Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

The week started in full force, with a relentless schedule that kept me busy enough to avoid any unnecessary thoughts. Meetings, simulations, strategizing—it was all-consuming. The silver lining? It meant I barely had to interact with Charles. I caught glimpses of him in the garage, sometimes from across the paddock, but that was it. No forced small talk, no awkward moments. Just work. And work was exactly what I needed.

At some point in the middle of the week, Charles did try to talk to me. I saw him approaching as I was checking data on my tablet, his expression unreadable. But before he could get a single word out, someone called his name, dragging him into another conversation. I didn’t stick around to see if he would try again.

Thursday marked the beginning of media duties, and I did everything in my power to stay far, far away from that circus. The last thing I needed was to see Charles answering questions I wasn’t prepared to hear. I avoided the screens broadcasting the interviews, drowned myself in my work, and made sure I was always on the opposite side of the garage. It worked—mostly.

Then came Friday. Free Practice.

It was a disaster.

The Ferrari was struggling. Both cars were off the pace, the setup felt completely wrong, and nothing seemed to work. I could see the frustration growing in the entire team, Charles included. But instead of letting the frustration take over, I focused. I wasn’t just an engineer strategist—I knew these cars inside and out, and if something needed to be fixed, I wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty.

I worked for hours, making adjustments, fine-tuning every detail I could. Sweat dripped down my temple, my hands ached from tightening bolts, and my head throbbed from the sheer intensity of it all. But by the time I was done, the car was better. Not perfect, but better. Enough to make a difference.

Saturday arrived, and with it, Qualifying.

Rain poured down in thick sheets, turning the track into a treacherous battlefield. Charles had already secured a decent position, P4, but in true Charles fashion, he wanted more. He pushed for one last flying lap, ignoring the radio warnings that the conditions were worsening. And then, it happened—he lost control, the car spun out, and the impact left the front wing and suspension slightly damaged.

By the time they brought the car back into the garage, I was already grabbing my tools. Again. My muscles ached from the previous night, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I dove in, working alongside the mechanics, every motion precise and determined. Time was tight, but I made it work. When I finally stepped back, covered in grease, the car was ready.

The relief on Charles’ face when he saw the car was palpable. He didn’t say much—just a small nod, his eyes lingering on me for a second too long before he turned away. That was enough.

____

Later that evening, I was minding my own business when the team approached me with an idea.

“Amy, we need you to do a challenge with Charles,” one of the media reps said, smiling like they were doing me a favor.

“What kind of challenge?” I asked, immediately suspicious.

“A game. A ‘how well do you know each other’ thing. Carlos and his engineer are doing it, and we need you and Charles.”

“No, thanks.” I shook my head, already backing away. “I don’t do cameras.”

“You kind of have to,” another person said, grinning. “It’s for fan engagement.”

I groaned. “At least let me see the questions first.”

“Nope. That would ruin the fun.”

I wanted to argue, but there were too many people watching, and before I knew it, I was being ushered into a small media room with bright lights and an intrusive camera setup. Charles was already seated, dressed in his Ferrari-red team gear, looking frustratingly good.