With a bottle of water in hand, I sat in my chair outside the ladies' restroom. There weren't too many of us in our industry, so there was only a single bathroom in the entire building for us, and every single woman was also categorized right in with me. The engineers, the pit crew workers, and the money of each individual operation, none of them had faces for the public's eye. Only I did.

Did I want that responsibility? Hell no, because there had to be a better face somewhere out there, but we had to roll with what we had. And unfortunately for us, that was me, the only female driver in NASCAR's Cup Series.

I watched as other crew members rushed past, explaining things to each other in terms I could never dream of understanding. All I did was drive the car.

I took a swig of water.

Of course, I had just finished peeing when the NASCAR officials caught me for another mandatory random test for drugs and other fun illegal substances. It was absolutely incredible that they somehow managed to accomplish that feat five fucking weeks in a row.

Important-sounding shoes clicked down the hall, and the most important man around the garage emerged from around the corner.

"Would you like to hear your to-do list for today?" a female voice asked.

"Let's hear it, Rebecca," Mr. Roger Truscott, the team owner and, more importantly, my boss said. He paused when he saw me. "Actually, hold off on the list. Miss Moore, how are you?"

"Well, I'm getting piss-tested again, so the same as usual, I guess," I replied.

"Perhaps if you'd lay off the social web and Snapagram, this wouldn't be a problem for you and your lifestyle," Mr. Truscott said.

He tugged at the cuff of his button-down and revealed the newest addition to his collection of watches, a golden one with a few diamonds integrated in a scattered pattern. Other than the color, every watch he owned looked the same to me, but what did I know about flaunting one's wealth and ego?

I scowled. "I've been clean this whole time, and I'll be clean this time. You know, this is the seventh time this season that I've been randomly selected, and Griffin's been selected exactly zero. I'm not trying to say it's bullshit, but—"

"That's exactly what you're trying to say. Stop complaining and just provide the urine sample, and when you're finished, I need to see you in my office to discuss your car for next week. Rebecca, the list."

He and Rebecca continued their walk down the hall, and Rebecca read from the list. "On your agenda today, you're meeting Griffin about the adjustments he wants on his car from last year's race." Her heels clicked the ground as she continued her list.

If I wasn't tied to the chair until I provided the desired sample, I would have followed him straight down the hall and kicked the self-righteous old man's ass, but that was also a great way to get myself suspended for a few races at the very minimum.

Instead, I was stuck with my stubborn ass bladder and my thoughts.

I let out a sigh.

I wasn't exactly sure what Mr. Truscott wanted to discuss with me about my car, but the conversation usually involved me suggesting improvements and him telling me that I had to deal with what I had. I knew the drill at this point, and I tried not to deviate from the script we had set.

If I could just get one win under my belt, maybe he'd finally give me what I wanted, no questions asked.

I downed the rest of the water bottle in my hand, and I headed into the restroom with my special urine sample cup labeled with masking tape and my name. I hated peeing in those cups since I always managed to get it all over my hand, but rules were rules, even if they were incredibly ridiculous.

After I finished and gave my sample away to be tested, I hobbled into Mr. Truscott's office that drowned in humidity in the early Louisiana summer. Although he didn't have too many things on his to-do list for the day, I had plenty. I had some track simulations to do for the upcoming race at Talladega, an interview with the hosts of NASCAR Tonight, a weekly program for die-hard fans, and a party to celebrate the last victory of my teammate and best friend, Griffin Gallagher.

Mostly I just cared about the party, though.

I knocked on the door to Mr. Truscott's office, and when he called for me to come in, I sat down across from him at his desk.

"So what kind of bullshit are you going to make me listen to this week?" I asked. I crossed my legs and smiled. Power move.

"I didn't ask you to sit, Moore," he replied.

The burns and blisters on my feet from the intense heat of the brake during the last race were still fresh, and standing simply wasn't an option for me. I blinked a couple times. "Well, you'll just have to deal with this."

Roger Truscott took in a breath. "Very well. The reason I called you in here was to talk about your sponsor and paint scheme for the Talladega race this Sunday."

"Did Goodyear quit on me? Because otherwise, I don't see how—"

He interrupted me. "No, they're still your primary sponsor, but since this weekend marks the anniversary of the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous, your car will be decorated to celebrate that."

I rose my eyebrows. "Alcoholics Anonymous? You can't be serious."

"Do you have a problem with that fine organization?"

"No, but then everyone's going to think that I'm an alcoholic. I can't associate myself and my career with something like that."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have to be the one to drive the AA car. Can you please remind me where you're from?"

I knew where this was going. "Akron, Ohio."

"And where was AA founded?"

I shook my head. "Please don't do this to me. I don't want to drive the fucking Alcoholics Anonymous car. It's like I'm promoting drinking and driving, which is bad."

"You don't have a choice. I'm telling you that since you're their hometown hero, you have to drive that car."

"What about LeBron James? He's from Akron, but no one ever asks him to drive an AA car."

"That most likely has something to do with the fact that he plays basketball," a voice said from behind me. I turned around in my chair, and there stood Griffin.

He was quite the character, and it seemed that every little aspect of his personality and story made it onto his skin as a tattoo. His first race victory appeared as a checkered flag wrapped around a trophy, his Game of Thrones obsession was pictured with a dragon, and there were also the matching roses we drunkenly got together. Combined with his dark, puppy-like eyes and a beard, it made for an overall appearance that I didn't mind having as a teammate, and more importantly, a friend.

I smiled. "Alright, you made your point. Get the fuck out of here now."

Griffin pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. "Come on, Katie. Don't be dramatic for once in your life. It's good publicity for a good group." He turned to Mr. Truscott. "Sorry I'm late for my meeting, Roger. I got a little caught up in other things."

"Hot girl?" I asked.

Griffin nodded. "So hot."

"You're an hour late, Griffin. You can't keep doing this," Mr. Truscott said. "I was in the middle of discussing Miss Moore's car with her, which I had to begin late because someone needed her urine sampled again."

"Again? Fuck, Kate, they've probably taken half of your body weight in piss at this point," Griffin said.

I shrugged. "What can I do about it? Nothing."

"Seriously. There's no way that she's gotten picked randomly this many times in one season. It's not possible," Griffin said, and I nodded.

"It's possible, just not statistically likely," Mr. Truscott said.

Griffin leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Bullshit."

"I appreciate the backup, but you seriously need to get out of my meeting. We're discussing confidential information, and you can't know about it. I'm still trying to beat you to the finish line at the end of the day," I said.

As Roger Truscott Racing teammates, all we had to do was race for the same car owner, and sometimes, we had to work together on the track to secure a better finish for us both, but other than that, the title meant nothing to a lot of drivers. It meant a little more to us.

Griffin held his hands up as he stood from his chair and wandered back out of the office. "Maybe you should try a little harder. I have six wins. You have none."

I took in a deep breath. I hated it when he went there.

"You've had two more years in this league than I have. I'll catch up. Just you wait," I said.

"Bold words coming from a three-time runner-up with no trophy to show for it," Griffin said.

"Enough," Mr. Truscott interrupted, then let out a sigh. "I swear, I babysit two subpar drivers for a living."

"I'll see you, Kate. You better have that playlist ready for my party," Griffin said.

I laughed. "That's about the only thing I can do right, apparently." As Griffin left the office, the smile fell off my face. "I'm not driving that fucking AA car."

"If you would like to remain employed by Roger Truscott Racing, I would strongly suggest that you do as you're told. The world doesn't bend to fit your desires," Mr. Truscott replied.

I had a compelling feeling that he didn't want to employ me any longer, but the day I let a man take what was mine would be the day I died, and Jesus took my soul.

"We'll just come back to this later," I said. It seemed like a fair compromise to me, even though I didn't usually do compromises.

"There's no need for further discussion. Now, moving on to my next point, you need to start winning. I can't afford to keep putting you out there on the track and getting no results in return. This is a business, not a social experiment." Mr. Truscott looked down at his watch. "I'm already late for another meeting."

"Maybe if you'd give me a less shitty car, I'd actually have results. It's not like I can't win. I won a championship in the minor league series in NASCAR," I replied.

"But I didn't own that car, did I?"

Maybe that was why I won, dumbass.

Every day that passed, the more I regretted signing that unreadable contract. I figured it'd be the opportunity of a lifetime, but I had to fight Roger every step of the way, rather than being supported toward a common goal.

I shook my head. "You can go to your meeting. I'm not interested in anything else you have to say."

"You can head to the simulations. Talladega hasn't been kind to you, so you should get all the practice you can," he replied.

I stood up, and though my feet burned with each step I took, I headed out of his office. My father always taught me to be grateful for what I had, but he also taught me that I didn't need to put up with anyone's shit. One of those lessons rubbed off on me more than the other.

As the wheels in my mind turned, I couldn't help but feel that he was proud of me, wherever the hell he was. Well, I knew where he was. I just didn't like it.

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Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading this first chapter! I'm super excited to get started on this project. This MC, Katie Moore, already means a lot to me, and I'm really excited to explore her story! (Could I say excited more often? I need to calm down.)

I'd love to hear any thoughts you have. I'm always open to criticism. So far, do you think Katie is likable? What about Griffin? Roger Truscott?

For this book, I plan on updating it every Monday for now. That's subject to change, of course, especially since I'm working on two other books right now. But I guess that's all I have to say now. Thank you for reading!