Sneak Preview: Not So Fast

NOT SO FAST

by Karen Booth

Chapter One

Today, I feel…

Effusive. Optimistic. Ebullient, even. I know it’s not like me to be so endlessly upbeat, but things are looking up. Plus, it’s Margarita Monday so I’m guaranteed to end the day with my best friend, drinking tequila and consuming large amounts of cheese.

Mia Neal was too smart for her own good. Literally too smart. She’d missed two questions—two—on the SAT, and instead of rejoicing in her near-perfect achievement, she got mad. The instant she saw her score, she knew exactly which questions she’d missed, and precisely who was at fault. Those answers were subject to interpretation, based entirely on the test’s poor wording,and I shouldn’t be penalized for the mistakes of a business entity that makes millions off students and their families while perpetuating the idea that a four-year education is the only path after high school. This was what she’d wanted to scream at the powers-that-be.

As it turned out, there was no avenue for students to express grievances about test questions, and she was left to live with what had been deemed her shortcoming. Even now, an entire decade later, it still annoyed the hell out of her if she took the time to think about it, something she could admit happened a little too often.

Overthinking? It was her superpower. She turned everything over in her head, scrutinizing it from all angles and zeroing in on every flaw until she knew precisely where she’d come up short. Then she fixated on that. Forever.

“It was the closing segment. That’s where I went wrong with my last episode,” Mia said to her best friend, Jasmine Ramos, gesturing with a tortilla chip then dunking it into house-made salsa from Lenta, Mia’s and Jasmine’s favorite Mexican restaurant in Austin, Texas. It was the site of their regular Monday dinner date and had some of the best food in town.

“You’re too hard on yourself.” Jasmine took a sip of her margarita then carefully licked salt from the rim. “Who has the patience to listen to an entire podcast episode, anyway?”

Mia resented the implication on a number of levels. “If I do it right, it will require zero patience. I never want my listeners to get bored.”

“Yeah, but—”

“According to the data, I lost people right after the twenty-three-minute mark.”

Mia had spent hours that afternoon looking over the latest numbers in her podcast dashboard. What had started as a hobby a year ago had become a full-time obsession and was even bringing in some money, which was a very good thing because Mia was out of a job and living off her savings. Again.

“Maybe I should stop talking about things like Ayrton Senna’s win in Brazil in 1991. Although it was so emotional. His home country. A hard-fought battle. A race he’d longed to win, but never had. He was so caught up in the moment… But I worry my listeners might not be interested in the finer points of the history of Formula One.”

“And I worry that I created a monster by suggesting you do this,” Jasmine said.

“Well, you did. And now I can’t stop.”

Mia would never forget that night in her living room, when she and Jasmine had a brainstorming session about Mia’s possible career paths after she’d taken yet another job that paid a pittance—working in admissions at her alma mater, UT Austin.

“Everybody has a side hustle,” Jasmine had offered that night, three beers in. “I think you should stay where you are and add something extra.”

“Every side hustle I’ve tried has never paid off. Plus, people should be able to make a living in this country with only one job. There are too many systemic forces making it hard to get ahead.”

“Okay. But maybe focus on simply doing something so you can keep your apartment and not have the power turned off?”

“I refuse to drive all over town delivering takeout. All that wasted gas. And don’t get me started on plastic knives and forks. People should be cooking at home more. Maybe I could teach a class.”

“What about a podcast? Some people are making bank.”

“What am I going to do a podcast about? Welcome to Too Many Advanced Degrees with Mia Neal, the podcast where I tell you how to waste several years of your life earning diplomas that will not equip you to earn an adequate income.”

Jasmine cast Mia a look that night that said she was being ridiculous. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “Do it about something you love.”

“Oh, sure. A podcast about hunting for typos on Wikipedia.”

“What about Formula One? You’ve been sulking for an entire week about the season ending.”

Sulking had been an understatement. The end of the season was always such a letdown. Formula One had been Mia’s sport of choice since she was a little girl and her aunt Judy introduced her to it. Of course Mia loved the speed and the elite nature of the competition—twenty drivers in the entire world. But she also loved the psychological gauntlet of having only two drivers on a team, automatically creating an intense rivalry since it was guaranteed that one driver would finish ahead of their teammate every single race.

She was equally in awe of the physical demands of the racing and in turn, she loved arguing with strangers on the internet about how the drivers were conditioned athletes who built up their bodies to withstand incredible G-forces, not simply guys who knew how to punch the throttle. And of course, who could ignore the clown car of impossibly sexy men behind the wheel? Frankly, it raised the question—what was in the water served at European go-kart tracks? Some magical beauty elixir?

Now that Formula One had exploded in the US, Mia no longer had to use a VPN to watch every race weekend, and there was an embarrassment of videos about the teams and drivers on YouTube, which only fueled her love for the sport.

“I don’t know. Formula One is such a male-dominated space. The trolls will come out and I’ll spend all my time arguing with them.”

“And destroying them with your logic. When have you ever passed up a chance to obliterate someone with your brain?”

“Never. The answer to that question is never.”

Jasmine had given Mia quite a bit to think about. And since thinking was Mia’s not-so-hidden talent, as soon as Jasmine had gone home that night, Mia stayed up too late reading articles about podcasting. The next day, bleary-eyed but determined, she borrowed books about it from the library. Then she spent hours scouring the internet for the best deals on equipment. And thus began her journey with podcasting.

It was drudgery for the first year, trying to figure out what she was doing. But her love for F1 kept her going, and she’d always been energized by the challenge of learning a new skill. With each episode, she got a more solid footing, all while following one of her greatest passions. But the second year? Well, she was only a few weeks into the new F1 season, but she was already kicking ass. Turned out Not So Fast with Mia Neal was kind of blowing up.

Although she owed some success to the careful building of an audience, the thing that was really putting her over-the-top was her sometimes hilarious criticism of her favorite driver, Xander Bishop. Xander began his season with his new team, Mega Racing, by driving like an absolute dipshit. Putting the car in the wall at preseason testing. Out in Q1 of qualifying in Bahrain. Getting completely schooled by his teammate in Australia. And Mia had pulled exactly zero punches.

“Whoa, Xander. Not so fast. Dude, keep it in your pants,” she’d said with the sarcasm it deserved.

The day after that episode came out, her numbers on social began ticking upward. Then her subscriber numbers and downloads started a similar climb. So she doubled down after Xander started in fifteenth and finished in nineteenth in Saudi Arabia.

“What is going on with Xander Bishop? He’s so much better than this. He signed a gazillion-dollar contract, they put him in a rocket of a car, and he’s puttering around Jeddah like he has his dick in his hand.”

That was when her social media ex-plo-ded. She was over 200k followers on her two primary platforms overnight. And sponsors were contacting her now. Real sponsors. With money.

“A number four and a number seven?” The waiter arrived with their entrees. “Careful. The plates are hot.” He slid them onto the table while eyeing Jasmine and ignoring Mia, such a common occurrence Mia couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. Jasmine had always been an effortless beauty, with a flawless olive complexion and naturally long lashes. Mia was accustomed to feeling invisible. It was part of what made her appreciate podcasting so much. In that space, it was acceptable to remain in the background. She could hide behind a microphone and be perfectly happy, which was no small thing.

“Thank you,” Jasmine said sweetly, making no effort to disguise her flirtation as he took a beat before sidling off.

“Speaking of monsters, you’re terrible.”

Jasmine shrugged. “Flirting is my only form of fun. Work is a nightmare right now.” She was a receptionist and scheduler at a high-end salon. “And I hate my boss.”

“I’m sorry.” It was one thing for Mia to struggle with her work. She didn’t want anyone else to be in the same boat. “If I could hire you, I would.”

“That’s sweet, but let’s focus on you staying on an even keel. If you could go a whole year without blowing up your life, that would be great.” Jasmine dug into her chicken enchiladas.

Yeah, Mia had a habit of radically changing course, but she was done with that. Not So Fast was her baby and she was going to nurture it until it built her some real security. This glimmer of success was only the start. She knew it.

“Like I was saying, now that it’s doing well, I need to refine things. Work on keeping my listeners engaged.” Mia took a generous bite of her smothered carnitas burrito. It was cheesy and comforting, like a big pork-stuffed hug.

Jasmine wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I say you just keep insulting that one driver. The hot one.”

“All the drivers are objectively hot. I could create a pitch deck on the subject, complete with charts, empirical evidence and an entire photo gallery. Even better, I’d construct it from memory.” She tapped her temple. “It’s all up here.”

“You know who I’m talking about. The Brit. The tall one.” Jasmine looped her fork in the air and bounced her eyebrows. “With the hair. And the eyes. And the chin.”

Just like that, Xander Bishop sauntered into Mia’s mind, with all the head-above-the-crowd superiority that came with being him. Tall and trim, muscular but not overbuilt, with a perfectly imperfect head of thick, messy, light brown hair, complicated deep blue eyes that made Caribbean waters pale by comparison and a jawline that could slice paper. But well beyond his physical attributes, Xander had been Mia’s favorite driver from the moment he came into Formula One. He had swagger. He’d seemed hungry, exceeding all expectations his first two seasons. He was highly intelligent, often questioning the team’s strategy during the race, a tactic that had led him to exciting finishes. And he was known for digging deep into data and telemetry—what was hotter than that? His mountain of attributes landed him at Mega Racing, one of the most high-profile teams on the grid. And that was where, inexplicably, his performance on-track went sideways. Mia hated that he was struggling, but she did not feel sorry for him. After all, he was beautiful and made a fortune as a race-car driver. Plus, his poor showing had given her a level of success she’d always dreamed of, but never thought would actually happen.

“Xander. Bishop.” Mia gulped the rest of her margarita. The tequila made her face flush. It was definitely the tequila. There was no other explanation.

“That’s the one. He’s your meal ticket, isn’t he?”

Mia bristled at the idea. “I’d like to think that my insight on the sport is most important.”

“How’s your mom dealing with all this?” Jasmine asked with a leading tone. “Has she come around about the podcast?”

Mia’s mom, Amy, was a journalist and had been for more than thirty-five years. She’d had high hopes for Mia when she earned her first master’s degree, in journalism. But Mia never found a job she liked in that field, despite her mom pulling out all the stops to help her find one. So Mia went back to school and got a master’s in psychology. Sadly, that was another degree she hadn’t really used. The sheer abundance of Mia’s career choices was a sore subject with her mom, to say the least, but it was the distinct lack of journalism work that irked her the most.

“She’s warming to it. Slowly, but I’ll keep working on her.”

“Good.” Jasmine gathered her napkin and placed it on the table. “Running to the bathroom.”

“Cool. I’ll pay the check when it comes.”

“You sure?”

Mia nodded eagerly. “Yep. My treat.”

It gave her immense satisfaction to take her best friend to dinner. There’d been too many times when Jasmine had needed to spot Mia a few bucks. As soon as Jasmine was out of sight, Mia quickly pulled her phone out of her bag and checked her social accounts. She probably cared a little too much about them, but the chatter was fun and a boost to the ego—her numbers were skyrocketing, and she had tons of comments on every post, especially from female F1 fans who seemed to appreciate Mia’s approach to the sport.

She also got a few angry, creepy and unhinged DMs every day, but someone had to wade through the muck. As soon as she ventured into her messages, she saw one that made her freeze. From the verified account of legendary F1 driver Dirk Van Dijk, Xander Bishop’s teammate at Mega Racing.

Hello, Mia! I’m Dirk’s personal assistant, Heidi. Dirk loves your podcast and would like to invite you to the Miami Grand Prix this weekend. He will provide travel and accommodations, as well as a paddock pass for qualifying and the race. Please get back to me as soon as possible so we can make arrangements.

“Are we ready?” Jasmine asked, sliding back into the booth.

“They haven’t brought the check yet.” Mia was still trying to figure out what was happening. She’d read the message four times. It didn’t make sense that the assistant of an actual Formula One driver would contact her. “Does this look fake?” She handed over her phone.

“Who’s Dirk Van Dijk?” Jasmine asked, butchering the pronunciation.

“Xander Bishop’s teammate.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Why would he invite you to a race when you’re so critical of the other guy on his team?”

“I’m guessing it’s because I’ve been so critical of Xander. Every team has a lead driver and a number two. When Xander signed with Mega, everyone thought he’d come in and crush Dirk. He’d be top dog. But the opposite has happened. I’m sure Dirk will do anything to keep it that way.”

Jasmine swiped Mia’s phone, then handed it back to her. “It’s from his verified account. I think it’s real. You, my darling, have a famous fan.”

“But going to Miami on his dime? That seems a step too far.” Mia was certain of what the invitation meant, and it gave her a whole new understanding of Dirk Van Dijk and his ruthlessness. “I can’t go. I want to go, but I’ve taken too many journalistic ethics classes. The rules are clear. I should pay my own way, but I can’t afford it.”

“Mia. I don’t care what you tell your mom about your new job being journalism-adjacent. You’re not a journalist. You’re a podcaster.”

“Hey. I take my work very seriously.”

“I know you do. But most of the substance of your show is your opinion.”

“My opinions are based in facts. And I do report the news of the sport.”

“Which you will be in a better position to do if you have inside access. Plus, don’t you think your listeners will find it exciting? Hearing about everything behind-the-scenes?”

That did sound appealing. It could be another big step forward for Not So Fast. Mia bunched up her lips, her brain in overdrive. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

“You’d be a fool not to go.”

Mia looked at her phone, her mind a torrent of thoughts and her heart pulling in opposite directions. “I think he’s doing this so he can mess with Xander.”

“Not your problem. Like I said. Access, baby. VIP. You gotta grab it while you can.”

***

Xander Bishop had spent most of his life dreaming of being a Formula One driver, but no one had ever bothered to warn him about the misery of media day. This particular press conference in Miami was an especially horrible one, in part because of Xander’s terrible showing at the last race, in Japan. Xander qualified like shit, starting at fifteenth on the grid, then falling back three spots to finish in eighteenth. Meanwhile, his teammate, Dirk Van Dijk, had come across the line in third and earned his second podium of the season. In the same car Xander was driving. How was Dirk managing these results while Xander was struggling? It made no damn sense.

“Xander, are you concerned with the trajectory your season is taking, given that there was so much hype about you signing with Mega Racing for millions of pounds?” a sharp-nosed and scruffy-haired reporter asked.

How in the hell was Xander supposed to answer that question? Of course I’m concerned. I spend every waking minute keenly aware that I could lose my seat, be cast out of the sport, never to return. I have nightmares about being a complete and utter failure, disappointing everyone I know and love, especially my family, who count on me for everything, all while simultaneously watching the only dream I’ve ever had go up in flames.

Xander leaned back on the U-shaped white leather sofa he and four other drivers were sitting on for the weekend press conference and raised the microphone to his lips. “I’m not concerned.” He shifted in his seat, noting the liar, liar pants-on-firevibes from the drivers sitting on either side of him. “Yes, I’m having some difficulty understanding the car and getting the setup right. But that’s just part of the process. We’ll get there. The team and I are working incredibly hard to make sure this weekend in Miami is a successful one.”

He caught sight of Isabel Terry, PR rep and his personal handler from Mega Racing. She offered a reassuring nod then tucked her fire-red hair behind one ear. At least Xander could answer a question correctly.

“Why do you think Dirk is having so much more success with the car than you are?” another reporter asked.

Dirk was a good twelve years older than Xander and had left the sport for two seasons a few years back, but since his return, he was tearing up every circuit they visited. It was like he’d turned forty and had a run-in with a radioactive spider that gave him secret powers. He marched through every race weekend, fully confident in his abilities and then proving them on track. Meanwhile, Xander, in the exact same car, seemed to be regressing. The harder he worked and the more determined he became to do better, the worse things got.

“Dirk and I have very different styles. I’m not making excuses, but I don’t think you can compare us like that, even if we are driving the same car.” Although Xander felt exactly like he was making excuses. He didn’t understand why he was struggling so much right now, which was its own source of frustration.

“One more question for Xander,” the woman overseeing the press conference said, showing him some mercy. “Then we’ll move on to the other drivers.”

A reporter in the back of the room raised their hand. “Xander, have you heard about the podcast Not So Fast with Mia Neal?”

Xander cleared his throat. On a long list of uncomfortable subjects, this one might be the worst, only because it was brand-new and so shiny. He was shocked the question had taken so long to come up. “I am aware of it.”

“Ms. Neal’s got quite a following now. Apparently, Not So Fast is blowing up. All because of her criticism of you. How do you respond to that?”

“That’s one too many questions,” Isabel interjected, something she was not technically allowed to do.

“No. It’s okay.” Xander held up a hand, wanting to be a good sport, but also wanting to fight back. So much of being a driver was sitting back and taking criticism while never arguing, but this podcast woman was going too far. “You know, I value everyone’s opinion, especially those of the fans. But being a podcaster isn’t the same as being behind the wheel. With all due respect to Ms. Neal, I’m not sure she knows what the hell she’s talking about.”

A low rumble rippled across the room. Several reporters nodded. Some eagerly scribbled notes on pads or typed on their laptops or phones. Xander was certain that, at best, he’d created a delicious and tempting soundbite and, at worst, set off an international incident. Fuck.

“Let’s move on,” the presenter said. “Who has a question for Kenji Matsumoto?”

Kenji, the only Japanese driver on the grid, sat a little straighter and ran his hand through his glossy, shoulder-length hair. All props to Kenji—he looked like a rock star, and the media treated him like one, too.

Xander caught Isabel staring him down. She tapped her watch then gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. Xander nodded, understanding that she wanted to chat with him after the press conference. Because of course. He was in trouble again.

Xander spent the next twenty minutes in near-bliss as the other drivers were made to withstand the questions. After Kenji went Brett Lockford, super-young fellow Brit who’d taken Xander’s seat at the worst team on the grid, Hughes Racing. Then there was Emilio Alvarez-Baquero, the ultra-smooth Spanish driver for Vermillion. Emilio and Xander had come up through the same driving academy when they were younger and had been good friends for a while now.

The other drivers nailed the session, but they weren’t under the same sort of fire Xander was. When the grilling was complete, Emilio leaned over to speak to Xander. “Sorry the podcast woman is creating problems for you. People don’t appreciate the pressure we’re under.”

It felt good to know someone understood what he was going through, although Emilio was in a different stratosphere than Xander this season. He was favorite to win the driver’s championship. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“And I don’t care what people are saying. I don’t think you’ll lose your seat. Mega will give you some time to sort things out.”

Xander had heard some rumblings of his seat being in jeopardy, but right there was confirmation of just how serious things were. All that pressure he was feeling was now doubled. Because the only way to lessen the pressure was to prove himself on track, and that was the one thing he wasn’t doing these days.

“Thanks. Good luck this weekend.”

“You, too.”

Feeling beaten down, Xander made his way over to Isabel. “I made a real dog’s dinner out of the podcast question, didn’t I?” He wanted to get all uncomfortable subjects out of the way. If he’d made a mistake, he’d own it and move on. It was becoming a well-tested reflex.

“I tried to intervene, but you didn’t let me.”

“I know.”

“Come on. We need to talk. Let’s find a quiet spot.” Isabel led them outside the media center then across to Mega Racing hospitality. Inside, everyone from publicists to technicians and team executives occupied a good third of the tables, enjoying the spread of afternoon treats offered by catering, like coffee, sandwiches and pastries. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good. But thank you.” They found a table in the corner and settled in. “Okay. Give me what you’ve got. I’m all ears,” Xander said.

“Mia Neal’s podcast is becoming more of an issue. And that thing you said about her not knowing what she’s talking about could make it much worse.”

Anger quickly bubbled up inside him, but who could blame him? His patience had been worn thin by the press conference. “How? Won’t this woman get her fifteen minutes of fame and fade back into the shadows from whence she came?”

Isabel snickered. “From whence she came? Sometimes you’re comically British.”

“You know what I mean.” Although he had no earthly idea what Mia Neal looked like, he imagined her hunkered down in a dark room—a lair—with nothing but a microphone, internet and an agenda to make his life miserable.

“I’m afraid Ms. Neal is showing no signs of fading. Her popularity is growing. As is her visibility within the sport.”

He narrowed his sight. “Visibility? What does that mean?”

Isabel turned and scanned the room, then leaned closer to Xander. “You aren’t going to be happy about this.”

That was an easy bet right now. Xander was happy about virtually nothing, especially the headache that was now brewing. “Come out with it. Please.”

“Dirk invited her this weekend. I just found out. She’ll be in the paddock in time for qualifying.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he blurted. Everyone in hospitality turned and stared.

“Xander. Please,” Isabel hissed. “You’re making your life harder when you do things like that.”

He leaned in and whispered. “How does this happen? Can’t the team say something? Revoke her credentials? Make him stop?” Xander jerked back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s doing this to get in my head. He loves that I’m struggling right now. That’s not good for any of us.”

Isabel cast him a pity-filled grimace. “I don’t disagree. But unfortunately, none of us has any say about who a driver invites to a race. You know that. We can advise, but Dirk wants exactly no one’s opinion. That’s how he is.”

Xander exhaled and shook his head, then resigned himself to his fate. “Fine. Then I suppose I’ll have to kick some serious ass this weekend so I can get her to start criticizing someone else.”

“That’s the spirit.” Isabel flashed a grin and knocked a knuckle on the table. “I’ll see what I can do from my end. Dirk’s assistant Heidi is sick. I’ll make a case for me ushering around Mia Neal.”

“Perfect. Yes.” How he loved having a plan of action. He’d let Isabel show Mia Neal who was really in charge. “Then I’ll have time to pour hot sauce into Dirk’s driving gloves.”

“You’re kidding.”

Xander managed half a smile. How he longed for revenge on Dirk, but he knew that the real focus needed to be on himself. “Don’t worry. I won’t make any problems as long as you handle Mia Neal.”

For more Mia and Xander, preorder NOT SO FAST today! eBook and audio formats will be released 4/1/25 and the trade paperback will be released 5/27/25.