SEVEN
‘HAVE YOU HEARD OF Ashley Hart?’ Yuto calls across the office.
‘No.’ I look up from ticking items off my to-do list. I write a new one when I arrive at work every morning and today’s is almost a full page long. ‘Wait, yes. She’s an actress, isn’t she?’
‘With Leif?’ I stifle a laugh because I can’t even imagine how awkward that would be.
‘It’s some kind of promotional thing for her new film.
Like if they can be photographed together, they’ll both get more exposure or something.
The chances of Leif agreeing to it are probably a billion to one, but I guess we should still ask.
’ Yuto lifts his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I just can’t believe anyone would be stupid enough to fall for some fake relationship photo-op. ’
‘Mmm.’ I make a noncommittal sound because that’s exactly the way Gio and Maisie started. Not that I’m about to say so out loud. Another thing I’ve learned about Yuto is how much he loves to gossip.
‘I can ask Leif, if you like?’ I offer, pushing my chair back. ‘I need to speak to him today anyway, find out if he’s had second thoughts about social media yet.’
‘And I thought my question was hopeless.’ Yuto gives a bark of laughter. ‘He’s in the factory, but I’d save my energy if I were you.’
‘I can’t.’ I reach for my phone and iPad. ‘But don’t worry, I have a strategy. I’m just going to annoy him until he gives in.’
‘You evil genius, you.’ Yuto is still laughing. ‘In that case, yes, please, and good luck.’
‘Thanks!’ I stifle my trepidation and march determinedly downstairs to the factory.
Given Leif’s DNF result in Spain, I’ve waited two days before approaching him, but I can’t put this conversation off any longer, no matter how much I might want to.
Fortunately, I’ve had another stern word with myself and I’m now 100 per cent confident in my ability to stay in control of my emotions and not get distracted by eyelashes or biceps or any other physical features, or angry at slights to my job.
I’m going to be focused and professional because Leif needs to be online and it’s my job to make that happen.
I’ve brainstormed a long list of persuasive arguments – they’re all ready to be reviewed on my iPad – and I’m prepared for a long campaign.
I’ll pester him all summer if I have to.
For both our sakes, I really hope I don’t have to.
Despite Yuto’s scepticism, I’m actually cautiously optimistic because Leif already recorded the video interview I asked for, even though I said it could wait until he got back to HQ.
Emika filmed it in Barcelona last Friday and we published it the night before the race.
He answered nearly all of the questions too, including what hair product he uses (Hanz de Fuko Quicksand), his favourite food (kj?ttkaker), and what subject he wishes people would ask him about in interviews but they never do (the collected works of George R.
R. Martin). To be honest, it got a bigger response than I’d expected.
After what happened on the track in Spain, a lot of people now seem to be rooting for him.
They’ve even started using the hashtag #arcticfox when posting about him.
‘Hi.’ I push open the door to the factory and peer inside. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Hey.’ A guy with cropped blonde hair and a large handlebar moustache beckons me over to where a group of about twenty mechanics are gathered round a car. ‘The more, the merrier. What can we do for you?’
‘I’m looking for Leif.’
‘Machine shop.’ He jerks his thumb to the left.
‘Thanks.’ I watch as the mechanics start removing and replacing tyres. They’re so fast, their movements are practically a blur. ‘Are you doing pit-stop practice?’
‘Yep.’ He holds up a timer and grins. ‘You think drivers are competitive? They’ve got nothing on these guys.’
‘I can see that.’ I give him a sympathetic look. ‘How are you all doing, after what happened to Leif’s car last weekend?’
‘Well, it sucked, obviously.’ He makes a face. ‘But at least Corey got points, and we know we’re on the right track with the upgrades. So, on to the next race.’
‘That’s a great attitude.’ I glance back at the mechanics. ‘Hey, do you mind if I film this? It would be great for our socials.’
‘Why not?’ He raises his voice. ‘Hey, guys, no more swearing. This one’s being filmed.’
‘And would you mind introducing it? Just say who you are and explain to the viewer what’s going on.’
‘Hell, yes!’ He flexes his hands. ‘I was born for this moment.’
‘Ready when you are.’ I hold my phone up.
‘All right, folks! I’m Logan, aka the Lollipop Guy, and this is the Rask factory where we’re busy practising our pit-stop times.
The challenge is to replace all the tyres without getting in each other’s way or dropping anything.
Under two seconds and we all get a bonus.
Anything over two and a half is bad news. So, on your marks, get set, go!’
‘Wow.’ I feel like I’ve barely started filming before I’m lowering my camera again. As for Logan, I think I’ve found a new Instagram star. ‘That was seriously impressive! How often do you practise this?’
‘A lot. That way we don’t have to think during a race. It’s like muscle memory.’
‘Doesn’t it get boring?’
‘The alternative is worse. Imagine being the guy who messes up on the day.’ His face splits in a sudden grin. ‘They’d have him to deal with.’
‘Hmm?’ I turn to find Leif standing behind me, dressed in his usual pale jeans and Rask T-shirt combo. His expression is as brooding as ever, though something about him looks different today. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
‘Oh yeah. He’s pretty terrifying when he’s in a bad mood.’ Logan talks in an exaggerated whisper. ‘One time he sighed at poor Frankie over there. It was pretty brutal.’
I force a smile. If I remember correctly, I got a little more than a sigh from Leif in our meeting last week. But then everyone else seems to get the best version of him.
‘Hey, Logan!’ somebody shouts. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Gotta go.’ Logan extends a hand to me. ‘Nice to meet you …?’
‘Ava.’ I shake his hand with a smile. ‘Thanks for the help.’
‘Any time.’
I take a deep breath before I turn back to Leif, surprised to find him staring after Logan with slightly narrowed eyes. ‘I wonder if I could have a word? If you’re not too busy?’
His whole body tenses, like he literally hoists his shoulders back and goes completely stiff, which isn’t very flattering, but whatever.
I’m getting used to it. Judging by his conflicted expression, he’s also trying to think up an excuse to get away from me, but too bad.
If he thinks he can escape, he’s got another thing coming.
‘Is it about social media?’ His voice is even deeper than I remember.
‘Amongst other things.’ I smile sweetly. ‘I have a number of items to go through. It won’t take long.’
‘OK.’ His face takes on a resigned expression. ‘Come to my office.’
‘You have an office?’
‘Corey and I like to call it that.’
‘Great.’ I clutch my iPad to my chest and follow him into a large corner room with a football table, basketball hoop, a couple of black leather sofas and a kitchen area.
‘This is nice.’ I look around, impressed by how neat and tidy it all is. ‘Very organized.’
‘Yeah, well …’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. ‘Corey’s not here.’
‘Oh.’ I suddenly realize what’s different about him.
He has a beard, a very short, neatly trimmed and pale one, not so rugged lumberjack after all, more sexy male model.
It looks so soft my fingers actually twitch with the urge to touch it, but fortunately my brain intervenes, diverting my gaze towards a pile of books on the coffee table.
‘Are those yours?’ I rock back on my heels in surprise. There’s an autobiography of lauded architect Frank Gehry, along with a large photo book of the hundred most important buildings of the twentieth century and another about neo-futurism. ‘You like architecture?’
‘Yes.’ He sounds suspicious, like he thinks I might turn this fact into a social-media segment.
‘So do I.’ I pause and then can’t resist adding, ‘Especially Scandinavian architecture. The Deichman Bj?rvika is one of my favourite buildings in the world.’
‘Mine too.’ He tilts his head. ‘Have you been to Norway?’
‘No, but I’d like to. It sounds beautiful.’
‘It is.’
There’s a moment of heavy silence while we stare at each other. It feels weird to have something in common besides F1. Even weirder that we’ve been in the same room for over a minute and neither of us is frowning yet.
‘Anyway …’ I exhale heavily as the silence drags on. ‘First of all, I wanted to say thank you for the interview video. It was really good.’
‘It was an apology.’ He leans back, bracing his hands against the kitchen counter. ‘For what I said last week. I shouldn’t have implied that your job was trivial.’
‘Oh.’ I’m surprised by both his candour and the length of his sentences. ‘Thank you.’
‘And your questions weren’t bullshit. Some of them were actually quite funny. The point is, I was being a dick and I’m sorry.’
I open my mouth to agree before it occurs to me that I could get some leverage out of this. ‘Well, apology accepted. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about social media?’
‘I value my privacy –’
‘And I respect that.’ I forestall him. ‘I would never ask you to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. It would only be promotional stuff for the team.’
His expression wavers. ‘You’re really not going to give up, are you?’
‘Nope.’ I lift my chin.
‘OK –’
‘Bec– Wait. OK?’ I’m so geared up to persuade him, I feel almost deflated. ‘As in, you agree?’
‘Yes. I haven’t changed my mind about social media in general, but I have been thinking about what you said, about bringing attention to issues I care about, and you’re right, I should do that.’
‘Oh … that’s, um, great!’
‘Is something wrong?’ His lips twitch, like he’s enjoying how confounded I am.
‘No-o-o.’ I try to shake my head, but it kind of bobs up and down instead. ‘I just thought I was going to have to persuade you a lot more.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m giving in now.’ He quirks an eyebrow. ‘You seemed very determined.’
I pull my iPad away from my chest and stare sadly at the screen. ‘I made a list of arguments.’
‘A list?’ He looks from me to the iPad. ‘How many bullet points?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Impressive.’ He scratches his chin. ‘Can I see?’
‘Sure.’ I start to hand my iPad over and then freeze.
Now that I think of it, some of my points might not have been 100 per cent professional.
They might even have included such persuasive arguments as ‘Shut The Fuck Up And Do What I Say’ and ‘It Would Make You Less Of A Pigheaded Asshole If You Could Just’.
To be honest, I might have had a little too much wine towards the end of my evening’s brainstorm.
‘Actually it’s a little rough.’ I yank the iPad back again. ‘I should probably type it up properly before you read it.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He gives me a look like he knows exactly what I’m thinking before he turns around and reaches for a leaflet on the counter behind him. ‘This is a local charity I support, for kids in care. If you could find a way to help them, then we have a deal.’
‘I definitely can!’ I practically rip the leaflet out of his hands. ‘I could set up a visit. You going there would get a lot of media attention –’
‘No.’ He interrupts me. ‘I want it to be about the kids, not me. And no gala dinner for a bunch of rich people either. I hate all that shit.’
‘ OK .’ I purse my lips. ‘It’s just … The thing about rich people is that they tend to have a lot of money for charitable causes.’
‘I know, but I want to do something that draws attention and involves the local community too. The important thing is for these kids to feel like they belong. That means we need local businesses to accept and support them, to offer jobs and apprenticeships, practical things, not just money.’
‘That’s a good point.’ I look down at the leaflet and then back up again.
It’s like I’m seeing him through new eyes suddenly (or maybe my old eyes, back when he was my favourite driver).
I’m not surprised that he wants to do something so altruistic – not when he’s so allegedly ‘adorable’ – I’m just more impressed than I expected to be.
Maybe he isn’t such a huge asshole, after all.
Maybe he’s only a medium-sized one … A warm glow tries to ignite in my chest before I ruthlessly suppress it.
‘So what you’re saying is that if I organize some kind of local charity event, you’ll set up some social media accounts?’ I ask.
‘Account. Singular.’ He makes a face. ‘With the proviso that you have to manage it.’
‘Absolutely.’ I nod enthusiastically. ‘I’d be happy to. And I won’t post anything without your approval.’
‘I don’t care about that. Do what you think is best.’
‘OK. I will.’ I beam because this is a lot more progress than I expected today.
He’s agreed to join social media and we’re both being polite!
I wonder if we ought to shake hands to seal the deal and prove how professional we are, then decide against it because the way his gaze is focused on mine is already making me feel a little hot under my Peter Pan collar.
There’s a strange look on his face too, though he’s probably just wondering what I’m still doing here.
Which, now I think about it, is a reasonable question.
‘There’s one more thing.’ I shuffle my feet and clutch my iPad a little tighter. ‘I need both you and Corey here next Tuesday for a cookery lesson. Vienna’s already agreed it with Bastian.’
‘Cookery?’ Now it’s his turn to look surprised.
‘Yes. But it won’t be too challenging, I promise. Just a little Belgian cuisine ahead of the Grand Prix there.’
‘All right.’ He nods. ‘I like Belgian food.’
‘Great. I’ll see you then.’
‘And, Ava?’ he calls after me as I turn for the door.
‘Yes?’
‘When can I expect to receive your list of arguments? Twenty-two points, you said, right? It might be useful to have on file in case I’m ever tempted to change my mind.’
‘Oh …’ I clench my jaw. ‘Well, today’s very busy so … tomorrow?’
‘Perfect. I’ll look forward to it.’
I mutter under my breath and try not to fantasize about committing a random act of violence. So I guess now I have to spend my evening thinking of twenty-two actual arguments. And the most annoying thing is that I’m pretty sure Leif knows it.