FOUR
I WAKE UP TWO hours before my alarm goes off, shocked into consciousness by a dream where I’m back in the club in Monaco with Leif.
Only this time we’re dancing, his strong hands gripping my waist while his blue eyes bore deep into mine, so intense it’s like I’m the only person in the world.
Meanwhile one of his legs is pressing between my thighs, moulding our bodies together, as we move in a slow, sensual rhythm …
I launch myself upright, red hot and horrified, as electric tingles race up and down my spine.
I can’t believe I had such an unprofessional dream!
It’s so … so … so unacceptable. I practically leap out of bed, shaking my head to repress the memory.
If I had a security pass already, I’d get up and go straight to work, but since I don’t – and I’ve planned all my outfits and meals for the rest of the week – all I can do is make coffee and start rehearsing what I’m going to say on my ‘First Day at Rask’ video.
First days are stressful enough – especially after a spicy dream about one of my new colleagues – but I guess this is what I signed up for.
I manage to get one of the last spaces in the car park when I arrive just before nine, then film my steps leading up to the entrance.
Luckily I arrive in reception at the same time as Emika, the chief press officer I met during Vienna’s whistle-stop tour yesterday, and she waves at my camera as we go in together.
‘Vienna told us you’d be filming a first-day bit,’ she says once I’ve put my phone away and we’re heading upstairs.
She has short, tightly curled black hair and immaculate make-up, all rainbow eyeshadow and statement red lips.
‘First things first. Let me show you our fuelling station.’ She throws her bag and jacket on to a desk and then takes me into a kitchen with a state-of-the-art coffee machine.
‘Our budget may be a little tight right now, but Vienna still insists on decent coffee.’ She opens a drawer full of pods.
‘Just avoid the blue ones. Yuto gets possessive of vanilla.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’ I choose an orange pod at random.
‘Caramel? Good choice.’ She smiles at me as the smell of arabica beans fills the air.
‘We’re so pleased to have another person on board.
We’ve been doing our best to cope, but we’re so understaffed we’re behind with everything.
Everyone’s desperate for some time off and we’re not even halfway through the season. ’
‘I’m excited to get started,’ I say, because I really am.
After recording my final (for now) podcast discussing the prospects for the Barcelona Grand Prix, I spent last night doing a deep dive into Rask: everything I could discover about their new owners, the Jokkinens (Mika and Nova are brother and sister, not a couple as most people assume), their buyout of Rask, as well as media coverage of their first eight races.
Finally, I looked at their social media accounts and …
Yeah, I hate to kick a team when they’re down, but none of it was very inspiring.
There are token posts after every race, thanking everyone for their efforts, with photos of the cars and a few statistics, but there’s hardly any personal content, and nothing remotely eye-catching.
It’s not surprising, given all the recent turmoil in the team, but it’s not going to win any new fans either.
Fortunately, there is some good news. Corey, for example, is a publicist’s dream.
Originally from Brisbane, he’s funny and likeable, and clearly knows how to handle the media.
Like most of the drivers, his main home is in Monaco and, according to his personal Instagram profile, which is in pretty good shape, his spare time is taken up with other extreme sports: surfing, skiing, sky-diving and abseiling.
He’s such an adrenaline junkie that there’s a clause in his contract allowing him to be as crazy as he wants.
I’m already envisaging some sweaty workout photoshoots.
Leif, on the other hand, is a total mystery.
He’s twenty-one, a year younger than Corey, but his official address is still in Norway, and I can’t find any clues about what he enjoys outside Formula 1.
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even have social media accounts and, judging by the monosyllabic answers he gives to interview questions that don’t involve motor racing, he doesn’t enjoy talking about himself in general.
There’s also a total lack of profile pieces about him.
All I can discover are basic facts about his career – he got into karting at the relatively late age of twelve, won the World Karting Championship at fourteen, then entered F3, which he won at eighteen, and F2 through the Chiltern young driver training programme.
Then, after serving as reserve driver for Chiltern last season, he was chosen by Bastian Aalto as a full-time driver this year.
It’s … surprising. Most drivers come from money or have some kind of family connection to racing.
That’s why they call it the billionaire boys’ club.
It’s not exactly democratic, but it’s how the sport works.
For a driver to succeed through talent and dedication alone is unusual.
Impressive. Or it would be, if it were anyone else.
I’d rather not give Leif Olsen any more credit than I have to.
‘So, we usually have a team meeting mid-morning,’ Emika goes on. ‘Vienna’s a powerhouse, but only after ten a.m. She generally doesn’t arrive until then, and we absolutely don’t talk to her until the caffeine kicks in.’
‘Not today.’ Vienna’s voice makes us both jump.
‘Oops.’ Emika presses a hand to her mouth, though she’s laughing at the same time. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’d fire you if it wasn’t true. Or if I had any spare staff.
’ Vienna’s glower is belied by the twinkle in her eye.
‘Obviously, I’d prefer to start every day at twelve, but since we have a mammoth task ahead of us, I’ve decided today is an exception.
You can apologize by making me coffee. You know what I like. ’
‘Double espresso. Will do, boss.’
‘Welcome to the deep end.’ Vienna gives me a wry smile before turning to address the whole office. ‘Listen up, people! This is the first day of the new Rask Racing team. I want energy, optimism, focus and absolutely no mention of that bastard Philip Sawyer. Everyone to the conference room – now!’
I pick up my caramel latte and follow the others, taking a seat at a large oval table beside Charlotte.
She looks like the original Barbie, with loose beach-wave blonde hair and huge baby-blue eyes that dazzle me when she turns and gives a welcoming smile.
Yuto sits opposite, his dark hair flopping over his face, while Emika sits beside him.
They’re all dressed casually, I notice, in cargoes, jeans and T-shirts.
It makes me feel overdressed in my oversized black trouser suit.
‘Now, I know you’re all tired from covering so many jobs,’ Vienna announces once she’s gulped down her double espresso. ‘But from now on rebuilding our image takes priority. So … ideas?’
I blink as she looks straight at me. I get the impression this is a test, but it’s what she hired me for, after all – to inject some new energy. And she’s right – everyone else around the table looks drained. Fortunately, my head is already buzzing with ideas.
‘OK.’ I unlock my iPad and pull up the list I made last night.
‘So until the upgrades happen, car performance may still be an issue. But we can do some things to get people’s attention and change their perception of Rask.
Research shows that a lot of fans support individual drivers rather than specific teams, so, first of all, we need to work on boosting Corey’s and Leif’s personal profiles.
Then they can tell everyone what a great team this is. ’
‘Like one big, happy family.’ Charlotte beams.
‘We might have our work cut out with Leif.’ Emika makes a face. ‘He’s not a fan of doing promo.’
‘I noticed.’ I try to keep my expression neutral. ‘But we’ll just have to find some way to persuade him.’
‘Won’t that be helping the drivers’ brands instead of ours?’ Yuto asks. ‘I mean, what if they decide to change teams at the end of the season?’
‘That’s a good point.’ I nod. ‘But there’ll be plenty of cross-promotional opportunities.
Plus, if we can show the drivers that we’re helping their careers, they’ll be more likely to stay, don’t you think?
’ I look around the table. ‘I’ve come up with a few ideas for content – how about I throw them out and you tell me what you think? ’
By lunchtime, we’ve come up with at least a dozen promising concepts.
The best part was that once I started making suggestions, everyone else joined in too.
Pop quizzes, endurance challenges, go-kart races, a mini golf competition …
We finish with Vienna promising to set up meetings with Corey and Leif as soon as possible.
The mood in the room is so positive it feels like the change of attitude is already taking effect.
Mid-afternoon, however, my blood sugar drops and worry sets in.
A change of attitude here is all very well, but what if nobody else notices?
The media is busy watching Fraser and Quezada battle it out at the top of the table.
What if nobody spares any attention for us?
But we have to try, so I banish my blues by drawing up a rough content schedule, then retrace the tour I did yesterday with Vienna on my phone.
I can speed it up when I edit it later, which should be eye-catching.
What would make it perfect is including one of the drivers at the end.
And by one of them, I mean the driver who actually knows how to smile.
‘Is Corey about?’ I ask Emika. ‘It would make a cute end to my video if I could accidentally bump into him.’