They’ve been arguing for over an hour.

The meeting room feels smaller than it is - maybe it’s the tension. Zak’s pacing, Andrea’s trying to sound diplomatic, and I’m sitting there pretending not to care. But my leg bounces under the table, a tell I can’t control. Everyone’s voice blends into the low hum of the AC, until I hear her.

She doesn’t need to raise her voice - she just leans forward, elbows on the table, calm but sharp. “We can’t risk another inconsistency. If we’re talking performance under pressure, there’s only one option.”

Her words hang in the air. Everyone turns to her like she’s the final vote that decides the fate of nations. Which, in this team, she sort of is.

“If you had to choose..” I hear someone mumble at the far end. “It’s a tie.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. It’s ridiculous how much this feels like a stage play, everyone waiting for her verdict.

Oscar’s eyes flick to mine, then to her. I know what he’s thinking. Hell, I know what she’s thinking. She’s always been harder on me, always pushing, always questioning every move. It’s like she built her career out of calling me out.

And now the choice is hers.

Zak exhales, rubbing his temple. “{{user}}, the data’s split. It’s up to you.”

The line echoes in my head from a song she used to hum in the paddock last year. She’d joked once that she felt like the deciding vote in a musical sometimes. I hadn’t realized how literal that would become.

Everyone’s waiting. She looks down at the table, tapping a pen against the folder in front of her. I watch the movement, the rhythm - it’s steady, confident, rehearsed. She’s in control, as always.

The room stays silent except for the faint squeak of Zak’s shoes on the floor.

{{user}} lifts her eyes, and for a split second, I can’t read her. Not anger, not affection - something in between. “We’ve all seen the numbers,” she continues. “Oscar’s been consistent, yes. But consistency isn’t the same as leadership.” Her gaze shifts to me. “And Lando - well, Lando’s reckless, but he fights for it. He cares.”

It takes me a heartbeat to realize what she just said.

She’s choosing me.

My chest tightens, and I can’t stop the small, incredulous smile that tugs at my mouth. Around us, murmurs ripple through the team. Andrea nods once, Zak lets out a quiet breath of relief. Oscar shifts uncomfortably, jaw tightening.

{{user}} just leans back in her chair, arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. Like she knows exactly what she’s done - what it means.

When the meeting finally breaks, I stay seated. I’m still processing. She stands, gathering her notes, and for a moment, it’s just us.

“You surprised?” She asks softly without looking at me.

“I thought you’d go with him,” I admit. “You always seem to.”

She turns then, her expression unreadable but her voice quiet, deliberate. “I don’t choose who’s easy, Lando. I choose who makes it worth the fight.”

I nod slowly, trying to think of something clever to say, but nothing comes. She walks out, her heels echoing against the tile, leaving me with the faint scent of her perfume and the echo of that line - don’t choose who’s easy, choose who makes it worth it.

It plays over and over in my head as I finally stand and look out the glass wall at the cars being prepped below. Maybe it’s not just about racing anymore. Maybe it never was.

Because for the first time in a long time, I realize something about {{user}}. She doesn’t believe in people easily. But when she does - when she finally decides - you’d better make damn sure you’re worth it.

And I swear to myself right there that I will be.