37. JACK
JACK
I’ve only been summoned to the team principal’s office three times: when Luca crashed, when Martinelli tried to poach me, and now. Lorenzo takes his glasses off from his perch on the desk. He towers above me in my little office chair. It’s all very theatrical and Italian. Thinks he’s Vito Corleone.
‘Ragazzo mio.’ He sucks in a long breath. ‘I have spent the last three hours on the phone with sponsors. They are not happy.’
‘Sorry boss.’
‘They worry about their reputations.’
‘I understand.’
He looks to the ceiling, hands in prayer.
‘Maybe they are right, maybe they are not.’ Pause for dramatic effect.
‘I tell them “tutto a posto” – nothing to worry about, my friends.’ Finally, he winks, confirming this is all a formality.
Probably instructed by the Head of Comms who’s had the morning from hell.
I make a mental note to buy her flowers.
‘Thank you, boss,’ I say.
‘You are campione. On Sunday, all will be forgotten. They will see.’
‘Yes, they will.’
‘The team at Modena are worried about you leaking material,’ he goes on, voice graver. Oh fuck, he’s talking about his boss, and that accusation’s pretty tough to disprove. ‘I was incensed! Our Jack would never do something like that.’
‘I—’
He lifts a palm. ‘You don’t have to defend yourself. I threatened to drive to Modena tonight.’ He stabs the table with his finger, hair flopping over his eyes, and I jump. ‘I will not accept disloyalty! They will lose trust in me before they lose trust in my campione.’
Jesus, this is bigger than I ever imagined. Lorenzo’s going up against his boss, our parent company Pagari Automobili. Then again, they’re a hot-headed bunch. Hate each other one minute, clinking glasses of Franciacorta the next.
‘Thank you, sir.’
He smooths his hair back. ‘Micah’s father has been calling me non-stop.’ Here we go. The twinkle in his eye gives me a glimmer of hope. ‘I’ll keep sending him to voicemail. I am a busy man.’
I press my lips together to keep from smiling, but we’re both thinking the same thing. There are few people in the world Lorenzo hates more than Micah’s dad. The team are pros at keeping them apart on race weekends. I heard Lorenzo threw a wrench at him once.
‘I love a beautiful woman as much as any man, but let’s choose a stick Christophe Blanchet and his Martinelli imbecilli can’t beat us with, eh?’ His bushy eyebrows lift.
‘Got it. Sorry, boss.’
An indulgent smile. ‘You didn’t mean any harm. You’re a red-blooded man, after all.’
I bow my head. ‘Grazie mille.’
He flings his hand towards the door. ‘Andiamo.’
That’s me dismissed. The lack of a hug shows Lorenzo’s about as angry as he gets with me. He’s known me since I was twelve, I don’t have an overbearing dad, and I’ve won them two World Championships. I’d have to do quite a lot more than snog a presenter to warrant a wrench being thrown at me.
‘How’d it go?’ Georgie asks when I’m back in my driver room.
I beam angelically. ‘Butter wouldn’t melt.’
She flicks me with a team polo I need to autograph. ‘You’re such a jammy bugger. You know the pit crew are terrified of him?’
‘Bollocks. He’s a right teddy bear.’
She crosses her legs on the couch. ‘How’s Minnie taking it?’
‘Fine.’ I lean against the wardrobe. ‘We had a good chat this morning. She was shocked, obviously, like me, but I managed to talk her down.’
‘Is she getting a publicist?’
‘Nah, she doesn’t need one. The comms team here will sort it.’
Georgie shifts, suddenly looking like she could breathe fire. ‘Wake.’ She claps. ‘Up.’ Clap. ‘Jack.’ Clap. ‘For you. They’ll sort it for you.’
Why’s she yelling at me? I haven’t done anything wrong. ‘Yeah, but by extension—’
‘No, not by extension. In fact, they’d happily throw her under the bus. It makes clearing your name easier.’
Where does blame come in? We were both drunk, both stupid, and are equally accountable. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so lairy with me,’ I say, crossing my arms tight.
‘Because you’re being a mug! She’s a journalist, Jack, and to make matters worse, she’s a woman.’
Gee, I hadn’t noticed. I blink at her, waiting for more.
‘The paddock’s one big food chain and, spoiler alert, you come out on top,’ she says.
Still none the wiser. ‘So?’
‘So, she’s really vulnerable right now.’
‘Vulnerable from what? It was one kiss! Tiago’s always getting caught with strippers.’
‘She’s not a stripper, she’s a fucking F1 journalist!’ She slaps my arm and shitting hell it stings.
‘Ow!’
‘It’s not enough that she’s been humiliated online; her professional opinion’s now shot to smithereens. She’ll be trolled for months. Her team’s trust will have been seriously knocked. She could even lose her job over this.’
Wait… is that all true? My stomach sinks. I thought Minnie was overreacting. I thought she’d get a rap on the wrist like I did. ‘You think?’ I ask quietly.
‘Yeah, I do think! I don’t even know her and I know she’s not ok. You’re supposed to care about her.’
‘I do care about her!’
‘Then you and your privilege need to help her, or I promise you’ll be doing chin-ups ’til kingdom come.’