Page 88 of Racing Hearts
With each passing second the growing pit in my stomach churned even deeper into anger.
“You know, Lily, I’m going to be this year’s Formula 1 champion. And no journalist, or executive, or steward is going to take that away from me.”
The sobs came without warning, hot and silent at first, then louder, the kind that wrack your shoulders and make you feel like you’re coming undone. Lily pulled me into a crushing hug, arms wrapped around me like a life raft in a storm.
I clung to her, letting myself fall apart for just a moment.
When the silence finally returned, I exhaled shakily and looked up, my face blotchy and wet.
“Feel better?” she asked softly.
“… sort of.” I sunk my head into my hands.
“You can’t let these journalists win, Georgia. You know the truth. The women on this team know the truth. And most importantly, all the little girls who watch us race?Theyknow the truth. Men are never going to stop trying to take away our success. Our wins. It’s up to us to not let them have that power. You’re going to win this race. And the next one, and then? Then you’re going to win this championship. We set out with a mission, and articles like the one published today? That’s why we’re here.”
I put my head in my hands, rubbing my face in frustration, before whispering, “When did you get so wise?”
Lily flashed me a bright smile, before finally standing up, lending me her hand so I could do the same.
“We signed up to achieve the Valkyrie mission, Georgia,” she announced. “They’re only attacking us because the mission is succeeding, but it doesn’t matter because we’re here to stay.”
My phone buzzed violently in my hand, startling both of us. A text from Isabelle lit up the screen, followed immediately by an incoming call.
“Hi, Georgia,” Isabelle said softly. Hearing my sniffles, she didn’t wait for me to respond. “I assume you didn’t listen to our instructions and that you’ve read the article?”
What did she think I was going to do?
“Yes,” I mumbled.
“Oh, Georgia, they aren’t worth your time.” There was a long pause on the other line before Isabelle continued, “I need you to meet me at the FIA offices in an hour. I know you have strategy meetings, but I had them rescheduled. Giovanni wants to see us.”
Well, fuck.
Before I could respond she added, “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
No chance she believed that. I certainly didn’t. As much as Isabelle wanted to dissuade my worry, the moment I read the cheating accusation, a trip to the FIA leadership offices was inevitable.
After a quick lunch and another pep talk, Lily left, and I made my way to the director offices where Isabelle was sitting outside Giovanni’s door, a stern expression on her face.
I dropped into the seat beside her and lowered my voice to a whisper. “You used to work for Giovanni, back when you were an engineer at Hermes, right? Maybe that’ll help?” I tried to sound casual, but the tension made it come out brittle. Before becoming President of the FIA, Giovanni had been the Hermes team principal for many years.
And it showed. Objectivity was not his strong suit.
She snorted under her breath. “Just let me do the talking. We’ll be a calm, united front. He may look scary, but he’s nothing more than a wet blanket.”
The receptionist stood up, motioning for us to join the FIA President in his office. Giovanni was a staunch Italian man with large round glasses that made him look a bit more like a cartoon character than the leader of the governing body of motorsport. As he watched us, he wore a frown on his face, although Isabelle had told me he was always like that—including at his own wedding.
“Good morning.” Once we were seated, he cleared his throat and began. “So, in light of the article that came out this morning, the FIA wanted to touch base with Valkyrie to make sure we are on the same page.” A heavy silence hung in the air as he paused, no doubt preparing himself for our reactions. “To be clear, the FIA does not condone two teams conspiring to get more sponsors. Or to get ahead, for that matter.”
“Valkyrie—” Isabelle started.
But Giovanni cut her off with a single raised hand. It wasn’t a gesture of deference; it was a command. One meant to silence.
The change in Isabelle’s face was instant. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she balled her fists at her sides, and she looked like she might lunge forward to slap him across the face. Before this meeting, she’d coached me on staying calm, composed.
But now? Now she looked ready to burn the entire building to the ground.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rooting for it.
