Page 37 of Off the Grid

“Oh.” That isn’t what I was expecting him to say. “Isn’t that a huge transition? We don’t have that kind of time to wait for some rookie to get his Super Licence. To adjust. To learn the car.”

“He knows F1 and has his Licence. Attends Friday practices on the regular with his current team.”

Jesus. “So that means he’s not even a reserve driver?” If he’d won championships, he’d surely be a reserve driver somewhere.

“I like him for us.”

Great. I’m already not liking this decision.

“And how does one just happen upon an F1 car to practice in randomly? Sounds a little desperate if you ask me.”

“Or dedicated.”

I eye my dad as he goes about his business, typing on his laptop as if this conversation holds zero relevance. “Dad.”

“Hmm?”

I wait for him to look up. “This is why we’re losing if we’re taking the first driver who’s available and moderately qualified.”

His smile is slow and steady. His voice holds a hint of surprise. “Are we going to butt heads on our first day, Camilla?”

“Isn’t this why you asked me here? To learn? To question? To improve what we have?”

“It is. Yes.” He nods slowly. “But it’s also to sit back and listen. It’s hard to learn when you’re judging.”

Okay, then. This whole working for him thing might be harder than I thought.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Spencer Riggs. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

“Dad, I’ve barely had time to catch up on the drivers we have on our team in the past week that I’ve been packing up my life, let alone educate myself on the F2 drivers I never planned on having to know.”

“Understood,” he says, his grin widening. “I think you’re going to like this guy.”

“Why’s that? Because he’s a good driver or because he’s charmed you?” He gives me that look that says I need to watch my step. I hold my hands up in surrender. “It’s a valid question.”

“He has raw talent, Camilla. He has the fastest lap times in F2 this year. Finishes well when his car does what it’s meant to. Heard he works well with his team.” He toggles his head from side to side as if he’s contemplating something. “Besides, I think you’re going to love him.”

“Uh-huh. Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t shy away from the camera. Loves attention.”

“Well let’s hope he doesn’t shy away from the podium more.”

“Funny,” he says, and I grin, the tension between us easing. “I’m serious. The camera loves him and there’s a certain charisma I think you’re going to like. He’s good-looking. Has a large social following that makes him easily marketable—at least that’s what Elise says.”

Elise. I rack my brain to put a face with the name. My new right-hand. Yes. Elise Coddington.

At least she has opinions she’s not afraid to share. I’m all for that.

“Well, that’s a plus,” I say. “What’s his record in F2?”

My dad twists his lips.

“Dad?” I ask, his lack of an answer, answer enough. “This is the part where I tell you I think you’re losing your mind. Don’t you think that’s a major problem?”

“Please. Speak candidly.” He chuckles.