“Hydro-what, what the hell does that mean?” Silas purses his lips.
He may have stood up for his team in front of Olivier, but, apparently, one does not get to be Team Principal by being a push-over. Silas is an intimidating man, by all accounts. Yet Cole sits here, as usual, calm, collected, yet commanding the room.
If everyone has a superpower, Cole's ability is appearing intimidating as fuck all the while maintaining total composure.
“The silica in tires is where the magic happens. Every company has a secret blend, and they guard it like a nuclear code. But the Concordia tires, they’re not like any we’ve seen before. When we blend silica with rubber, generally speaking, we can decrease wear resistance while increasing grip. When we add silane, we can really start manipulating the magic triangle.”
“What?” Silas bites.
“The balance between grip, rolling resistance, and wear. Altering the silane levels lets us manipulate the sweet spot. We can have low hysteresis at low frequencies and high hysteresis at high frequencies. That idea blew t
he magic triangle out the window…”
“I’m losing my patience, Emily.”
‘I’m sorry, I’m trying to explain it. It’s going to take more time to dissect the silica and silane in these tires and identify the other hundred compounds that are bonded together at molecular levels. But I know it has something to do with that.”
“Oh, you know it?” Silas asks sarcastically, somewhat pompously.
I’m again reminded that this is a male-dominated sport, and I’m the new, meddling, girl.
“Edmund brought Emily aboard because she’s brilliant, and this is her jam,” Cole leans forward and interrupts with a booming voice that rocks me back in my chair. “Neither of us knows what she’s talking about, but she does. If she says the tires are fucked, the tires are fucked.”
My eyes go wide as Cole stares down Silas, who is peering at him through slanted eyes and tapping the table deciding how to proceed.
“Are the tires fucked, Emily?” Silas finally asks.
“Yes sir, the tires are fucked,” I answer.
He goes back to tapping the table with one hand, rubbing his chin with the other.
I have no idea if I am going to leave this table with a job at this point.
I do know that I am right, though. I am not some stupid girl, no matter how Olivier or the other chauvinistic pigs walking around this paddock act sometimes.
“Give her time,” Cole interjects.
“No more stealing tires,” Silas waves his finger between Cole and me. “And in the meantime, figure out how to unfuck the tires we do have because we’re losing points all season to this shit.”
“Yes, sir,” I nod.
As soon as Silas leaves the room, I wrap my arms around Cole’s sculpted shoulders and bury my head in his neck. I inhale in his familiar spicy scent and feel my blood pressure come back down.
“What’s this for?” He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me off my feet for a second.
“For standing up for me, believing in me.”
For always having my back, for being selfless, for treating me like I have a brain in addition to tits, for listening even when I don’t make sense, for trusting me even when I know I don’t make sense, for being the silence and calm amongst all my inner noise.
He kisses me, and I catch a faint hint of the minty hypotonic beverage concoction Liam is always making him drink gallons of.
“As much as I’d like to continue this, you need to get back to Shady Acres,” he pulls away and tells me.
He’s still ragging on our hideous hotel suite. His righteous indignation over it is as comical as the decor.
I sag my shoulders and pout. “Do I really have to go? I don’t think the dress I have is acceptable for a gala in Milan, of all places. You know I hate parties and…”
He stops me with another kiss, which I have to admit, is a surefire way to shut me up.