Chapter 29
Chloe
As Matt pulls into third place, he yanks out his steering wheel, pushes out of the car, and stands on top pumping his fist. I watch him rush to the team and leap into their arms. Celebrating third place like it’s first is my new jam. This was a victory beyond our wildest dreams.
I glance across at Jasper, who smiles his toothy grin back at me, slow-clapping with a cigarette dangling from the edge of his lip.
“Gonna go tell your boyfriend he did good?”
“The whole team did good,” I mutter, my cheeks hot.
“Your secret is safe with me, kid.”
I blush hard and want to protest, but Jasper waves my embarrassment away. Is there anyone who doesn’t know something went on between Matt and me? I wonder. “Wanna talk to me about next season?” he says, grinning.
“You’ll stay?”
“Fuck yeah. We’ve got a couple of Rossinis to beat.” Then he grins.
Just then I feel the heavy thud of a hand on my back and turn to see Barry beaming at me. “Well, well, well.”
“Happy, then?” I say, seeing the strain his grin is putting on those round cheeks.
“I’m happy,” he says. “I suppose we need to talk about next year.”
“Next year,” I say tentatively, balling my hands into fists. “I’ve got the plans ready, if you want to see them.”
I feel the curl of the two dogs around my legs and instinctively reach down to rub their heads. Ginger licks my hand, and Roger sniffs my ass and I laugh.
“Looks like they want you to stay,” says Barry, looking out at the crowd.
“Hey! Look at that!” I follow his pointing finger to where I see a few fans in black and green, one of them holding a sign with a cartoon picture of Ginger and Roger that says, go underdogs.
Barry’s face almost explodes with pleasure, the smile reaching the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, his arms out wide as he moves forward to get a closer look.
“Underdogs no more!” I shout, enjoying watching Barry finally get some recognition, as he walks out with the two greyhounds and the handful of supporters go wild.
The press conference is packed as Matt and the two Rossini drivers file in.
The room springs to life as cameras swing around in their direction, and to my delight, they turn their lenses on Matt, who grins at the room.
The smile is almost cocky. A twinge of that playful arrogance that every fan used to love, or love to hate.
I follow behind, not in some ridiculous green pantsuit this time, desperate to show the world how serious I am, but in my Arden kit, my two race engineers beside me, jostling with the press for a spot to watch Matt seize his moment and shine.
“Matt, hell of a drive. How does it feel to grab your first podium of the year?”
“Like a shrimp cocktail. Good, but I want the main course,” he says without hesitation, pointing to the next reporter. Laughter fills the room.
“Hi, Matt. Sky Sports. What a drive. It feels like Arden has come alive. Want to share any insights?”
“You’ll need to ask the team principal,” he says, pointing at the next raised hand.
Archie nudges me and grins. It is a nice thing to do, keeping my title front and center, giving the credit to me.
“The car has had incredible speed through the straights. Did it take you by surprise how much the upgrades have impacted the performance?”
“No. Because Chloe Coleman oversaw them, and Jasper Cox came on board to refine them.”
I bite my lip, beaming with pride.
“You seem to be a big fan of your team principal,” jokes the next reporter.
“Aren’t you?”
More laughter ripples round the room.
“No one is asking the other drivers a single question,” Archie whispers to me. “Look at them.”
My eyes shift from Matt to the two Rossinis, who are starting to look a little annoyed by the lack of attention. Holy shit. This is better than I could have hoped. The story should be the podium one-two for Rossini. But it isn’t. Arden is the story. Matt’s third-place comeback is the story.
He glances across at me, catching my eye, and he tips his chin toward both me and Archie.
And then I hear a familiar voice.
“There’s a rumor in the paddock that you and Coleman are more than old friends. Care to comment?”
Jack Sheppard.
I watch Matt’s face remain completely impassive.
“No,” he says.
“No, you don’t care to comment, or no, it’s not true?”
“No, it’s not true. Can someone get this dickweed out? I want to talk racing.”
All the faces of the press now turn their attention to Jack, who squirms in his seat.
“You want to talk racing, or do you want to fuck off?” Matt says, all his old bravado surfacing at exactly the right moment.
Jack’s face hardens. He looks furious, which gives me silent pleasure.
But the damage has been done, and if Matt isn’t careful his fiery response is going to elicit more rumors.
Calm down, Matt.
“You’re both from the same town. Has that special closeness helped?” says another reporter, this time from the Daily Mail. They won’t give a shit about racing. They’d love to break this kind of scandal.
A few photographers turn their lenses on me, and Archie nudges me and starts laughing. I follow suit with a confused chuckle, like What the hell are they talking about?
“No,” says Matt firmly. “That’s an inaccurate report and undermines the incredible story of this woman who has fought and clawed her way to the top. I didn’t know sexist reporting was still in. C’mon, guys.”
A lie. A bald-faced and very necessary lie that he delivers perfectly. I hold my breath, as Jack shrinks further into his seat.
Matt is saying too much.
“You’re both single, right?” says another.
“The only thing that interests me about Chloe Coleman is her vision for the team. And frankly I’m bored now. Next question.”
The denial couldn’t be more concrete. And while I let out my breath, relieved that he’s thrown cold water on it, a part of me aches. I know what he’s doing—he’s protecting me. But still, my stupid heart feels rejected all the same. I force a smile and stare ahead.
“You clocked the fastest lap today and were voted the FIA driver of the day,” another reporter says. “How does it feel to be back?”
“Aww. Did you miss me?” he quips, as the press conference returns to focusing on Matt and his race.
I feel Archie’s hand grab mine and squeeze it, and I turn to him. “He had to say all that,” he whispers.
“I know,” I say, nodding slightly, needing that encouragement. “I know.”
My turn. By the time I’m due on that stage for the press conference, I saunter up there, my nerves steady. Next to me, Rossini’s team principal. I glance across at him in acknowledgment and nod my head, trying my best not to look too smug, or too proud, or too arrogant.
“Congratulations today,” he says, before leaning in and whispering, “Now the real work with Matt begins.”
“Meaning?”
“You’ll see,” he says, leaning back in his chair and looking out toward the sea of reporters. “He’s a fucking handful.”
I roll my eyes. Like I don’t know Matt. Like I can’t handle that ego. Like he doesn’t listen to me. Fuck this. I’m not going to play like I’m lucky to be here anymore. I’m not going to be grateful anymore. I’m not going to make myself smaller or meeker or whatever the hell these people want.
I look back out into the room and see Matt, standing with those forearms crossed, staring hard at me, a look of pure pride etched across his handsome face. Now we’re sharing a secret. A joke. And this time, I’m in on it.
“Chloe, congratulations. In seven weeks, five races, you’ve taken Arden from the bottom of the pack to the top. How does it feel?”
I hesitate. I want to say something short, tough, and arrogant back to the reporter. I want to play like these men do, coolly commanding the room, keeping my cards close to the vest, but a part of me wants liberation from that.
“I’m thrilled. It’s been a lot of hard work, and at times I’ve hid in the bathroom, or screamed into my pillow, but here we are. We fucking did it.”
It’s messy and personal. But it’s me.
And the press seems to love it.
“Hugely relatable,” says the next journalist, grinning. “Whose idea was it to bring Jasper in?”
“Well, mine. But we’re a team that believes in second chances.”
They like that one too. Turning to Rossini’s team principal for a response: “What did you think about the appointment?”
“Formula 1 is about consistency at the highest level. At Rossini we look for extraordinary talent, but we also look for professionalism, loyalty, and the ability to maintain that level past a handful of races.”
A murmur around the room. Holy shit, he must be rattled.
“Is that why you let Matt Warner go?”
My eyes widen as I wait for the response.
“He’s thirty-four. We needed to move on from someone whose career was ending,” he says, pointing to the next person. “And of course, his crash showed bad judgment. It was a career-defining error that cost us both drivers.”
The journalists turn back to me.
“Any response, Chloe?”
“Haven’t we all had moments in our life where things go wrong?
Catastrophic things? I know I have,” I say, smiling, looking directly into the eyes of the press in the front row, one by one.
“I think real sportsmanship, true greatness, comes from our ability to endure the mistakes, learn hard, forgive ourselves, and rise. Matt Warner had a terrible crash, impacting his best friend. I’m sure you can imagine the agony it’s caused him, and how difficult it’s been to come to terms with.
Can Matt maintain this level? I think so.
As his team principal, I’m rooting for him, and we’ll give him all the support he needs. ”
I glance at Matt, hoping it wasn’t too much, but he smiles back at me, and so does Archie.
“This is a more confident, eloquent Chloe Coleman. Are you feeling on top of the world right now?”
“I am,” I say, beaming.
“And what about next year, are you signing with Arden beyond the season?”