Chapter 23
Chloe
S?o Paulo (Brazil) Grand Prix
Race Day
Ican’t breathe.
There is a knock on the door, but I can’t answer. I just stare at my computer screen, heart in my gut, willing the words I’m reading not to be real. But they are. And they’re my words.
“Chloe, it’s me, Keyla. Let me in.”
I rush to the door and yank on her arm, slamming it shut as though reality is outside and I’m somehow still protected inside this room.
“I came as soon as I saw it,” she says, pulling me in for a sturdy hug.
“I’ve fucked up so badly,” I say.
“So, you really did tell Jack Sheppard those things?” She pulls back, hands firmly squeezing my arms, searching my eyes. I tear mine away, and skim through the article again.
Arden Team Principal Spills: Arrogant Warner Has Abandoned His Ex-Teammate Stavros Aetos
No sooner has Matt Warner been booted out of Rossini for underperforming than he finds himself in hot water again on his new team.
Principal Chloe Coleman has branded Warner arrogant, and as “charming as a dishcloth” and the driver “nobody wants to work with,” as she rails against the decision to hire him without her say-so in an exclusive interview with F1 Daily.
But perhaps most shockingly, Coleman revealed Warner has not been to visit his critically injured teammate Stavros Aetos after their crash, a fact confirmed by Aetos’s camp in Geneva.
The drivers had been close on and off the track for over a decade, but with Aetos’s career finished in a fiery crash at Monza, it looks like Warner has no use for his old friend.
According to Coleman, Warner called the friendship “a bullshit Rossini thing” and jokingly referred to him as “burned-out”—literally and figuratively.
Warner even went on to complain about the impact the crash has had on his own driving.
Allegedly, the two-time world champion is reluctantly seeing a therapist now, but there is little indication it’s working.
Rumors abound of substance abuse, with endless nights out drinking and womanizing.
Warner also called his new young teammate, Noah Blacklock, weak and unimaginative, “lacking the killer instinct,” and said he is only driving F1 because Barry can’t afford anyone decent.
Coleman confirmed Warner had pressured her to let him go.
My eyes are glued to the floor, shame crawling up my face. “I mean, some of it I said. Not all of it.”
“About Stavros? About him not visiting? That quote is really, really bad. I don’t think anyone will forgive him. Joking about Stavros’s burns? Fucking hell.”
“He never said that to me,” I say firmly. “Matt misses Stavros.”
“But he’s never been to see him . . .” Keyla’s voice trails off. “So it becomes easier to believe he might say something like that.”
“Matt would never,” I protest.
“It doesn’t matter what you think. It matters what everyone else thinks. What about Noah? Did he really pressure you to drop him?”
“He said it one time,” I say. “But he wasn’t serious. He was lashing out.”
“Jesus. And you told Jack?”
I rake over our conversations and try to remember.
“Well. Matt has not been to see Stavros, but he never said those horrible things about him being ‘burned-out.’ Never. And the part about Noah is stupid. They took a while to gel, but Matt respects Noah. I certainly didn’t tell him Matt is in therapy.
He only told me, I’m not even sure Archie ever knew .
. . He’s clearly found that out some other way. ”
“Shit.” Keyla lays her bag, room key, and baseball cap on the dresser by the door, and nods for me to go sit on the bed. “Problem is that some of it’s true, and you said it, so it’s hard to defend the parts that Jack has made up.”
“It’s a disaster,” I say angrily. “I could kill him.”
“Fuck Jack Sheppard, Chloe. You need to think about Matt. Your team. Barry.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to the press team?”
“I’m too ashamed,” I whimper. The tears that have been threatening since I saw this hot mess at seven forty-five a.m. start to flow. But Keyla looks at me sternly, her dark eyes sympathetic but impatient. I take a deep breath and pull myself together. “But I will.”
She nods approvingly.
And then just sits there.
“Now?”
“Now,” she replies firmly.
I reach across to pick up the phone, and spot the message that has come through from Matt.
Tell me it isn’t true.
“Oh god,” I moan. “What have I done?”
I turn the phone around to show Keyla. She nods, takes a breath, and says, “Call your press team.”
“I need to reply to Matt.”
“I know, but first, call your press team.”
The phone buzzes in my hand, a number I don’t know, and I tap on the answer button before I have a chance to think.
“Hello?”
“Chloe. It’s Daemon here from Motorsport Monthly. Just wanting to ask you a few questions about Stavros Aetos and Matt Warner.”
“Arghh!” I shout, hanging up immediately, and tossing my phone across the room.
“Chaos Chloe needs to fuck off,” Keyla says, pulling herself up from my bed and collecting my phone where it landed on the carpet.
“We need Capable Kick-Ass Chloe. The woman who worked her way up through the leagues and is fucking smashing it out there as F1’s youngest ever team principal.
The girl I know and love. Can she come back, please? ”
I smile pitifully, retrieve the phone from her, and then dial the media team. Of course, they waste no time with small talk.
“Hi, Chloe, this is Faye speaking,” says a voice. “We met in—”
“I know you, Faye,” I say, my voice shaky.
She grunts happily, and then launches into a plan.
“As I see it, we have a few options. We sit it out, which is totally doable. Vegas is coming up, and we hear that Rossini are going to announce some changes to their driver lineup for next year, which should steal the headlines. Option two. We come out fighting. You deny the story—”
“But I said some of those things,” I say, my voice as quiet as I can make it.
There is a beat of silence, and then a sharp intake of breath down the phone.
“It doesn’t matter, Chloe,” she replies sympathetically. “I know Jack. I know all the journalists. I know you guys are old friends. People chat. People say shit off guard. I know you didn’t say this on the record.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So, we can deny the story,” she says.
I look down at the headline.
My chest tightens further, and I start to find it hard to catch my breath. Keyla puts a hand firmly on my shoulder and it helps to ground me. “But I said those things,” I say. “It was the day of the announcement. He put his phone away. Took his press pass off . . .”
I’m so stupid.
“We can still deny,” she says plainly. “I’ve seen worse. I had to deal with the sexting episode with the previous team principal. Chloe, this is a walk in the park.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can deny.”
“Fine. Then we wait it out. Wait for something else to grab the headlines. You play cool, Chloe.”
“Okay. Really? I shouldn’t say anything to the team?”
“Not today. We need to put on a show of unity for the cameras. You and Matt can maybe talk to the press together and laugh it off. Barry and you should have breakfast this morning.”
“Have you spoken to Barry?”
There is silence on the phone for a beat.
“We’ll get you through this,” she says. “Someone in F1 will do something worse or more dramatic in a matter of days. Hours, probably.” She chortles.
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
“I’m serious. The real problem here—the long-term one—is internal.” There is a pause as she takes in a deep breath. “And I can help you, but only to a point, with that part.”
“Have you spoken with Matt?” I ask, my voice shaky again.
“We’re on him,” she replies. I can’t ask her what he’s said. I can’t debase myself by whimpering down the phone and asking if he’s mad at me. I can’t do any of that.
“Good,” I say, after I steady my voice. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed. Call me when you know next steps.”
I hang up, and Keyla smiles softly at me. “They have a plan?”
“She is working so fast.”
“There’s a lot of women in this sport who will work fast for you,” she says. “And hard.”
I push away the overwhelming feeling of shame and try to focus on what she’s saying.
“You can’t crumble now, Chloe.”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” she says, staring at me, willing me to hear her.
I nod furiously. I have hardly spoken to her about any of this. She’s always so wise, and if I weren’t so ashamed about what’s been going on with Matt, I would have seen more of her.
Oh, Matt. Is he ever going to forgive me?
I take a breath, suddenly galvanized. I shower, turn my hair up into a damp topknot. Keyla chooses for me a pair of black jeans and an Arden polo from the wardrobe.
“How am I supposed to be with the team, Keyla?” I ask.
“Honestly,” she says, “they will have read it this morning over their cornflakes and then moved on to the next thing.”
“Liar,” I retort.
She laughs, pulling her hat back on, readying herself to slip out unnoticed. We can’t have another scandal on our hands. “Say nothing, just as your PR team advised, Chloe. You can’t control it anyway. And, honey.” She looks at me. “You survived your first scandal? You’ve really made it.”
I swallow the bile that threatens to rise every time I think about Matt. But first things first, I need to meet with Barry over a very public breakfast, as instructed.
I spot him across the floor. All eyes are on me as I walk through the enormous breakfast hall with its cascading hanging ferns and huge observatory-style windows. My stomach churns.
“Ms. Coleman,” he says, standing up and giving my hand a shake with a light kiss on the cheek. He’s all formal and smiles, which throws me.
“I’m furious,” he says, grinning as we sit down, and he calls the waitress over to take my order. “I should fire you on the spot.”