Page 1 of Double Apex

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MELBOURNE

MID-MARCH

PHAEDRA

My focus prowls over the bank of monitors, studying the telemetry. I’m in the zone. My grip on the information is effortless, light, like breathing. When the car is out and data floods in, the numbers become part of me—they flow through, and I react. The rush is gorgeous.

As one of the two race engineers for Emerald F1, I’m part of the brain, the nervous system of the team. Others may be the heart. The bones. The muscles.

And some are just dicks. I’m talking to one now.

“We’re close, Cosmin,” I say into the radio. “Push push push.”

“I thought you’d never ask, draga,” he returns.

My face goes hot with anger. It’s his third inappropriate comment this session, despite an earlier warning. I flick aglance at our engineering director, Lars, and he gives me a shrug as if to say,Cosmin is what he is.

“You know what?” I tell Lars and our team principal, Klaus, who’s on the next chair over. “Good enough for today. I’m gonna check in with Mo.”

Klaus nods, Lars offers a little salute.

I take my headset off and force myself to lay it down more gently than fury urges, then stalk away from the pit wall.

People call my dad Mo, short for Morgan—Ed Morgan, team owner. I do too, publicly. It’s hard enough being a woman in this job without verbal reminders to everyone that I’m the owner’s daughter.

Growing up in a family that owned a NASCAR team before making the jump to Formula 1 eight years ago, I all but cut my teeth on racing slicks. I traveled the United States with my father and NC Emerald NASCAR during the season and had a STEM-focused tutor who traveled with us.

Every swinging dick on this team (as my dad would say) knows I have this job because I’m a rockstar engineer. Mathematics has been my oxygen since I was five years old. I headed for college at sixteen, had a masters by twenty-two, and went to work for Emerald in a junior position the same year. Over the decade since, I’ve earned my stripes.

I make my way to Mo’s paddock office and find him lying on the sofa. The scent of peppermint hangs in the air—he’s having another of his headaches. I gently close the door.

“Hey,” I greet as quietly as I can while still being heard overthe distant scream of engines. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? This racket can’t be helping your head.”

“I’m fine, chickadee.” He lifts the wet washrag folded over his eyes. “Session done?”

“Almost. Jakob got 1'23.081. Cosmin had 1'22.784 when I left.”

“Left?Why’d you walk away? That’s not like you.”

I stretch my back. “Ardelean pissed me off. The smart-aleck comments, the nickname. It undermines me.”

“Want me to have a word with him?”

“Definitely not. ‘Ooh, Daddy, tell the sexist dickhead not to hurt my feeeewings!’ Yeah,no. I’ll rip him a new one myself when he comes in.” I tighten the loose bun in my auburn hair and rake my bangs aside.

My dad re-covers his eyes. “First year with the team, he’s testing boundaries. But the kid’s fast—slicker than snot on Teflon. Good chance he’ll haul our asses outta midfield.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

My dad chuckles, and I’m happy to hear it until his words follow. “Man, you arestubborn. Still won’t forgive the boy for not being that reserve driver gal from Team Harrier you lobbied for.”

I fold my arms. “I do think it’s a missed opportunity, not offering a contract to Sage Sikora when we had the chance. Emerald could’ve been pioneers in the sport, giving a seat to a woman with that kind of talent, and—”

“Phae.”

His tone is weary with a hint of stern, and I feel like an asshole for bringing it up again.

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