“Will be watching from day one,” Veronica said. “They’ve been asking for a pipeline like this for years. Now they’ve got one.”
Sloane absorbed that. An academy wasn’t new.This—this was different. This focused specifically on female drivers.
“So if someone shines,” Sloane said slowly, “they don’t have to wait to be discovered.”
Veronica’s smile sharpened. “Exactly. They’ll already be on someone’s list.” Sloane blinked, absorbing the gravity. She would have killed for something like this when she and Veronica were coming up.
Veronica rechecked her watch, all business. She probably had four more meetings that morning. “Which is why I wantyouthere. Because when the right driver comes along—and she will—I need someone who understands what that moment actually costs.” She placed a hand on the table, and her features softened. “You have a lot of wisdom to impart, Sloane, and a history that will make your words count.”
Sloane exhaled, still turning the concept over in her brain. She couldn’t deny the excitement that gathered, a quiet current just beneath the surface. “This sport has way too much testosterone, and everyone damn well knows it.”
“Exactly. And the more eyeballs we can get on these amazing women, the more we’re going to change that. After a few years, we’ll have renovated the whole system. I will personally see to that.” Veronica was more than capable, and, honestly, there was no one else positioned as perfectly in the sport. “Formula Next,” she said, sitting back in declaration. “That’s what we’re calling the academy. Designed to increase the number of female drivers in Formula 1.”
Silence hit as Veronica waited for her response.
“I have to say, you should be proud of yourself. This is amazing, and I see no holes in the plan.” Sloane hesitated, not wanting to offend, but also not ready to leap out of her comfort zone and back into a world she made a point to avoid. “But I don’t really see how I can help. I don’t race anymore, so I don’t think my enrolling would benefit either of us.” A joke was always good for business.
“I wasn’t offering you a seat, weirdo, but you know that, too.”
“Then spill. What do you imagine I would do at Formula Next?” Sloane crossed her arms and waited. Everything in her wanted to scream no to whatever the offer was and end the meeting. At the same time, something unnamed tugged and pushed her to listen. The war within was certainly a lively one.
“I want you to come in, get to know the drivers’ styles, their personal weaknesses, and provide your expertise. Maybe offer an informal class or two along the way, you know? Talk to them about life in F1. Pitfalls to avoid on the way up. You’re not only one of the best drivers I’ve ever seen, but you know race dynamics in a way no one else does.”
Sloane shifted. “You want a mentor for your drivers?”
Veronica didn’t hesitate. “Someone who’s been there. Yes.”
Sloane frowned. She’d backed away from racing for a reason, and the idea of going back to it in any capacity was a nonstarter. It sent white-hot fear through her nervous system just thinkingabout it. She now devoted her time and skill set to working closely with the cars’ designers and manufacturers, far away from an actual race. She enjoyed working for herself, deciding which consulting projects to take and with whom she wanted to work. The one thing all of those contracts had in common? They were miles away from the actual circuit. She shifted in her chair, now acutely aware of the often-present ache along her spine. The metal rod they’d used to put her back together made itself known right on cue, a pointed reminder of a very dark day in her history. She scrubbed the memories from her brain as they swarmed and pulled, threatening to drag her under.To this day, she struggled with panic attacks and worked hard to fight them off. She was in no mood for one today.
“I’m sorry, Ronnie.” Sloane shook her head. “I don’t think I’m the best fit. Trust me when I tell you to call Jeff White or Melinda Nash. Either would do a fantastic job getting your drivers ready for F1. I’m a distant has-been away from the circuit for far too long to be of help.”
“I’m not accepting an answer today. Today is just a conversation.” Veronica said it as simply as she would her sandwich order.
Sloane laughed, reminded of Veronica’s tenacity. “I didn’t realize. Excuse my mistake. I’ll tell you no tomorrow instead since it sits better with your schedule.”
Veronica held up a manicured finger. “I want you to take a look at my offer first. It’ll be in your inbox before you get home.”
“Are you planning to throw money at me? I’m a Foster for God’s sake.” It was challenging to woo the rich. Sloane was the granddaughter of Benjamin Foster, who’d founded Foster Foods in the 1960s. Her brother, Royce, now ran the very successful company, responsible for a variety of hugely popular brands on grocery store shelves. They were a well-known, well-to-do family. Racing was an expensive sport, and without her family’smoney, Sloane wouldn’t have had half the opportunities that had come her way.
“The money is mediocre. I can admit that,” Veronica said, as if not pleased with that part. “We’re new and not exactly rolling in cash. Yet. I’m hoping when we wow the masses, that will change.”
Sloane laced her fingers under her chin and rested her elbows on the table, lured by the glint in Veronica’s eyes. “What’s your plan for the wow factor?”
“I’m pulling in a few new drivers who might … garner us some attention. The kind that sparkle.”
Sloane narrowed her gaze. “You’re padding your leaderboard with eye candy?”
“No, but … yes.” Veronica leaned in. “How are women supposed to gain traction in this sport? We have to create our own opportunities, and recruiting a high-profile driver or two into the academy is good for them and good for us. And if they bring their Instagram following with them, even better. Advertisers will love it.” She sipped her latte like a cat enjoying its cream.
Sloane was reminded that racing wasn’t just a sport, it was a business. “Who do you have in mind?”
“I’ll send you the file tonight. I’d love to have you on board.”
“I don’t want to look at your file.” Sloane knew the moment she opened the door to that world, it would be hard to close it. Veronica knew it, too, which was why the ambush was planned. Sloane would have summarily declined the meeting, the way she was declining this file.
“Can we get you two anything else?” Autumn, the owner of the coffee shop, asked. Her red curls were gorgeous today, and her bright smile filled the room with the kind of positivity one couldn’t bottle. Sloane really liked Autumn. They’d even gone on one date once upon a time, well over a decade ago, and quicklyrealized they were way better suited as friends, which they’d been ever since. The Cat’s Pajamas was Sloane’s favorite haunt when she was home for any stretch of time, her morning security blanket.
Veronica looked up, smiling at Autumn. “I don’t understand how this coffee is so good.”
