Page 27 of Downforce

“She’s arrived,” a brunette from across the table mentions. “Her lap time in Bahrain looked good.”

I nod in agreement. Though I didn’t go to Bahrain with Travis, I was able to read up on the lap times afterward and catch some footage.

“I think she has the potential to win it this year,” I state my beliefs out loud.

The table quiets as several heads turn my way.

Norm lets out a chuckle. “That’s funny.”

My brow furrowed, I tilt my head sideways. “It wasn’t a joke. She had the fastest lap time in Bahrain, and last year she came close to winning the championship.”

He snorts. “She doesn’t have what it takes.”

“I believe she does,” I reply. “The proof is already there. And once she wins, I think it’d be foolish to deny that she’s earned a spot on the main grid.”

“Now, that’s a stretch,” the man on my right says.

“How so?” I challenge.

His condescending smile drops an inch, but he quickly puts it back into place. “As Norm said, ‘she doesn’t have what it takes.’ Her temperament is off.”

“Gunner’s right,” the brunette adds. “She’s changed agents … what?” She pauses and looks to the blonde to her right.

“Three times.”

“That’s right. Three times in the last three years,” she tells me as if that’s proof that Bree isn’t good enough to drive among the best.

Meanwhile, I have to bite my tongue to keep from reminding Phil that the team he’s highly invested in, Arena Racing’s number two driver only has the position because he’s the majority owner’s son.

I turn to Norm. “Maybe that’s an opportunity for you to take her on,” I suggest.

Norm’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. “I’ve already got my ledger full.”

However, I know that’s not entirely true. Two of the athletes he represented recently announced their retirements, leaving him room to take on another.

“Well, I hope to have it full,” he adds when I look at him skeptically. “One of the reasons I came into town early.” He says ‘came into town’ as if he only had to drive across the bridge, not hop on a long haul, twenty-plus hour flight.

“Norm,” a voice calls out, capturing all of our attention.

I turn and squint at the young man entering the restaurant. He’s Matt Porter, a Formula 2 driver out of Canada.

“Matt,” Norm greets him, rising from his seat. He wastes no time making introductions to the rest of the table.

I immediately see it for what it is.

Norm is trying to woo Matt to sign with his agency, and he’s doing his best to make himself look appealing by introducing him to some prominent decision makers within the F1 world.

No wonder Norm won’t even consider Bree Walters as a client. I have a sneaking suspicion that it also has something to do with the fact that she’s a woman. Perhaps she can be a little prickly, from what I’ve heard, but she’s talented. And she’s never had any major, publicized conflicts.

I have to believe the only reason anyone is overlooking her is because she has the audacity to be a woman in a male-dominated sport.

The laughing from across the table brings me out of my thoughts. Matt, a talented driver in his own right, is doing his job at charming those at the table. It only serves to make my stomach turn. Try as I might, I despise how much politics actually play a part in this sport. Not only do you have to have the talent, work hard, and drive well, you need the right connections.

From the looks of it, Matt’s learned to play the game well. And Norm’s doing his part as kingmaker right beside him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends this season with an F1 contract.

I make my excuses to the table and rise to my feet at the same time my phone rings. Despite my downtrodden mood, I smile when I see who's calling, and search for an empty space outside of the restaurant.

People stroll past immersed in their conversations as I approach the lake.