan quips. “Maybe not from the most junior member of our team, but still.”
“Is she conducting herself inappropriately?” Ilya asks, eyes narrowing.
I recognize this moment for the opportunity it is. If I say yes, that she’s coming onto me, he’ll fire her on the spot. It’d be a lie, of course, but what would it matter? My original wish would be fulfilled, and she’d be gone. I’d probably never see her again.
And that just doesn’t sit right with me. I’d rather she be in my proximity, even if only on the periphery. I might not want her close to me, and Icertainlydon’t want her anywhere near the race track, but I don’t want her gone anymore, either.
When did that happen?
“No, she’s just incessant in trying to pry as much data from me as possible.”
