Page 14 of Spin Control

“Albrecht?” Marcus asks, looking at our team principal.

“She has real potential,” he says. “But I don’t think anyone is as excited about her as they are about Freddie.”

I want to stand up for Lu—point out that there’s an obvious bias against women in this sport, that of course the men in charge want the kid whose rich dad hob-knobs with them. But then Marcus says, “Why don’t we test them both on the sim?”

There are nods of agreement, and Albrecht excuses himself to call their agents. Everyone welcomes the opportunity for a break, and I pick up my phone to give Lu a very small heads up.

“Congratulations on the win.”

I look up, surprised I’m not alone. But even more surprised that Elizabeth deigned to speak to me.

“Thanks,” I say. “I wasn’t about to let Thad Wedington take the win after Hyunjoon’s crash.”

“I still can’t believe they restarted the race,” she says, shaking her head. I’m so used to it now that I barely think about it—plus, it’s not like other sports just end when someone gets injured. But Elizabeth is new to the world of motorsports, and her very first race was not a typical one.

“The first time I witnessed a crash like Hyunjoon’s and had to get back in the car, I threw up in my helmet.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve never done it again.”

“How?”

“Superb compartmentalization skills,” I tell her. “I think of my mind as a filing cabinet. When it’s time to race, I close every drawer except that one. I don’t think about how hot it is, or how sore my shoulders are, or how I’d desperately like some Wendy’s fries and a chocolate Frosty, or the fact that my teammate is on his way to the hospital. I can’t afford to think about anything else, so I don’t open any other drawer until I cross the finish line.”

Elizabeth absorbs that, nodding. The motion makes what’s different about her today click into place. She left some of her hair loose to frame her face rather than pulling it all back. It looks nice. More than nice.

“So Wendy’s, huh?” Elizabeth asks. “That’s your vice of choice?”

I huff out a laugh. “These days? Yeah.”

“What about other days? Wendy’s seems a bit tame.”

“Elizabeth Jacobs,” I say. “Are you trying to get dirt on me?”

She shrugs, but her eyes are bright. “Just wondering if all those rumors about a gambling problem and a sex addiction are true.”

I cough. “Well damn, Jacobs.” She said it so casually—her alto voice smooth as ever, as if it’s no big deal to admit that you’ve been reading scandalous rumors about the person you’re sitting across a conference table from. Then again, I suppose it really isn’t a big deal to her. She makes a living sweeping people’s vices and bad decisions under the rug.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her demeanor shifting from sharp cheekiness back to cool professional. But I don’t miss that calling her by her last name doesn’t immediately piss her off. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”

“I’d rather someone ask me directly than believe what they read online,” I say. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a problem or an addiction, but I have enjoyed both gambling and sex. It’d be fair to call them previous vices.”

“But not anymore?”

I shake my head. “I’m reformed these days.”

My phone buzzes with a response from Lu that’s just a bunch of exclamation points. I smile at it, then look back at Elizabeth. “So what about you? Any vices?”

“Of course not.”

“Not even corporal punishment?” I watch, fascinated, as her eyes brighten again—this time with what might be amusement.

“You mean my feet.”

“Yes, your poor, ravaged feet. Did you only pack heels?”

She sighs, letting her oh-so put together mask slip. Suddenly, I can see the jet lag and exhaustion all over her. I’m used to switching time zones and performing no matter the time or weather. But for someone who has never had to do this before? And who is helping us navigate a legitimate scandal? I can’t imagine how overwhelming this must be.