Page 1 of Downforce

CHAPTER ONE

Charlie

Don’t call me a nepo baby.

I have a Master’s degree in both Aeronautical Engineering (Hons.) and Mechanical Engineering (Hons.) from Cambridge, won the Zienkiewick Silver Medal for my paper on the four laws of aerodynamics, raced in competitive karting from the age of nine, only stopping after breaking both wrists in an on-track accident when I was sixteen. I foundedGirls Rush, a foundation supporting the promotion and development of young women in all levels of motorsport, and my father still, to this day, wishes he’d had a son instead of a daughter.

As of last week, I’m the chief aerodynamicist at Equis Racing.

The fact my father owns Equis Racing doesn’t have anything to do with my new position. I wasn’t employed by my father. Dad doesn’t want me here. Dad is a dick.

The Team Principal, Carson Willoughby, employed me because, after working from the bottom up in Formula 2, and being a member of the team that guided Diaulos Racing, Equis Racing’s biggest rival, through to back-to-back F2 Constructor Champions, I was the most suitable candidate.

So no, I’m not a nepo baby. I’m here because I’m fucking amazing at my job.

I’m here because I genuinely believe Equis Racing can be,shouldbe, the F1 Constructor Champions.

That Dad is pissed off I’m here is just an added bonus.

But now, I’m about to do something that is going to piss off a lot of people.

Namely, inform the race team that Laurant’s car isn’t performing the way it should and needs to undergo significant adjustments to the settings and wing structure. No matter how much Laurant is most likely going to demand it’s exactly how he wants it.

If Equis Racing is to win this year’s F1 Constructor Championship, and next year’s, and the year after that, they need to listen to me.

Most of all, Laurant himself.

Who, according to my deputy aerodynamicist, Sergio, is the one calling me a nepo baby.

“How are we tracking for time, Serg?” I ask, scrolling through the points of my presentation on my iPad as we make our way through Equis Racing’s Monaco Grand Prix HQ. We’re a day away from the first two practice sessions. Most of the team has been here for at least six days. The drivers themselves arrived the day before yesterday.

I know Nigel O’Brien, Equis’s other driver, is somewhere onsite, having seen him and his girlfriend talking with Martin Verhoeven from Barnett Racing this morning when I arrived. But Anton…

A tight knot twists in my stomach.

Thanks to my preparation for this job, I’ve researched Anton Laurant to the nth degree, but I’ve never spoken to him. I’ve tried to arrange a meeting since I joined Equis, but he’s ignored my request.

Too busy. That’s been the text response every time.

Text. Not even a courtesy call. A text.

“We’re doing fine, Ms Madigan,” Sergio replies, checking his watch. “Ahead by six minutes, in fact.”

“Sergio?” I throw him a look. “It’s Charlie. Or if you can’t handle that, Charlotte. Not Ms Madigan. Okay?”

I’ve told him this multiple times since I joined the team.

He smacks his forehead and smiles. “Charlie.”

He’s also donethatmultiple times. Sergio is my favorite person on the team. He’s funny, whip-smart, and has made me feel more than welcome from day one. Plus, his wife bakes the most amazing Ricciarelli. Apparently, he and Dad knew each other at Eton College, but neither seem inclined to acknowledge it.

“The front wing on both cars needs to be adjusted three clicks for more downforce,” I say, opening a different page on my iPad. “I need the pit crew on that today. It’ll help the cars turn in better.” I frown, looking up at him. “By the way, do you know where Laurant is?”

Sergio grimaces. “Err…”

I snap to a halt, stare locking on him. “Are youkiddingme?”

Clearing his throat, Sergio rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m not. Apparently, he’s going sailing with?—”

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