Chapter 8
Annalise
All of the thrill, hope, and breath-holding of those who’ve already arrived greet me the moment I step outside of Melbourne’s airport.
Today is Wednesday, and the first race of the season in a few days is. Travis and his family don’t arrive until tomorrow. I came early because I like to help coordinate the many business meetings Travis will undertake over the next few days.
Norm has also arrived early, and he and I are attending a luncheon together. It’s been over a week since we’ve communicated, and I want to ask if he’s heard anything from Luca Taylor. In my mind, this deal should’ve been done and signed weeks ago.
It would be one last thing Travis had to think about while going into the start of a new season.
Not to mention it would’ve proven that I didn’t totally screw up this deal.
I shake that thought away as I take one more look at myself in my hotel’s full-length mirror. The weather is beautiful in Melbourne and is supposed to remain that way throughout the duration of the Grand Prix.
Which is why I’ve chosen to wear my sleeveless white-and-blue-patterned linen set. The loose-fitting pants are breathable enough for me to feel comfortable with all of the walking I plan to do today, and the top stops just above my waist, giving a peek-a-boo tease of my mid-section.
The outfit is cute and slightly flirty without being too over the top sexy or staid. I’ve paired it with my two-inch white strappy sandals.
Though I’d rather take public transportation over to the track, Norm insists on us being chauffeured over for the luncheon.
“How was your flight?” he asks once we’re inside of the car.
I’m not bothered by the fact that he doesn’t take his eyes off of his phone. He’s worked with Travis for seven years now. Norm was one of his biggest advocates to get him the Amato contract and has been a faithful agent ever since.
But Travis isn’t his only client, and he constantly has half of his mind in one conversation while the other half is thinking about another.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I slept the whole time.”
He snorts. “Wish I could sleep on flights.” His thumbs fly over his phone screen. “My doctor might stop bitching at me to take better care of myself.”
“There’s medication for that,” I say and shrug. “It’s what I do.”
Not a lie either. I’m unashamed to admit that I take pills to help me go to sleep on flights and sometimes to help me deal with the motion sickness that can come with longer flights.
“If I sleep on flights, I can’t work,” he says. “Sitting on a plane for five to ten hours and not working is never going to happen for me.”
It’s safe to say Norm is a workaholic. I’m betting his three ex-wives would testify to that as well.
But I don’t dwell on that.
“Have you heard from Luca Taylor?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He pauses and looks up, squinting as if trying to recall. When he shakes his head, my hopes sink.
“Haven’t heard from him in about two weeks. My guess is he’s waiting to see how Trav performs this weekend.”
“That doesn’t … why would he need to wait?”
“Taylor’s a hard ass type. He’s turned down just about every one of my athletes in the past. Once Travis won the championship, I thought he’d be a shoo-in, but Taylor is …” He shrugs as he trails off.
Or he’s hesitant because I screwed up the night of the masquerade. Thinking about it makes me squeeze my hands together. I force myself not to go over detail after detail of what I could’ve done differently that night. I’ve done enough of that already.
One thing I don’t have to wonder about is my interaction with Max that night. If he would’ve just told me I had the wrong person, I could’ve gotten to Taylor earlier and not practically stalked him as he was trying to leave.
“We’re here,” Norm says about ten minutes later as we pull into the entrance of the stadium. It’s not even Thursday and there are already dozens of chauffeured vehicles in the parking lot.
I’m well aware of the tons of business deals that take place behind the scenes at these Grand Prixes. In particular, the first one of the season.
Which reminds me …
“Do you know if Bree Walters has arrived yet?” I ask as Norm and I enter the restaurant that sits along the racetrack but also gives a view of the lake the track wraps around.
“Who?” A wrinkle appears between his brows.
We’re shown to the room where a number of businesspeople, team owners, their spouses, drivers’ agents, and others mingle or sit at tables talking.
“Bree Walters. What do you think of her prospects for this season?” I ask.
He glances up from his phone and waves at a couple people, a few of whom I’ve already corresponded with over the phone or via email. They wave us over to their table.
After we greet one another, the conversation turns to the excitement for the weekend. How the drivers are looking, what the test times were in Bahrain, and what they say about who the contenders are this season.
“They say Travis and Amato were sandbagging,” an older man, who I recognize as an investor in one of the teams, states. He stares at me as if awaiting my response.
But he, like everyone else at this table, knows that I’m not privileged to proprietary information. Even if I were, I wouldn’t share it with them.
Smiling, I elegantly raise a shoulder. “This weekend will reveal all.”
His sun-reddened cheeks wrinkle as his smile grows.
“Annalise was just asking me about that girl …” Norm pauses and looks to me.
“Bree Walters.”
“Ah,” the older man says before tilting his head back and taking a sip from his champagne flute.
“She’s arrived,” a brunette from across the table mentions. “Her lap time in Bahrain looked good.”
I nod in agreement. Though I didn’t go to Bahrain with Travis, I was able to read up on the lap times afterward and catch some footage.
“I think she has the potential to win it this year,” I state my beliefs out loud.
The table quiets as several heads turn my way.
Norm lets out a chuckle. “That’s funny.”
My brow furrowed, I tilt my head sideways. “It wasn’t a joke. She had the fastest lap time in Bahrain, and last year she came close to winning the championship.”
He snorts. “She doesn’t have what it takes.”
“I believe she does,” I reply. “The proof is already there. And once she wins, I think it’d be foolish to deny that she’s earned a spot on the main grid.”
“Now, that’s a stretch,” the man on my right says.
“How so?” I challenge.
His condescending smile drops an inch, but he quickly puts it back into place. “As Norm said, ‘she doesn’t have what it takes.’ Her temperament is off.”
“Gunner’s right,” the brunette adds. “She’s changed agents … what?” She pauses and looks to the blonde to her right.
“Three times.”
“That’s right. Three times in the last three years,” she tells me as if that’s proof that Bree isn’t good enough to drive among the best.
Meanwhile, I have to bite my tongue to keep from reminding Phil that the team he’s highly invested in, Arena Racing’s number two driver only has the position because he’s the majority owner’s son.
I turn to Norm. “Maybe that’s an opportunity for you to take her on,” I suggest.
Norm’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. “I’ve already got my ledger full.”
However, I know that’s not entirely true. Two of the athletes he represented recently announced their retirements, leaving him room to take on another.
“Well, I hope to have it full,” he adds when I look at him skeptically. “One of the reasons I came into town early.” He says ‘came into town’ as if he only had to drive across the bridge, not hop on a long haul, twenty-plus hour flight.
“Norm,” a voice calls out, capturing all of our attention.
I turn and squint at the young man entering the restaurant. He’s Matt Porter, a Formula 2 driver out of Canada.
“Matt,” Norm greets him, rising from his seat. He wastes no time making introductions to the rest of the table.
I immediately see it for what it is.
Norm is trying to woo Matt to sign with his agency, and he’s doing his best to make himself look appealing by introducing him to some prominent decision makers within the F1 world.
No wonder Norm won’t even consider Bree Walters as a client. I have a sneaking suspicion that it also has something to do with the fact that she’s a woman. Perhaps she can be a little prickly, from what I’ve heard, but she’s talented. And she’s never had any major, publicized conflicts.
I have to believe the only reason anyone is overlooking her is because she has the audacity to be a woman in a male-dominated sport.
The laughing from across the table brings me out of my thoughts.
Matt, a talented driver in his own right, is doing his job at charming those at the table.
It only serves to make my stomach turn. Try as I might, I despise how much politics actually play a part in this sport.
Not only do you have to have the talent, work hard, and drive well, you need the right connections.
From the looks of it, Matt’s learned to play the game well. And Norm’s doing his part as kingmaker right beside him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends this season with an F1 contract.
I make my excuses to the table and rise to my feet at the same time my phone rings. Despite my downtrodden mood, I smile when I see who's calling, and search for an empty space outside of the restaurant.
People stroll past immersed in their conversations as I approach the lake.
“Hi, Mom,” I greet.
“Hey, baby, how was your flight?”
I tell my mom about my rewatch of Ten Things I Hate About You and the book I read before napping.
She laughs. “You’ve seen that movie at least ten times.” My parents and brothers often tease me about my love of films from the nineties and early two-thousands. It’s not my fault I think the best movies were made before I was born.
“I hate that your father and I can’t be there this weekend.” Regret wraps around her voice.