“Yeah,” Reese said with a nod. “A lot of things are.”
The officials were already waving them toward the podium area, where the crew had set up the step and repeat and mics for the press. Reese followed, the crowd noise a low roar beyond the barriers. Julie walked beside her, cane tapping on the asphalt.
“Remember,” Julie said. “Smile. Be gracious. Don’t take the bait. No matter what she says.” She was referencing Danielle Todd and her hobby of trolling her competition.
Reese smirked. “You’re saying that like I might.”
Julie’s look said everything.
Reese laughed under her breath and joined the other two drivers behind the podium. Danielle stood in the center, unzipping her suit halfway to reveal her fireproofs, her expression cool and satisfied. She was everything the British press said she was—razor-edged and unrelenting.
“Nice drive,” Reese offered, genuinely impressed. “You claimed that one.”
Danielle’s gaze slid sideways. “Did I? Or did you just decide to play influencer today instead of driver?” She smiled for a photographer.
Reese blinked and forced a smile for the shot. “Excuse me?”
Danielle relaxed and turned to Reese. “Oh, don’t pout. You’re very good at the whole brand thing, posting selfies like a pro. I suppose that’s its own kind of talent, am I right?”
Before Reese could answer, a marshal gestured them up the stairs. Danielle brushed past her, the faint scent of victory champagne already in the air.
On the podium, Reese forced her shoulders back and her grin wide as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. Marissa passed Reese an encouraging smile and raised her trophy first, then Reese’s turn as the second-place finisher, and finally Danielle lifted hers to a mix of cheers and scattered boos. Apparently, the crowd hadn’t loved her takeover either. The fans didn’t miss a thing.
Champagne sprayed, cameras flashed, and Reese’s mind barely tracked the moment. Julie was watching from the edge of the paddock, her expression unreadable. Veronica stood a few rows back, sunglasses glinting, arms folded.
When the postrace interviews began, the top three drivers were lined up in front of the cameras. Danielle went first.
“Danielle, that was a dominant drive from lights to flag. What made the difference out there?”
She smiled thinly. “Experience, mostly. You can’t fake that. Some drivers still think it’s all about beingseen. But I prefer to do my talking on the track.”
Reese’s jaw tensed, but she kept her expression bright. When it was her turn, she leaned toward the mic.
“I think wealldid our talking on the track today,” she said easily. “Danielle drove a great race. Marissa killed it, and as for Ravensport, Delaney Rhodes came in strong with a P5 finish, which is great for us. I’m proud of how far our team’s come this weekend and that’s what matters to me.”
Julie nodded slightly from the sidelines, approving.
Veronica’s lips curved into something like a smile. Interest, confirmed.
And when the cameras swung away, Reese caught Danielle’s eye one last time. She didn’t say a word, but the message was clear.
Keep underestimating me. See how that works out.
CHAPTER 9
HEAT OF THE NIGHT
Marina Bay in Singapore was already lit like a city that never slept, heat hanging thick in the air. Reese stood beside the Ravensport car on the circuit, helmet resting against her hip as the film crew made final adjustments before her practice session. She was minutes away from sliding behind the wheel, and anticipation surged through every vessel, but she’d agreed to come in a night early for this interview and needed to make good on the deal.
Samara stepped behind the camera and settled in for her first question. She always took a deep breath first. Reese figured it was part of her process. “For spectators who might be new to racing, can you explain what qualifying means and why it matters so much?”
Reese nodded. “Qualifying is how we decide where everyone starts the race,” she said. “We go out and run the fastest laps we can, one at a time. The quicker your lap, the closer you start to the front. The fastest lap is awarded pole position.” She shrugged. “It’s where everyone’s dying to be. Me included.”
Samara nodded, as if considering what more she might need for her storytelling. “Talk a little about why qualifying at the front of the grid matters at Marina Bay in particular.”
She glanced down the pit lane, where the track disappeared between concrete walls. “Starting position matters everywhere, but especially here in Singapore. This is a street circuit. It’s narrow, there aren’t many places to pass another car, and mistakes are expensive. If you start near the front, you stay out of trouble. If you start farther back, you spend the whole race trying to fight through traffic. It’s rare to move too many positions from where you start on a street circuit.”
“So, during qualifying, it’s not about racing other drivers yet,” Samara said.
