“And isn’t your position a race engineering supportintern?”
The thought makes my mood sour even more. “Yes.”
“So, the hot-shot might’ve yelled at you, but he also gave you privileges that the intern—AKA the team’s bitch—shouldn’t have.”
“That’s not the point!” Even though that is a nice way to frame it. “He made me feel like I was two inches tall with his lecture.”
Delilah picks up a blue pen, underlines something in the papers, then scribbles a note. “You’ve been chewed out before, though. Didn’t Professor Marcs straight up tell you that you weren’t smart enough to be at MIT your sophomore year?”
“Yes, but that was different. Geniuses are as common as breathing at that school, and I’m not a genius.”
“Pfft,” Delilah scoffs. “Tell that to your IQ. Anyway, I still don’t get why you’re so upset. It doesn’t sound like the big boss even yelled at you, just berated you—”
“He’s not the big boss; that would be the team owner/ principal, Soren. Ilya is the trackside engineering director.”
Delilah frowns. “How many directors, heads, and chiefs arethere in F1?”
“A lot.”
“So, we’ll call himabig shot instead ofthebig shot. In any case, he chewed you out. Big deal.” She rolls her eyes.
“In front of three dozen employees. Including one world-famous driver and model, and a walking thirst trap who stares at me like he wants to remove my head from my shoulders.” I groan. “Asher Lawrence laughedout loud. Everyone else was probably hiding laughs. I was the only woman in that room, Lilah, and I made a fucking fool of myself. I’m surprised I wasn’t fired on the spot.”
Delilah finally looks up at that. “So what? You’ve got other offers coming out of your ass. Didn’t the best F1 team try to buy your forecasting thingy from you…before you’ve even finished it?”
“Yes,” I say hotly. “Directly after I’d been told that my intern position was given to a nepo baby. I’ve never come so close to telling a Team Principal to go fuck himself.” The offer wasn’t only a severe undervaluation of what my program will be worth when I finish it—ifI finish it—it was also a major slap in the face.
“So, let’s talk through worst case scenario. You get fired. Your life is over.” Delilah gives me a look that conveys how ridiculous she thinks I’m being. “Except it isn’t. Go get a better-paying job somewhere else. Didn’tNASAgive you an offer over the summer?”
“They liked the work I did over my senior year internship with them,” I mumble.
“And I imagine they’d be paying you enough to live in something larger than a matchbox without working heat or A/C.” Delilah gives me a pointed stare. “Pity parties don’t look good on you. Buck up or fuck off—if I have tosuffer through more of your bullshit, I’m sending you an invoice for wasting my time.”
Delilah being so blunt and no-bullshit is one of the things I adore most about her. Her brain, which is the brain of anactualgenius, is another. But sometimes, her harshness just landstoohard. That’s why our other best friend—Keith—is essential to our trio, but he has a show tonight.
When I let out a much more pitiful whine, Delilah softens by the faintest margin. “Look, it’s just your first day. You’re contracted for the season, right? Nobody’s gonna fire you until then. As for Ilya… maybe he was trying to light a fire under your ass?” Delilah suggests with a shrug. “If you explained why you were late and why your algorithm—system—whatever the fuck you call it isn’t done yet, he’d probably understand.”
I give her a dry look. “Right. Just like how you’d go to your managing partner with a boo-boo and ask them to stick a Band-Aid on it?”
She considers that for a moment, then nods. “I see your point. Well, then… just hunker down and work on your algorithm. It really does sound like it’d be a game-changer.”
“For that, I need people to talk to me.”
“Flash them your cleavage. Most men’s lips loosen after that.”
“Delilah.”
“Victoria. I’m giving you valid, tried and true advice. Sounds like it’d work on that driver who hatesyou most of all.”
I frown. “Are you allergic to logic? He straight up said he wants me gone.”
“He probably thought you were hot.”
“How in the fuck wouldthatlead to him demanding I get fired?”
“Dunno. Men are weird. To be fair, youaresuper hot.” She pauses to scribble something else on a page. “How long do you estimate your algorithm will take?”
“If everyone’s compliant? A month to gather variables, and another month to train it, max. I might be able to go faster. But nobody’s going to do me any favors, Lilah. I’m going to have to squeeze information from them, which won’t make me any friends.”
