“I’m listening.”
“Be a good girl and bring me back a podium place, preferably pole position, and I’ll make it worth your while later.”
I could barely believe what I was hearing, but holy shit was I eager to please. I plastered my best cocky grin onto my face. “Done. I’ll be holding you to that promise.” I paused. “Now call me a good girl again, ‘cause it’s giving me major pussy flutters.”
Kristian chuckled but turned his attention back to his paperwork. His phone began to ring and I knew the moment was over, but god damn if my mind wasn’t running wild with fantasies. I always wanted to win my races, but this one? This one Ineededto win.
The day had gone just as smoothly as ever, though it had been a whirlwind of interviews and engaging with fans. The driver’s parade – which was always a spectacle in Las Vegas – was complete, the pre–grid entertainment had been watched and the reconnaissance lap undertaken as well. The car was feeling great, and both Sophia and I were hopeful for success, though I feared I had much more riding on this race than my teammate thanks to the gauntlet Kristian had thrown down.
We’d finally had the announcement that there was thirty minutes until lights out, and that gave me just enough time for a quick bathroom break before heading to the grid for the American national anthem. I made my way back out beneath the lights, lining up beside my fellow drivers. Darren McCarthy from Red Bull grinned at me and I returned it, playfully giving him the finger, hoping the vulgar gesture wasn’t caught on camera anywhere.
“Hope you’re ready for the drive of your life, Rossi,” he muttered.
“Hope you’re ready to eat my dust, McCarthy,” I countered, smirking when he jostled his shoulder into mine.
Soon, the entertainer strode out to the roar of the crowd, and we all stood in silence as we listened to a beautiful rendition of‘The Star–Spangled Banner’. When it was over, the crowds went wild and the drivers split, each going their separate ways as theymade their way back to the cars that were waiting for them and lined up in place on the grid.
A signal sounded overhead. There were ten minutes to go, and all non–personnel were requested to leave the grid. I barely noticed the television crews and celebrities leaving, my mind focused on one thing, and one thing only – winning.
“Good luck, Bianca,” Sophia called over to me from third place.
“Give ‘em hell, Harrington,” I replied, giving her a thumbs up before accepting my helmet from my minder and wiggling it on over my head.
“Mic check, mic check,” came the voice of the chief technical officer in my ear.
“Copy, Carlos,” I replied, holding out my hands as my minder pushed my gloves on and strapped them into place.
“Let’s have a nice, clean drive both. Don’t forget the track is narrow, so no undue risks taken please. Tyre temp is looking good, but the tarmac is cool out there, so take it easy.”
Another signal chimed. Three minutes to go. The mechanics flurried around the car, bolting the wheels into place. The tyre warming devices were still wrapped around the rubber, and they would stay there until the last moment. I climbed up into the car, squeezing down into the cockpit and doing my final run through of checks.
Another signal sent all the teams scarpering off the tarmac and back into the pit garages. I pressed the start button, a thrill shooting through me as the powerful engine roared to life all around me. One minute until lights out.
“Good luck this evening,” Kristian’s voice spoke in my ear, sending a shiver of an entirely different kind of excitement down my body. “Stick with plan A as discussed. We’ll leave you to it unless communication is required.”
“Copy,” I replied, pausing before adding: “See you in first place, as requested.”
“Here’s hoping,” Kristian chuckled.
There was one final signal, and moments later the green lights illuminated on the gantry. McCarthy eased his car forward, leading me and the pack of drivers at my back in our first formation lap. I weaved the car back and forth, desperate to build as much heat in the rubber as I possibly could. If I wanted to win this race, getting a good start off the line and past McCarthy was imperative.
It took less time than I’d realised before we were back at the grid. I slowed the car, coming to a stop in P2, eyes fixed on the gantry and hands gripping the steering wheel. Everything slowed down and my mind fell into a familiar hyperfocal state. I took deep, steady breaths, my heart leaping into my mouth as the set of five red lights began to light up above me.
Five, four, three, two… one! Lights out!
I got a great start, better than McCarthy. At turn one, I inched down the inside of him, holding my breath. Yes! I squeezed past him and into the lead. I was barely out of the first corner before I saw an alert flash up on my steering wheel.
“Virtual safety car. Absolute carnage behind. Debris on track.”
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to slow as required and continued around the track. I was itching all over, desperate to return to the speed and exhilaration, but thankfully I didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, with the debris clear, I got my wish, and the green flag racing resumed.
Heading into the second lap, the DRS was enabled. I automatically checked for McCarthy, pleased to see him already out of range behind me and I charged ahead, eager to maintain my lead. I wasn’t hanging about, and by the end of the seventh lap, I was 1.8 seconds ahead.
“Stewards are reviewing that overtake at turn one. McCarthy is claiming you pushed him wide and should give the place back. Will keep you posted,” Kristian said in my ear.
I scowled. That was just like the Red Bull driver to be bitching and moaning, but it didn’t worry me. I was making great time and I’d be damned if I was losing this race and giving up whatever excitement had been promised to me by Kristian for later that night.
By lap nine, my radio gear crackled. “Not good news. You’ve been given a five second penalty for turn one. Push on.”
