“Linden,” Ilya says, snapping me out of my thoughts and sending me boomeranging back to the present. Thomas stiffens beside me, casting me a look that transmits,how the fuck does he know your name?
The more pertinent question is why the hell the trackside engineering director is putting me on the spot during adebrief. Is he about to fire me? Oh god, is this my first and last day in F1?
It can’t be. I’ve wanted to be here since I was achild,and I have worked extremely hard for the privilege.
The room falls silent so quickly I can hear my blood rushing in my ears. All eyes turn to me, and I feel like I’m back at the only holiday party I ever attended withmy father’s side of the family, where I was stared at and murmured about until I ran home, choking on tears.
Back then, the scrutiny was born of me being his only biological bastard. Now, it’s because I—an intern, anobody—have been recognized by someone so high up the leadership totem pole, they shouldn’t be aware of my existence.
I can feel Asher’s glare boring into my skull most of all. If looks could kill, I’d be dead and buried, and nobody would’ve had the strength to attend my funeral for fear that they’d be next. I can’t understand what prompted his instant and vehement hatred of me, but it’s making me want to blacken his eye and run away like I’m on fire.
“How did our race stack up against your forecasting algorithm?” Ilya asks.
Oh, shit. Our interview was months ago, and back then, I’d told him I expected to have my system ready to go before the season commenced. That was before I realized that I still needed to gather essential variables, translate them into equations, and train my system on them by feeding it mountains of data. I’ve done exactly zero of those steps, because it requires two things; being trackside, and havingaccessto aforementioned data in HQ.
I swallow thickly. “I haven’t finished setting up the program.”
The silence that follows is even more pregnant than the first, and this time, it’s entirely due to Ilya’s scrutiny.
“You haven’t finished setting up the program,” Ilya repeats softly, his tonedeadly. No wonder he’s in leadership; he could fell armies with his flat gaze and the softestmurmur spoken inthattone. “This is our first race of the season. We are entirely unprepared to compete in any real way for several glaringly obvious reasons—and many more variables that most people can’t identify.” He leans forward. “You promised you’d have them identified.” A loaded pause, during which I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Remind me, Linden, why did you get offered a position here…twice?”
I’m lost for words. I’ve never felt like a distasteful experiment placed under the microscope—not even at MIT. There, by the time I was a junior, people respected what I had to say. Even professors would take time out of their lives for me. Doctor Ilya Serov will give me no such privilege. The way he looks at me is filled with vague disgust.
“I hired you because your thesis was interesting, the work you’ve done so far is impressive, and the system you’re building—should have already built—could potentially have positive impacts. And because you promised me you’d be the first one in and last one out.” He slowly,soslowly tilts his head to the side. “Where were you during this week’s setup?”
Seeing to a family emergency. I have a feeling if I say those words out loud, if I sayanythingright now, I’ll be fired before I can blink. So, I stand still in humiliating silence, wishing that the wall at my back would swallow me whole and save me from this disgrace.
“Nowhere to be seen,” Ilya answers for me. “So, you promised me a program, and are yet to deliver. You promised me punctuality, and you fell short. If I’m notmistaken, you were the verylastone in.” He gives his head a subtle shake filled with disappointment. “Have you at least started gathering data for your program?”
“I haven’t,” I whisper.
“Because you decided that being late for the first Grand Prix of the season was the best course of action.” Ilya nods, as if he understands perfectly.
The worst part is, I don’t think he’s going out of his way to humiliate me—and everything he’s said is right. My first real day on the job is an immense fuckup. I’ve already made an enemy of the driver I’m assigned to, nobody likes me, and I haven’t the faintest clue how I’ll actually go about finishing my program—not without support from the team. Or, at the very least, people being willing to talk to me… which I don’t think they will be after this spectacle.
“Now, it’s time for you to be the first one out,” Ilya says dismissively. “Leave. Do what you were hired to do.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “If you actually can. When you have your first report ready, we’ll talk. For now, I think you should spend briefing times on your laptop or tablet.” He waves a hand.
Asher doesn’t eventryto hide his laugh of amusement. He really must despiseme to be so happy at my slow, painful demise.
I swallow, feeling unbearably close to crying. But if I do thatnow, as the only woman in this room and one of the few women in F1, I’ll invite even more doubt and misogyny to my doorstep.
Ears burning, eyes stinging, I turn and quietly leave.
Chapter Three
Victoria
“It washorrible,” I moan to my laptop an hour later. Unfortunately, Ilya’s total demolition of my hope and ego hasn’t driven me to the point of total insanity; I’m not actually bitching to a piece of technology. Instead, I’m bitching to my best friend and fellow MIT-grad, Delilah—who’s currently thousands of miles away in New York City.
“I don’t get it,” Delilah says, fiddling with a stack of papers in her hands. There’s a red pen tucked behind her ear, tangled in strands of her blonde hair. Even on camera, the unique, countless shades are eye-catchingly beautiful.
Delilah could’ve chosen any career in the world. She started MIT at all of 16-years-old. Shealmostwent into STEM but decided that world wouldn’t be a good channel for her aggression. So, after finishing Harvard Law last year, she’s gone to one of the most aggressive corporate law firms in New York.
“The only thing you need to get is that my life is a fuckingnightmare,” I snap. “I have literally never been sohumiliated in my life. That debrief is going to be the star of my night terrors for the next ten years.”
“Didn’t you say Doctor Serov gave you free leave to work exclusively on your forecasting algorithm?”
Well, now that she mentions it… “Yes.”
