Page 25 of Downforce

I haven’t yet memorized where all of the buttons on the steering are. I should add that to my to-do list. However, all that keeps coming back to mind is that timed lap from Travis. It was fast.

“And he was holding back,” an engineer had said.

If I don’t perform the same or close to it, they’ll think I let them down.

This is the prevailing thought in my mind as I complete my first lap. It’s slow. I can feel it, but my engineer, Nico, confirms it when he reads out the time.

“Final lap,” he tells me as I come up to the starting line. “Time to push it.”

I acknowledge him as I hit the pedal to see what this car has. Something goes wrong.

The back tires spin out—not enough to make the actual car spin out, but it throws me off. From that point on, I struggle to get my head back on track.

All I can think of is Travis’ timed lap, the argument we had before our test drives, and my mother’s parting words before I left for Bahrain.

“Try not to embarrass the family name too much.”

She sighed solemnly after she told me those words as if it was a foregone conclusion that I wouldn’t perform to expectations. Like it was the truth that I was the failure … underachiever that she called me for most of my life.

Another miscalculation on my part during one of the turns, and again the car gets away from me. I barely manage to keep it on the track.

By the time I cross the finish line, I’m almost a full second off of Travis’ finishing time. In Formula 1, one second is the difference between first place and dead last.

I barely pull myself out of my car once I reach the garage. The celebrations and pats on the back that welcome me back are more contained than the celebratory applause Travis received upon his return.

After I’ve pulled off my helmet, spoken briefly with my main engineer and Drake, I start for the cool off room … only to come face to face with my smirking teammate.

“Enjoy catching all of my dirty air this season,” he says before turning his back and leaving.

Son of a bitch.

CHAPTER 8

Annalise

All of the thrill, hope, and breath-holding of those who’ve already arrived greet me the moment I step outside of Melbourne’s airport.

Today is Wednesday, and the first race of the season in a few days is. Travis and his family don’t arrive until tomorrow. I came early because I like to help coordinate the many business meetings Travis will undertake over the next few days.

Norm has also arrived early, and he and I are attending a luncheon together. It’s been over a week since we’ve communicated, and I want to ask if he’s heard anything from Luca Taylor. In my mind, this deal should’ve been done and signed weeks ago.

It would be one last thing Travis had to think about while going into the start of a new season.

Not to mention it would’ve proven that I didn’t totally screw up this deal.

I shake that thought away as I take one more look at myself in my hotel’s full-length mirror. The weather is beautiful in Melbourne and is supposed to remain that way throughout the duration of the Grand Prix.

Which is why I’ve chosen to wear my sleeveless white-and-blue-patterned linen set. The loose-fitting pants are breathable enough for me to feel comfortable with all of the walking I plan to do today, and the top stops just above my waist, giving a peek-a-boo tease of my mid-section.

The outfit is cute and slightly flirty without being too over the top sexy or staid. I’ve paired it with my two-inch white strappy sandals.

Though I’d rather take public transportation over to the track, Norm insists on us being chauffeured over for the luncheon.

“How was your flight?” he asks once we’re inside of the car.

I’m not bothered by the fact that he doesn’t take his eyes off of his phone. He’s worked with Travis for seven years now. Norm was one of his biggest advocates to get him the Amato contract and has been a faithful agent ever since.

But Travis isn’t his only client, and he constantly has half of his mind in one conversation while the other half is thinking about another.