5. JULES
JULES
Minnie’s promised a small, informal dinner to introduce me to her friends in the paddock, but when we walk into the private dining room, ‘informal’ isn’t the word that comes to mind.
We’re thirty-six floors up overlooking the sparkling streets of Melbourne's Central Business District.
Delicate lights are threaded through the table, and floral arrangements look over us from the ceiling.
There two dozen people here, mostly still in their team uniforms. Minnie goes around the table introducing everyone, a mixture of drivers and their physios, trainers, and engineers. Tom’s teammate étienne Blanchet is sitting opposite me, and is already looking when I make eye contact.
I smile coyly. ‘I’m in Melbourne on a brand trip with Patrón. It’s great it could coincide with the Grand Prix so I can see Minnie in action.’
Something ignites behind étienne’s eyes. ‘Patrón sponsors Martinel—!’
‘How do you know Minnie?’ interjects Kurtis Hatten-Meyer, one of Ackland’s drivers and Minnie’s friend from childhood in Monaco. He’s sitting next to me and leans ever-so-slightly closer.
‘You know when I told you about moving back to England and getting bullied for being a posh private school girl?’ says Minnie.
‘Jules rescued me. She roasted them in front of the whole school, made “posh” the new trend, and got the popular group to cheer for me on Sports Day. Suddenly, everyone knew my name.’
Control the optics, control the outcome. An oldie but goodie.
A smile plays on étienne’s lips. ‘You are very persuasive.’
‘So impressive,’ Kurtis rushes to agree. ‘Why would you do that? Why would you help the new girl?’
I shrug. ‘I’m a girl’s girl. I made it my job – helping women be the best they can be.’
‘Very noble.’ He nods fervently as waiters place sharing plates in the middle of the table – lean meats, slow-release carbs, and vegetables. An athlete’s dinner before qualifying day.
‘And what about men?’ étienne asks, dripping with obviousness. ‘Do you like men too?’
‘She likes men alright. Come to trick one of our drivers into being your next fashion accessory?’ calls a woman down the table in a Pagari polo.
‘Georgie,’ Jack hisses from the other side of Minnie.
He doesn’t need to worry. It’s not the first time I’ve faced backlash and it won’t be the last.
‘I have a type,’ I confess with a shy smile.
I have to be careful how I phrase this; I need étienne on my side, and Kurtis could be useful too.
‘My dad’s a tennis coach so I’ve been around athletes my whole life.
I’m drawn to their ambition, their passion, their fire.
I don’t need a man, and I can buy my own accessories, but I’m open if the right one comes along.
’ I let my eyes flit – just for a split second – to étienne, who’s looking back at me, eating up every word.
‘Then you dump them when it suits you,’ Georgie fires back.
‘My career always comes first. If that means I have to be single to focus, so be it.’
‘Yawn.’
‘Georgie.’
‘So you ’ave a short attention span?’ says étienne, offering me a platter of chicken. ‘You need a man who will keep things interesting.’
Gross. He’s not a man, he’s twenty-two.
I can feel Minnie’s eyes roll beside me.
‘And you’re single right now?’ Kurtis nudges, holding a bowl of carrot shavings out to me.
I nod once. ‘I am, and I’m loving it. I can focus on my businesses and my health. I can see my girls. Make time for hobbies.’
‘And what are those hobbies?’ Kurt probes. The look on his face tells me he knows he’s ranking highest on the poll.
I glance up at him beneath my lashes. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
‘What would you like to know about F1?’ étienne butts in. ‘I can teach you.’
‘It’s not American football,’ Jack butts in, an arm slung around the back of Minnie’s chair. ‘We’re literally driving fifty-eight laps of Albert Park as fast as we can. The end.’
‘But—’
‘I’m not really good at the technical stuff, but I do love a bit of drama,’ I say. ‘Are there any rivalries this year? Teammate versus teammate?’
‘My new teammate’s a rookie,’ grumbles Kurtis, frowning at his plate. ‘He doesn’t know shit. But I only have to endure him for this season – it’ll be Mr Jack Bowden next year and we can race for real.’ They grin at each other across Minnie and me.
‘Looking forward to it, mate,’ Jack throws back.
‘My teammate is Tom Webber. We are not friends.’ étienne pouts, shovelling a big broccoli in his mouth.
‘Why’s that?’ I ask, sipping my water. The room could be on fire and I wouldn’t notice.
‘’E ’as no personality. Very calm, always calm. ’E doesn’t laugh at my jokes.’
Minnie pauses, her fork mid-way to her mouth. ‘You make jokes?’
‘You’re just pissed he’s already being called a title contender and you’re not,’ Jack quips.
‘No,’ étienne retorts, flushing pink. ‘’E thinks ’e’s so much better than me because ’e’s the oldest driver and ’as three World Championships, blah blah blah. Not this year, mon ami.’
Jack laughs into his glass. ‘You’re on, pal.’
They move on to talking shop and I have a feeling I’m not going to learn anything new about Tom tonight. No matter, I have everything I need for the introduction. Just one more sleep to go.