“The only thing I’m close to is death by boredom from this insufferabletalk. Are you done?”
I’m still too lost in his halfway-decent advice to berate him, even mentally. “Yeah.”
“Let’s not do this again. It was terrible. Your grand total is $2,549. I’ll express the bill to you. Pay at your earliest inconvenience.”
“You’re charging forseconds?”
“2,555, now.” Hehangs up on me.
The one perk of running on zero sleep is that I’m one of the first into HQ, which gives me an opportunity to hunt down Ilya. First, though, I have to make a stop by the analysts cave to deliver a dozen chocolate-chip cookies to Oliver. When I find him, he’s chugging a thermos of coffee so rapidly it’s amazing he doesn’t choke.
“Enjoy the type-two diabetes,” I say offhandedly. “Oh, and in the future, you do not extort Victoria for cookies. You want something in return for doing a favor for her? I’ll settle the tab.”
Oliver’s eyes narrow. He lifts the pink lid of the takeout box, examines the overdose of sugar, and nods. “I accept your amendment.”
“Have fun giving yourself a stroke, you fucking extortionist.”
Ilya’s office is next, and as luck would have it, I catch him just as he’s unlocking it.
“Asher,” he greets. “To what do I owe such an early-morning displeasure?”
“I want an upgrade package on my car.” No point in beating around the bush. I might be able to dominate midfield with the car I have, but there’s no way I’m getting to a podium in that thing, and Iamgetting a podium this season. That’s the only way to guarantee that when I get re-signed, it’ll be with a better contract than my last one. If I podium, Gaston won’t be the only team knocking, and I’ll be in a strong position to negotiate.
Ilya opens the door to his office. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
He motions for me to follow him inside. I stalk after him, reminding myself that punching him wouldn’t put him in a better mood.
“I said no,” Ilya repeats. “After a string of failures, I imagine you’re familiar with the concept of not getting what you want, immediately when you want it.” He pauses to think. “Then again, you haven’t even beentryingto succeed, so I suppose that argument might be null.”
“I could be the best driver in F1 history and still be stuck in midfield with the piece of shit you have me driving!” I snap.
“True, but you’renotthe best in F1 history, and you’ve only done well in one race.” Ilya drops into his office seat. “One single race stacked up next to dozens upon dozens of piss-poor performances. So, after scraping by to P13 once—and only with the help of anintern—you’re demanding I pour our team’s limited resources into helpingyou?When Elio’s performances have consistently been better?” his raised eyebrows question my sanity. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
At another time, this might be when I turn into a complete asshole and start insulting him, the team, the car, and everything I can think of. But that’s not going to get me what I want. Ilya’snodoesn’t quite ring with the finality it might if it were a permanent no, which means there’s room for negotiation.
“What do you want in return for upgrading my car?” I growl.
“So glad you asked. Have a seat.”
I drop into the chair, incinerating him with my glare.
“If you want an upgradethis season, there are several benchmarks you will hit before I give it to you. First, you will start listening to your support team on the track—”
“I willnotlisten to Ethan!” I snap.
“I’m putting Victoria as the unofficial head of your support team, since she’s the only one you seem to want to work with. I hope you understand this will significantly increase her workload.” He gives me a pointed stare that tells me he knows there’s something going on between us, but he won’t mention it.
I give him a flat look in return. I wouldn’t touch that minefield if someone paid me a million dollars. Right now, all he has are guesses, and he can keep guessing.
“Second, you will form a relationship with Elio. He wanted you to be a mentor to him when he got here. Instead, all you’ve done thus far is drag him, and the entire team, down.”
“Elio and I have a relationship. We dislike each other.”
“Which is doing no one any favors.” Ilya leans forward. “You are on the same team. You are both fundamentallygooddrivers. Youwillat the very least get along with him, or I won’t lift a finger to help you—and I will start watching youveryclosely.” Again, the subtle threat is clear.
“I’lltry,” I hiss. “It probably won’t work. He’s a dick.”
