Chapter 17
Chloe
Mexico Grand Prix
Race Day
Dude, you guys should be so proud,” Keyla says down the phone, as I sit cross-legged on my hotel bed, a plate of fried eggs, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a strong coffee in front of me on a tray. “And you must be especially happy with Matt.”
I fork some of the huevos rancheros into my mouth, trying not to think about Matt. “Yes, he did great.”
“Look at you, on the verge of getting points,” she raves. “You’re on the way, honey. I’m getting jealous.”
I laugh into the phone. “Oh yes, Keyla. It must be tough working for the best team on the planet.”
“It’s not everything,” she says, but something catches in her voice.
“All okay?” I say, sitting up a little straighter.
“All okay,” she says quickly. “I love McLaren. Really. They’re an amazing team. But I can’t help but feel I reached my ceiling there, Chloe.”
“Come work for me. You know we’d take you in a heartbeat,” I say, throwing it out there.
“Tell you what,” she says. “Get Noah or Matt on the podium today and we can talk.”
I spit my eggs out in a roaring laugh. “Podium?” “You can dream it,” she says.
“Oh, I’m happy with just improving right now.”
“Then you should try to look happier in these damn press clips!”
Keyla has been messaging me links to the various clips of me looking steely and completely emotionless as the camera is shoved in my face and pithy sound bites are sought by the ravenous press after qualifying.
“Big improvements for Arden, how are you feeling?”
“Good, thanks.” Small nod. Smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Is it true Jasper Cox is joining your aerodynamics team?”
“Not sure yet.” Shrug. Straight face staring off into the distance. Nothing giving away how fast my heart is racing, and how terrified I am of saying the wrong thing. I just look . . . bored?
And now I’m also the internet’s favorite new meme.
A GIF of me, behind Barry’s back, with a face so sour it could curdle milk. Barry’s going on about eleventh place being “just the beginning,” and there I am, rolling my eyes theatrically as if I don’t agree.
But it wasn’t Barry’s speech that caused that reaction.
It was Matt in the background, pulling the corners of his mouth up in a ridiculous attempt to make me smile.
Assuming I was off camera as the press were talking to Barry, I gave Matt a look of unfiltered contempt, followed by an almost 360-degree eye roll.
But when you play back the footage, it looks like this is directed at Barry.
So yeah. Naturally, I’ve become a meme. An eye-rolling meme that apparently captures mansplaining in one perfect GIF.
“It is kind of perfect,” says Keyla, laughing.
“Jack Sheppard has put a good spin on it,” I say. “‘Stone-Cold Arden Team Principal Is Nothing but Business.’”
“Stone-cold,” Keyla cackles.
“That was nice of him,” I say to Keyla. “Makes me sound formidable.”
“Chloe, you’re the biggest softie I know. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little emotion from time to time.”
“I know, I know. Matt’s on my ass too,” I moan. “I’m just afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. And to be fair, I’ve said barely anything and managed to make the news. What if I actually did say something? What then? There are so many possible catastrophes.”
Keyla giggles. “At least you look hot,” she says. “That blow-dry. You finally spending some of your salary?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Got my nails done too.”
She chuckles, and I down my orange juice, checking my watch. I have to leave for the track soon. “How’s things going with Matt?” she asks lightly.
“Please don’t ask if you don’t want to hear the answer,” I say.
There is a long pause, and I hold my breath. Part of me wants to share it all, but another part wants to keep it close to my chest.
“Oh no,” she says. “You’ve done it. You’ve slept with him?”
“Technically no. . . . But we’re not exactly innocent coworkers either,” I confess, grimacing as I wait to see how the news lands. Keyla is silent for a while and then she just sighs.
“You like each other,” she says gently. “I could see it that night at the bar in Austin. I can hear it in your voice. It’s just such bad timing, Chloe.”
I throw myself back and stare at the ceiling. “We can’t be the first team principal and driver who have had a fling, can we? What about Suzie and Toto?”
“Suzie didn’t drive for Toto, and anyway, they’re married. Also, I know you. You can’t have a fling. Especially with Matt Warner. Can’t you guys just cool it until the season’s over?”
“We are trying.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” she says, laughing. “Oh, Chloe. I just really don’t want to see this ruin anything for you. Or ruin you. You know I love you.”
“I know, Keyla. I do know it.”
She’s right. He did hurt me once upon a time, and while I want to believe that he wouldn’t do it again, I can’t be sure. Still, I can’t seem to stop the direction this is going. Neither of us can.
“I am afraid of being hurt, but this feels different. It feels grown-up, like we’re on the same level, and I’ve never felt that before. . . . I feel so confused.”
“Are you both going to be home during the break?” she asks.
“Well, I am. Matt doesn’t come home much anymore, but he said he might this time.”
“Try to have some time out. Work through your feelings.”
“I will. You’re right. It might be good to cool off a bit. It’s so intense at the moment.”
“That’s F1,” she says. “What happens on the circuit . . .”
“Stays on the circuit?” I ask, hopefully.
“Tends to end up in the paper,” she says, laughing. “And you really don’t want that, Chloe.”
On the way into the lot, just hours before the race, I spot Jack Sheppard chatting away to a couple of the officials from the FIA, holding out his phone mid-interview. I watch at a distance for a moment, until Jack glances over and waves toward me just as the interview wraps.
“Hey you,” I say, not inclined to stop, but eager to thank him for the good press. “Thanks for the piece this morning.”
“Stone-Cold Chloe Coleman,” he says, chuckling, pulling down his fedora and stepping away from his conversation. “Can we talk?”
“Talk? Sure,” I say, glancing over at a coffee cart. “Flat white?”
“You’re in Mexico,” he says, laughing. “You’re going to want a café de olla.”
I nod my head toward the cart, and he follows me. “But put that bloody phone away,” I say. “It makes me nervous.”
Jack laughs but obliges, sliding the phone into his back pocket before ordering us each a coffee in perfect Spanish.
I recall his stories of holiday homes near San Sebastián and Michelin-star barbecue in the foothills of the Pyrenees.
Of course he knows Spanish. I grin at him.
“How many languages can you actually speak, Jack?”
“German, Spanish, and Korean. And a little French,” he says, laughing lightly. “You?”
“Seems I can barely speak English,” I reply, blushing with embarrassment under his wide smile. “At least publicly.”
“You should really get some training,” Jack says.
I sigh. “I know. Keyla said the same. And Matt.”
“Matt?” Jack raises an eyebrow, mockingly. “I thought you guys hated each other.”
You have no idea. I suddenly blush, hard, unable to control it as I get a brief flashback to our time on the beach. Jack must notice something is up, given my beet-red face. It wouldn’t take a genius, let alone a reporter whose job is to dig for the truth.
“Getting on better, then?” he says casually, handing me a coffee and indicating with his head we should walk and talk.
“Not really,” I say quickly, sipping my searingly hot coffee and suddenly regretting the decision to talk.
“Same shit, then?” says Jack, shooting me a look of knowing empathy, like we share a secret. And I don’t like it this time.
“Yeah . . . I guess,” I say, feeling terrible.
Horrible. Disingenuous. But the other option is far worse.
What am I going to do? Tell him things are great now?
That I’ve been pulling Matt into dark rooms to snog when no one is looking, while he’s made me come harder than I ever have in my life? If I give him a whiff, he’ll guess.
“I’m serious about the media training,” he says now, reaching out to touch my arm. “You know I could help you.”
“Oh, thanks, Jack, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“You don’t? You need to rewatch yesterday’s press clips,” he says, nudging me with his elbow, chuckling. I can’t help but laugh along.
“Well, okay, maybe I’ll take you up on it one day. I better go get the team ready,” I say, nodding toward the back entrance to our garage.
“Wait,” he says, reaching back around and pulling his phone out. “Could you give me a couple of lines? Something to make me look good to the senior editor?”
I nod. “A couple of lines?”
“Yeah. Something exclusive?”
I blow out air, racking my brain for something. “We’re right on trajectory. I know exactly where this team is going, and with the new upgrade package we’re aiming for points.”
“Is it true Arden is finished if you don’t get some results soon?”
I stare hard at him, feeling annoyed. Do I comment? Or do I use the chance to reassure my team, and quash the rumors even if they’re true? Jack must see my panic, because he looks thoughtfully at me, and then hits stop on the recording.
“If I were you, I’d brush the rumors aside and reiterate your point about aiming for results.”
“Good thinking,” I say gratefully.
He turns his phone back on record and nods encouragingly. I clear my throat. “You know, I’m not interested in the gossip on the lot. I’m interested in results. And they will speak for themselves after this race.”
I feel a flush of relief wash through me.
Jack grins, switching off his phone again.
“Perfect,” he says. “See? I’m a good teacher.
I can totally help you.” He hesitates, dropping his head a little so his hair falls over his eyes.
I smile warmly. I really don’t know why Matt doesn’t like this guy.
He’s been nothing but kind and generous to me.
“Thanks, Jack,” I say.