Ialmostsearch out her hotel room so I can hopefully catch her unaware in nothing but a tank top and tinyshorts again, but manage to contain myself. Last time I did that, my self-control was a product of my surprise and general enmity. Now, she’s chipping away at my default anger. Underneath it is… fuck knows. I don’t know if I would call itwarmth, but certainly something softer than what I feel for the rest of the population.
We meet in the hotel lobby’s bar, amidst soaring marble ceilings, gold-veined columns, and geometric tilework in deep blues and whites that climb the walls like something out of a palace. The floors are polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the warm glow of a massive chandelier that hangs in the atrium like a constellation made of crystal. The air is cool and faintly perfumed, and floor-to-ceiling windows frame a view of the Manama skyline glittering against the dark water of the gulf beyond.
I’m used to traveling in luxury, but once in a while, even I get surprised. And with the intern here, I feel like I’m seeing everything in a new light.
The hotel bar sits just off the lobby, sunk a few steps below the main floor. The dark wood furnishings bask in the low amber lighting, and the leather seating areas are arranged to give the illusion of privacy. Thankfully, the bar is open until 3am, so we’ve got plenty of time.
The intern’s already seated at one of the tables along the back wall, right beneath a landscape painting. My mood sours when I realize it’s a print of one of myfather’spaintings. I’ve done my damn best to keep him from my thoughts—just like he’s done to me for the majority of my life—but it’s difficult when his art is in high demand allaround the world. No matter how far I travel, I’m bound to bump into a reminder of him once or twice.
Victoria looks up from her tablet when I drop into the seat across from her. “Wipe that scowl off your face,” she says mildly. “If you plan to be an asshole, do it in your room.”
It takes effort, but I manage to relax my features and push thoughts of my fucked-up family into the back of my mind.Since when do I listen to her outside of the track?
Elio may be right for once in his miserable life. I might be in trouble.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, setting her tablet down. “So, the race.”
Right, that’s why I’m here. Not to ogle her or reminisce on my shitty childhood. “Yeah. The race.”
“My algorithm’s predictive modeling is limited. Once it’s done and optimized, it’ll be able to tell you what your next two or eventenlaps should look like. Right now, it can only give suggestions based on what it’s seeing other drivers do at that moment and their behaviors during the race—and even then, the suggestions will be subjective.”
“What do you mean,subjective?”
“It knows the track, so it’ll be able to recommend your next move based on its understanding of your strengths and weaknesses. But it’ll givebatchrecommendations—it’ll be ultimately up to me to tell you what to do based on what I’m seeing happen on the track and how I perceive other driver’s behavior and general strategies.”
I blink. “So… it’s ultimately up to an intern’s discretion?”
“It’ll always be up to human discretion, but there’s a big margin of error since it’s not finished yet. Let me put it this way; right now, it hasmaybea 40% effectiveness rate, mostly because it’s going to give me three to four suggestions at any given time.Ihave to then predict what the rest of the race will look like, choose the best directive, and issue it. So, if I’m on top of my game, me plus the program will have an 80-85% effectiveness. If I don’t… that drops significantly.”
“So yes,” I say drily. “Itisultimately up to an intern’s discretion.” I watch her for a few beats. “I told Ilya that if you aren’t in my ear tomorrow, I’m not driving. Are you up to the task?”
She swallows. For the first time, I see real fear in her eyes, true doubt. It makes a tide of protectiveness rise up inside of me, which quickly ebbs into a general feeling ofwhat the fuck?
I’m not known for being protective. Possessive over things I consider to be mine, yes, but not possessiveorprotective over people. They’re too unreliable, too likely to fuck me over.
“Yes,” she says, but the word sounds more like a question.
I try to seal my lips tightly to prevent any platitudes from spilling out. Itry, but I fail.
“Even if my odds of doing well are 40% overall, that’s better than the 0% I had going for me before.”Shut up, idiot. But Ican’t. When I see her eyes light up with hope, my stupid mouth keeps running, and it’s only as I say the words that I realize how much I mean them. “I believein you. And for the love of god, you better believe in yourself—otherwise we’ll both embarrass ourselves.”
I glance at the clock behind the bar. It’s getting late, and we both have a very early morning. “So, go work on your numbers thingy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stares at me with wide eyes, looking very young and very afraid. Then, her fear melts away, and calm confidence replaces it as she rises to her feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to be too mean to me during race day—or else my directives won’t be all that optimal.”
“Who says I’ll listen to them?” I taunt.
She halts and cocks her head to the side, examining me. Faint surprise flits through her expression. “Your face does.” She blinks slowly. “Youwilllisten to me.”
I’d do a whole lot more thanlistento her if I thought that’s what she wanted.
I’m too antsy to sleep well, so in the morning, I’m a special brand of asshole to everyone.
Well,almosteveryone. Like a beaten dog, I am on my best fucking behavior around Victoria—and not just because she’s about to help me either do well or spectacularly fail.
It’s because there is no denying the fact that I like her.
Just before I go to the grid and buckle in, I catch her eyes. She’s now been given a permanent seat at the pit wall; at least, for this race. Ethan sits in a folding chairbeside her, glaring at her hard enough to piss me thefuckoff. I’ll be having words with him after the race, even if I end up in P22.
