Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Trust me,” Greg says. “You want to talk to this person.”
He doesn’t wait for me to agree and starts pushing me into the small relaxation room where I often meditate before a race.
I come up short when I see the beautiful blond woman standing there, wearing a navy-blue power suit with pearls at her throat. Her hair is twisted up and her lips are perfectly painted crimson red.
Brienne Norcross. Head of Norcross Holdings, owner of the Pittsburgh Titans, and as of three and a half months ago, the new owner of Titans Racing, a formula race team based out of Guildford, England.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she says in a cool, cultured tone. She steps forward, offers me her hand and I take it. “That was quite a race. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I say as we shake, a little discombobulated that she’s standing here. I’m not the type to get starstruck, and I don’t right now. But my pulse jackhammers harder than it ever has out on the track because her presence here can only mean one thing. “Please call me Nash.”
She inclines her head, a smile on her bloodred lips. “Your performance last year in the OWC series was beyond impressive and it looks like you’re on track—no pun intended—to repeat a championship.”
I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t agree with it. “The season just started. It’s going to be a battle to the end.”
She hums low in her throat, almost as if she appreciates my humility. “Well, be that as it may, I’m actually here to talk about Formula International.”
As I expected, but just the mention of the most elite open-wheel racing series in the world has my stomach bottoming out, and not with excitement.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I say cautiously, not wanting to assume the worst.
Or is it the best?
Brienne clasps her hands before her, and I can practically feel Greg vibrating with eagerness. “Oh, you’re a smart man, I have no doubt,” she says with a laugh. “Surely you must know that if I’m here to talk about Formula International, then I’m here to talk to you about driving for Titans Racing.”
The floor spins, but I can’t show weakness. I clamp onto the back of the chair and lean forward, truly to steady myself, but I’m hoping it conveys mild interest.
“You have two drivers, though,” I point out.
“I’m sure you saw the crash in Bahrain?” I nod, and she continues. “While it appeared that both drivers were fine, Tomas Aalto has a compression fracture in his vertebrae and will be out for at least three months. I need someone to step in.”
I stare at her, speechless for a moment. “You want me to replace him?”
Her eyes lock onto mine, steady and unwavering. “Yes. I want you in the seat for the Jeddah race.”
“But that’s in…” My mind whirls as I calculate. “Eight days. I haven’t raced a formula car in three years. And you know damn well what happened the last time I was in one.”
Brienne doesn’t flinch. “I understand all of that. I also know you are one of the best drivers in FI history. You’ve got the skills, the talent, and the drive. What you’ve been through, though, is exactly why I’m offering this. I need someone who understands what it takes to get back in the game, someone who’s fought the demons you have. And you’ve got something Tomas doesn’t—experience.”
I shake my head, unsure. “I don’t know. I’m comfortable here in the OWC series.”
Her mouth turns down as if she’s disappointed by that. “Look… if you want to be comfortable, then you should stay in the OWC. If you want the challenge and the chance to take back your power in a formula car, I’m willing to talk. But you have to want it.”
Christ. I hate the fact that something deep inside me is screaming I want it!
My gaze drops to my scarred hands. Red, pitted flesh made better by numerous skin graft surgeries. I truly never thought I’d ever want to return to formula racing, but now that an opportunity is before me, I don’t know that I can turn my nose up at it.
My gaze rises to meet Brienne’s. “So, what is this exactly? Are you offering me a job?”
“I’m not offering you a job yet,” she replies firmly. “I’m offering you the chance to prove you are the one I should offer the job to. I want you to come to Pittsburgh with me to meet with the executive team. They’re the ones who need convincing.”
I’m shocked that the meeting will be in Pittsburgh. The entire operation is based in Guildford, so I’m wondering if they’ll relocate their headquarters. For now, that’s neither here nor there.
“But you’re convinced?” I ask hesitantly.
She nods, breaking visual contact with me. “I am. The ball’s in your court.”