Page 81 of The Fast Track

Before I can lose my nerve, I launch into the speech I practiced over and over with Mom last night. “I would like to apologize for my part in the tabloid article. I got caught up, as many drivers my age do, at my first after-party. Going forward, I guarantee this won’t happen again—”

It’s impossible to read Frank’s expression and it only makes my knees tremble, so I focus instead on the picture of him and his cherub-faced granddaughter on the metal desk instead.

“—but that being said, there were also many things that weren’t within my control. Such as theWMfabricating my role as a third party in Dietrich’s personal life. I did go to the gala with him, but—”

“No need to elaborate,” Frank interrupts, coughing. “I’d rather not know.”

My ears turn red, but I fast-forward to the end. “I’m asking for a chance to finish out the season. I can help Orbital win the F3 team championship.”

He crosses his arms. “That’s a pretty big promise.”

“Come on, Frank, we’re neck and neck with Triton. You know I can make a difference. Please.”

He sighs. “Look, Justine. You are talented. Tremendously talented. And you are not the first young driver to fall to the media hounds…”

I nod eagerly, hope radiating within me.

“Like I told you at Spa, if it were up to me, we’d take a different route. But… the sponsors feel strongly about this,especially Hendriksen. I already tried speaking with Lou this morning, but he’s firm.”

As quickly as that, I come crashing down. Could I somehow wrangle an audience with Lou Wilson, plead my case directly? Not likely—he’s barely in Milton Keynes unless there’s a VIP sponsor visiting—and my best in, Roz, is still cold-shouldering me, not to mention she always goes out of her way to distance herself from her uncle.

Just like I go out of my way to dodge diversity-related initiatives pitched to me in the name of fitting in. If there’s anything the tabloid debacle has thrown into light—it’s that no matter how many points I score, how friendly I become with the guys, I’m always going to be viewed in a different light. So I might as well go ahead and own it, loudly and proudly. Own it in solidarity with Roz and the other paddock women, stick my face on the energy bars, shout about it in interviews, be more visible for Maddie and the future.

“What if I could do a reverse Uno?” I ask, an idea slowly forming. “Get Orbital and Hendriksen some good publicity?”

Frank purses his lips. “What do you have in mind?”

26.

Mom is all in onmy plan when I tell her and does all the back-channel communication to set everything up in record time. We pick a small, cozy gastropub—someplace quiet, where we’re unlikely to get barged in on.

It’s completely deserted when I enter. The only person present, other than a couple of busboys wiping down tables, is Liam Granville.

Motor Sport’s most renowned reporter. Sitting in a quiet back corner like Mom arranged.

“Justine, it’s nice to meet you.” He shakes my hand with a firm grip. It’s one that’s shaken all the modern greats’—from Hamilton to Vettel to Schumacher himself.

I tamp down my crackling nerves. “You definitely reached out to Roz Wilson, right?”

“Your engineer? I did.”

I slide into the booth opposite him. The leather upholstery is sticky against my clammy legs. Roz may be leaving me on double blue checks, but there’s no way she can ignoreMotorSport. Or that was what I thought. Maybe I screwed things up badly enough even a personal invitation from Liam Granville can’t get her to show.

“I must say, Miss Kwong, I was pleasantly surprised about the one-eighty. When we reached out earlier this year, we were given the impression you were lukewarm about the direction of the proposed article.”

“Things have… changed.” I look at my hands.

He clicks on his tape recorder. Most journalists use recording apps now, but Liam is as old-school as they come. “I presume you’re referring to the recentWeekly Mailarticle?”

I cringe. “Have you read it?” This is Liam Granville’s first impression of me. This is going to be a lot of people’s first impression of me now.

“I make a point of avoiding sensationalized clickbait, but I’ve been briefed to the general content. I take it I’m meant to help you set the record straight?”

I can’t tell if he’s annoyed about this, as his face has stayed perfectly expressionless the entire time. Maybe I should get him to coach me on my poker face.

“No. And actually, my personal life isn’t what I wanted to talk about.” Liam doesn’t say anything, so I elaborate. “I did get too drunk, but that was in a private setting. And anyway, the smell of tequila makes me want to throw up now.”

“I see.” He jots a couple of words in his notepad with his fancy silver fountain pen. “So what, might I ask, would you like to discuss, other than your newfound disdain for tequila?”