Page 47 of Formula Chance

“Perfect example,” I mutter under my breath.

I glance back at Hendrik and Luca, standing off to the side to watch the session. Luca’s arms are crossed, his expression unreadable, while Hendrik’s glance flits between Matthieu on the track and the monitors.

Bex presses on, her tone professional but firmer now. “Matthieu, you’re losing time in Sector 1. Adjust your line through Turn 3 to set up better for Turn 4.”

“Maybe the setup isn’t as perfect as you think,” Matthieu snaps back, thick with disdain.

Bex doesn’t flinch, her voice calm and steady. “The setup is fine. It’s your line that’s the problem. Adjust it.”

There’s a pulse of admiration, watching her hold her ground. Matthieu is like a wild horse that needs breaking, and Bex has the reins firmly in hand. Whether he’ll ever admit it or not, she’s his best shot at consistent success.

Matthieu completes another lap, his sector times improving marginally but still far from what the car is capable of.

“Better,” Bex praises, and it’s genuine, showing just how much she’s his champion if he will let her. “Now focus on your braking into Turn 8. You’re too deep, losing time on exit.”

“You want to drive the car too?” Matthieu quips, his sarcasm disrespectful enough to make Luca drop his head, shaking it with disappointment. Hendrik, on the other hand, smirks faintly, like he’s enjoying the show.

Bex leans closer to the mic, her voice lowering but hardening. “Matthieu, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. Do you want to maximize your lap time or waste everyone’s effort?”

I watch as Hendrik leaves Luca’s side, struts across pit lane and approaches Bex. He taps her on the shoulder and motions for her headset. “I’ll handle Matthieu,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her face pales at the insinuation that she can’t do her job. “I’ve got it under control.” Her voice is even, but I can see her anger.

Hendrik merely motions with his hand, indicating he wants her headset. They have a bit of a staring war, but she eventually gives it to him. She turns back to the screen, her lips pressed in a flat line.

Looking over Bex’s shoulder at the numbers, Hendrik relays instructions. “Matthieu… focus on Sector 3—we need clean exits through Turns 11 and 12.”

“Copy,” he replies and executes Hendrik’s commands without a single deviation.

I glance down to Bex’s hands, noting that they’re curled into tight fists.

It’s with complete frustration that she watches Matthieu obediently following Hendrik’s instructions—the same ones that Bex would be relaying—without a single note of disagreement. His lap times get faster and in the end his run is slightly better than mine.

My stomach churns over this blatant lack of respect to Bex. Not just Matthieu, but more so Hendrik for stepping into her shoes, implying to every single person watching that he doesn’t have confidence in her abilities.

When the session is finished, Matthieu pulls into the pit lane with a flourish, tires squealing slightly as he brakes hard in front of the garage. He climbs out of the car, his body language screaming defiance.

I watch as he saunters into the garage, accepting high fives and backslaps from his pit crew.

Hendrik takes off the headset, hands it to Bex without a word and starts to turn away.

“A word, Hendrik?” she asks, keeping her voice steady despite the anger clearly bubbling beneath the surface.

He turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

She inhales deeply and it’s obvious she’s struggling to find the right tone. “Undermining my authority like that doesn’t help the team. If Matthieu has an issue with me, he needs to address it directly, not through you. And you have to let me do my job.”

Hendrik’s expression hardens. “Matthieu responds better to me. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the chief engineer for this team. I make the decisions on how things are handled, not you.”

“And what about what’s best for the strategy department?” she counters, her voice rising slightly. “You’re making it harder for me to do my job when you step in like that.”

The German smirks, crossing his arms. “If you don’t like it, go complain to Luca.”

I can practically hear Bex gritting her teeth, keeping an outburst stuffed down deep to avoid escalating a situation. Instead, she asks, “Do you intend to run the strategy for Melbourne?”

“Not at this time, I don’t,” he replies smoothly, with just enough innuendo to infer he’s not above doing it. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

“No, that’s it,” she clips out.

---