Page 10 of Formula Chance

She stares at me, chest heaving, her lips parted in that familiar way when she’s about to say something sharp, something hurtful. I’m locked and loaded, ready to give it back if she does, because I’ve always had the ability to be the bigger douche.

But I hold up my hand again. “I’ll be blunt, all right?” I say, jaw clenched. “Luca was willing to let you go. He thought it would be easier to just replace you, but I told them no. I’m not asking you to leave, but if you think you’re going to mess with my head, or distract me, or get in my way…” I pause, letting the threat hang in the air.

“I would never do that.” She gasps, cheeks turning red and anger sizzling in her eyes.

I look at her pointedly. “I’m not playing games. I’m not here to revisit the idea of us—I’m here to do a job. To prove that I’m more than my past.” My voice lowers, quieter now, almost cold. “You’re here for your job, and I’m here for mine. Keep it that way. Don’t make me regret letting you stay.”

There’s a long silence. I can feel her measuring me, as if she’s wondering if I’m serious. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. But either way, I can’t back down now.

Bex finally grinds her teeth together, a sharp sound that I know is her trying not to snap back. “Fine,” she says, her voice tight, controlled. “I’ll stay out of your way. You stay out of mine.”

I nod once, my rage still on a low simmer. It’s a truce of sorts, but it feels like the calm before the storm. I don’t know if it’ll last, but for now, it’s all I can do.

Without another word, she turns and walks away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I stay standing there, rooted to the spot, watching her go. Part of me wonders if I made the right call.

The other part of me—deep down—knows I probably didn’t.

CHAPTER 4

Bex

“How surreal isyour life?” Amanda Bertram asks as I lead her through the sleek, modern corridors of the Titans Racing headquarters in Guildford. I dressed for the interview today since they’re taking photos to go with the article being written about me inEchelonmagazine. My heels click against the polished stone floor as I give her an impromptu tour.

I’d normally be wearing something far more comfortable—suitable for long hours gazing at monitors, but I never mind dressing up. I chose a sleek cranberry wool dress with a plaid scarf around my neck, took time curling my long blond hair and actually put on makeup. It’s apparently a drastic difference because people I’ve been working with since I was hired have done double takes when they see me.

“I think I’ll be sayingpinch mefor the next few years,” I admit with a laugh.

The main building of the Guildford headquarters is much like the Pittsburgh building. Actually, like most FI headquarters in that they’re immaculately designed with precision and an eye for modern details, just as everything else is in the world of Formula International. The walls are a bright white but the outer-most walls are comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows and open-space cubicles within. It’s a far cry from the worn-in chaos of the FI2 teams, who don’t have the money to put into fancy buildings.

The one thing that is universal though is the steady hum of purpose in the air as we all work toward greatness. I love that vibe almost as much as I love the thrill of race day.

“Here we are,” I say, stopping at the door to my office. It’s not traditional by any means. There’s no executive desk, no fancy leather chair to sink into. Rather, I work at a long bench built into the wall with five monitors spread before me. More large screens line the walls, showing telemetry data, race schedules, weather forecasts and tire wear estimates. The center of the room is dominated by a large round table where the team comes together to hash out race strategies, track conditions and countless other variables. Ergonomic chairs designed to keep pressure off our backs as we hunker over keyboards sit empty for the moment.

I gesture toward the screens. “This is where it all happens. Data is our most valuable tool, and we use it in real time to adjust our strategy mid-race. We track everything—tire degradation, fuel load, competitors’ pit stops, the weather… it’s all here.”

Amanda’s in her mid-thirties and she admitted to me when we met not long ago that she knows nothing about racing. However, she was specifically assigned this interview so she could convey to the women who read their magazine a little about the sport in understandable, approachable terms. She looks boggled as she takes it all in. “It’s hard to even process. This looks like the nerve center of a big brain.”

I grin at the description and think of my father calling me The Brain. “In a way, it is. The strategy engineers are responsible for the big picture—the race strategy—based on the data we get. We take all these component pieces and coordinate with the designers, engineers, drivers and the rest of the team to ensure we make the right decisions at the right time.”

I move toward one of the screens, swiping through race data. “These numbers right here helped us analyze the tire degradation during the Bahrain race last week. We use that information in relation to the weather, other teams’ pit stops, and length of race to make real-time decisions.”

She nods, impressed but clearly not really understanding, so she moves to the real crux of this article. “And you’re the first woman to hold this role in FI history?”

There’s no describing the flush of pride welling in me. I remember the tears in my dad’s eyes when I told him I’d been offered the job. I glance at the framed photo of me in my first season with Bauer Performance Racing hanging on the wall. I’d thought that was the pinnacle of my career, working for an FI2 team—the lower-tiered race organization that operated under Bauer FI Racing in Vienna. Sometimes I doubt the reality of me standing here in this pristine space, knowing how far I’ve come.

“Yes, I am. And to be honest, it’s still a bit surreal. Part of me can’t believe I’m here.” I turn back to her, motioning to one of the chairs so we can settle in for the rest of the interview. “But it’s been a journey.”

She sits across from me at the table, her recorder poised, ready to capture every word. “Let’s talk about that journey then. You didn’t just wake up one day and become a race strategy engineer.”

The journey wasn’t an easy one, and it certainly wasn’t linear. But it was inevitable. “I grew up in racing. My dad was chief of the pit crew at Union Jack Motorsports. I was raised in the pit garages, surrounded by cars, drivers and mechanics. My dad was always there—working long hours, making sure everything ran smoothly. I spent my childhood at tracks all over the world, watching the sport up close.”

“So it’s in your DNA,” Amanda muses.

“I don’t know there’s any other way to consider it,” I agree with a chuckle, remembering with so much fondness those early days. “I was a sponge. I asked questions. A lot of them. I wanted to know how everything worked—the strategies, the tech, the team dynamics. Dad was always patient with me. I think he saw something in me early on, and he encouraged me to follow my curiosity.”

“I imagine there weren’t a lot of other little girls in the garages. And it’s still a male-dominated sport. What made you think you belonged?”

Excellent question. While all my friends were off playing with dolls and painting their nails, I was turning socket wrenches. I shrug, not feeling like I lost out on anything. “I’m lucky that my father never put up barriers for me. On the contrary, he made me believe there were no barriers in this sport.”

---