Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Petr commends his driver. “P6, Matthieu. Good effort, but we’ll need to debrief on Turn 11 but otherwise, well done.”
“Understood,” Matthieu replies curtly, his voice lacking any hint of satisfaction.
I watch as his car slows on the cool-down lap, my mind already racing with adjustments and strategies. It’s a decent result, but I can’t shake the feeling that we could have extracted more from him—and from the car.
Then Matthieu’s voice crackles through the comms. “The car’s not right. It’s too twitchy in the corners.”
“We’ll address it,” I say evenly, answering for Petr. The data doesn’t back up his complaint, but I’ll hear him out.
I take off my headset, as does everyone else on pit wall, and we cross over to the garage just as Matthieu’s rolling in. Nash is standing there, the top half of his suit unzipped and tied around his waist. He’s drinking water from a large bottle with a thick straw, his face still covered in sweat. I shoot him a wink and a thumbs-up and his lips twitch back his happiness with his status at P1. There are still other good drivers going out, so that could change.
Matthieu disengages the wheel, setting it on the hood of the car, and climbs out. He takes off his helmet and balaclava and it’s to Hendrik he immediately starts complaining. “If she knew what she was doing, we’d be higher up.”
I don’t let it show, but his words hit like a slap. My strategy was solid, and he performed well when he followed our advice. That lockup happened because he overbraked on a turn. That’s all on him.
“I don’t even trust her strategy for tomorrow,” Matthieu says to Hendrik, but it’s so loud that everyone in the garage hears it. Hendrik merely puts his hand on his shoulder and walks him to the back of the garage and to the staircase that leads up to the hospitality suites, I’m sure to try to calm him down.
Possibly commiserate since I don’t think Hendrik is my biggest fan.
My face flushes to be called out, and I wonder if his pit crew believes that. They are loyal to him but also privy to our strategy instructions, so they have the complete picture.
“Keep it together,” Nash says quietly as he comes up behind me, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves.
I realize my hands are curled into tight fists and I exhale slowly. “I am,” I reply, my voice clipped.
We turn to one of the screens on the garage wall and watch the remainder of the Q3 round as the minutes tick down. Now we wait to see if Nash and Matthieu can hold their positions. Nothing else to be done but hope.
When the last car finishes, Nash drops down to P3, which is still fantastic, barely nudging out Reid Hemsworth. Lex Hamilton takes P1 and Carlos Moreno P2. They’re definitely shaping up to be the ones to chase this year.
Matthieu thankfully stays at P6, and I’m grateful only for the fact I don’t want to add any more fuel to his already hot flames of discontent.
There’s a sudden increase in chatter in the garage and I turn toward the commotion. I’m shocked to see Brienne Norcross walking through the ocean of mechanics and tire engineers. She’s followed by an enormous man with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail.
I did my research on Brienne before I took this job, and I know a lot about her ownership of the Pittsburgh Titans hockey team. I know the man with her is her husband, Drake McGinn, who also happens to be the Titans goalie.
She moves through the garage, shaking hands and taking the time to talk to people. Luca is also with her and seems to be explaining things about the car. Drake is completely fascinated, bending over the seat, looking inside. I imagine he’s got every man’s fantasy of wanting to drive one of these things.
“I wonder why Drake’s here with her,” I muse. “Don’t they have their hockey season going on right now?”
“He’s dealing with a groin injury,” Nash says, and of course he’d know. He’s a big hockey fan, American that he is, and while I happen to know he’s a Chicago Bobcats fan, I expect he’ll become a Titans fan before too long, especially with the racing team moving to Pittsburgh.
Brienne looks my way, and I can tell she knew I was standing here all along. She touches Drake’s arm and says something, to which he smiles in acknowledgment. She winds her way around the cars to where Nash and I are standing.
“Well done, Nash,” she says as she reaches us, offering her hand to shake.
“Thank you,” he replies. “Felt good to be back out there.”
“I’m glad. I knew you could do it and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”