‘Clever,’ says Louie Alvarez, Miguel’s trainer. ‘But would the guys see it that way? I mean, deprivation of speed can be offensive to these sensitive egos.’
I smile tightly. ‘This is one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Wouldn’t they accept the fact that we prize survival over speed?’
‘Welcome to Formula 1, my friend.’ Louie just shakes his head. ‘It’s speed over survival here. You either go fast, or you lose your seat.’
‘These are for you.’
The last thing I expect when the drivers arrive is for Darien to approach me with a ridiculous gift bag.
He just stares at me expectantly, tugging at the arm of his white hoodie, a bold choice in this kind of stifling climate. Rather than world-class race-car driver vibes, he’s giving off small-child energy. What on earth has he brought me?
I take the bag and look inside.
It is a pair of the ugliest slippers I’ve ever seen. They are a criminally radioactive green, made of some sort of silicone material, with a slightly misshapen bedazzled thong to them. Alphabet beads glued to the strap spell out SHNTAL.
‘You don’t have to give me … these.’
‘You said you don’t have flip-flops.’ Darien gives me a weird look, like I’ve entered London during rainy season without a coat. ‘Everyone here has flip-flops, remember? You can’t be walking around the compound in those sneakers.’
‘Hokas,’ I reply slightly snippily. ‘I am fond of my Hokas, Darien. You might know. All the Americans wear them.’
‘But here, we flip-flop.’
‘You brought me flip-flops,’ I proclaim in disbelief.
‘Okay, Queen of England.’ Darien gives the slippers a little nudge. ‘Take them.’
‘You’ve misspelled my name.’
‘The first “A” fell off. Sorry.’
I raise an eyebrow, but I gingerly pick up the slippers as if they are as poisonous as their colour. Dare I wear these in public? The odds of them falling apart beneath my feet seem dangerously high.
‘How did you …’ I trail off, allowing him to infer the rest of my question.
‘Five-Minute Crafts,’ he says as if this should explain everything. ‘Henri helped. Miguel said he was too old for this bullshit. Then he glued on the letters anyway.’
‘Indeed.’ I try to picture Miguel squinting to attach small beads to my brand-new flip-flops. ‘What’d you glue these together with?’
‘Wear them and find out.’
I nod drily. Interesting. If these were created with a five-minute tutorial, the odds of them lasting the walk across the training facility itself are quite slim, but I can’t be so rude about it. Maybe Darien is an inveterate liar, but he has also made me a pair of shoes. There is something strangely endearing about the effort.
‘It’s a peace offering, Shantal.’ He crosses his arms. ‘It’s peaceful. I’m not trying to sabotage your feet.’
‘I mean …’ I pick them up and glance at the soles. They don’t look like they’ll hold up too well given all the walking I do in a typical day. ‘Maybe not intentionally,’ I acknowledge.
With a dismissive eye roll, Darien turns to the space in the currently empty garage marked with bright yellowpaint, signifying the parking spot for the as-yet-incomplete Heidelberg car. ‘So. What’s the plan? Will we give the car aero rakes in February? Flow-vis paint?’
Maybe I’m beginning to lose some of my edge towards Darien/André after he read my mind clean yesterday at the beach, but the judgement in his voice brings out the snark in mine. It doesn’t help that I have a bare-minimum understanding of all the technical jargon he’s just spewed. ‘Sure, we’ll do all of that. But for the time being, we won’t just be testing the car,’ I tell him. ‘That’s the simplest part. We’ll be testing the three of you as well. Pulling old numbers to try and adapt to the new stuff. And the sims have little sensors that will give us precise data—’
‘Sorry. Testingus?’ Darien’s eyebrows fly up his forehead far too extravagantly. ‘You don’t trust us?’
‘Well, it’s going to be a new car. The sim is the closest we have in the meantime. We have to get data to tailor your season practice plans to what we have available in the system. After all, there will only be a month between testing and the first race.’
‘I’m a Formula 1 driver.’
‘And I’m now partially responsible if we have incidents during the season. Keep in mind. Bringing me here isn’t just Demir playing games. Maybe I’m only running the simulators, but everything in that building is Conquest tech. Hell, parts of your car are going to be Conquest’s now, too. Not to mention the duress you’re under to produce results. I’ve got information from the company. I know what’s on the line for you, and for us. I know about Redenção. I’m going to do this right. We’re your new sponsor, Darien. We go down with you. If we have an incident—’
