Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We’re about halfway through the session when an assistant steps into the room and whispers something into Pippa’s ear.
“Taking a quick break, Petra. Be right back.” Pippa steps out of the room briefly. When she returns, something’s changed in her expression and my internal bullshit alarm starts ringing.
“So.” Her voice and expression are cagey. “Let’s discuss these photos circulating online.”
Ew. Of course.
“Photos?” I drop my media smile, though I’d really like to walk before this gets ugly.
She’s going to take things south, I’m sure, and I’m tired of talking about the kiss pic seen around the world and the podium snog and the newer photos from my date with Nico last night.
I told the producers to stick to racing questions, and that’s what they agreed to when I walked in this morning.
So, yeah, my hackles up. I know they do this to all the drivers, but it feels like I get more of these prying questions than the men do.
“Technical information, visible in fan images.” Pippa offers her tablet to me. “From multiple teams’ garages. Including some very interesting timing coincidences.”
“I’m sorry, what?” These aren’t the photos I expected.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” I take the tablet and see pics from the Nitro garage in Austin when the Honey Bunnies fed our mechanics and engineers.
They’re part of a breaking PAD story about rumors of technical espionage in Formula One.
I quickly scan it. Other teams are involved—WolfBett, JMR, Telco.
“Your relationship with Nico Belmonte certainly provides unique access to WolfBett’s operations.”
Media training only takes a girl so far and my patience evaporates. “What are you suggesting?” If she says it, I might actually smack the bitch.
“People will say that a championship contender might use a personal relationship to gain technical advantages for her team.” Her expression says she’s concerned. Her expression’s a fucking liar “It’s a fair question, given the evidence.”
Right. Because obviously I needed to seduce a world champion to learn about differential settings.
Or to win.
Oh, shit, I’m considering all the ways I can launch Pippa’s body over my front wing. And, yeah, Graham’s influence drips from every syllable. So after I run her down, I’ll be doing donuts on that arsehole’s carcass.
I nod slooowly and take a deeeep breath. “A fair question.” It takes all my self-control to keep my voice steady. Years of dealing with misogyny are coming in handy right now, and keeping her alive. “Fine, Pippa. First, we’ll examine your premise.”
She blinks. “My premise?”
“That I need to compromise my integrity, my team’s trust, and a fellow driver’s career to understand technical aspects of Formula 1.” I lean forward. “Tell me, when you raced F3, did you sleep with engineers to understand suspension settings?”
Her face flushes. “That’s not—”
“Or perhaps we should discuss why, when similar photos have emerged from multiple teams’ garages, you’re focusing on my personal life rather than investigating the actual security breach?”
“These photos—”
“Those photos show someone systematically gathering technical information through fan access.” The pieces click even as I speak.
“But it’s wonderfully salacious to imply I’m trading sex for secrets.
A much racier story than acknowledging a real threat to multiple teams’ security.
How very… on brand.” I smile like I want to tear out her throat with my teeth, because I do.
“Petra, my question was a fair one.”
“We’re done.” I yank the small mic off my shirt and stand, but I hold it because I want them to record what I say next.
“Though you might want to ask yourself who benefits from pushing these lies. And why.” I’m about to turn, but I pause to add, “I don’t need to put out to get on the podium, Pippa.
I win races because I’m a fucking good driver. Not because I’m fucking a good driver.”
I want to add that my career didn’t end in Formula 3, but I keep that behind my teeth.
Barely.
Bitch.
“You can’t just walk out, Petra. We’re not finished.”
“Absolutely I can end an interview when it becomes a thinly veiled character assassination.” I drop the mic on my chair. “But before I do...”
I lean close, dropping my media mask completely so she can see exactly who she’s dealing with.
“Next time Graham Pritchard wants to imply I’d compromise my career and my principles, remind him that I earned my place in F1 by being better, faster, and smarter than my competition on the track.
I don’t need to steal technical data, I help develop it. ”
“You’re contractually obligated to provide an interview.”
“That’s right. A professional interview about racing, not whatever agenda you’re pushing.”
Cin’s right with me as I storm out of the media center. She’s been in the back of the room the entire time—all F1 teams record their driver interviews for legal and PR purposes.
“Well, that was fucking spectacular.” She sounds as pissed off as I feel. “I got every word of that character assassination attempt on record.”
“Good.” I turn on my phone as we walk. “Graham’s pet harpy suggesting I’m trading sex for technical secrets. Un-fucking-believable.”
Cin voice is sharp. “Legal’s going to have a field day with this recording.”
I check my messages. There’s an all-caps text from Dad, which he almost never does.
PIT BUILDING, VIP ROOM. PRIORITY ALPHA.
Right, then. He’s heard about these pictures and bullshit rumors.
And Nico’s also texted:
Some shit’s going down. Coy will explain. Don’t let it get in your head. We’re solid. Te amo, TenazP.
Bollocks. And this day started out so well.
“Oi!” Reece catches us and falls into step as I stride across the paddock toward the long pit building. “You look extra pissed off.”
“Graham just had Pippa try out character assassination.”
“How’d it go?”
“Not fucking well for her, I assure you.” I pocket my phone. I need to text Nico and get to VIP.
Cin adds, “That wanker father of yours should work on his timing.”
He snorts. “Always did have shit strategic planning.” He matches our pace easily. “Speaking of strategy... did Mai’s magic work last night?”
“Oh!” I nearly stop walking. “Please thank her for me. She’s a miracle worker.”
“I will. She’ll be pleased.” His grin turns wicked. “I think she plans to arm all the WAGs with Dior and Manolos and launch a revolution.”
Cin laughs.
I say, “I love your wife, Reece Pritchard. Have I mentioned that?”
“Yeah, once or twice.” He holds the door for us. “She’s got opinions about dictatorial team owners and their media manipulation. Did you know her mum’s a prison nurse? Raised Mai to take no crap.”
I smile. “And yet she took you.”
Cin cracks up and Reece chuckles.
“Mrs. Pritchard likes to live dangerously.” He lowers his voice. “Did you know she takes her clothes off for strangers?” We ascend the stairs, heading for the upper level where Nitro hosts F1 guests.
I fake gasp. “Noo. Outrageous. A woman having agency over her own body?”
Jacintha smirks and tsk’s like the fucking Queen Mum.
It’s well-known that Maiken Lange Pritchard is an extremely talented burlesque performer in Las Vegas.
“I know, right? Shameful.” Reece grins. “Which is exactly how I like her.”
At the top of the stairs, my cousin stops. “I’ll be in your driver’s room prepping for post-meeting damage control. I’m sure you’ll need it.”
“Doubtless. Thanks, Cin.”
She nods and heads back down while Reece and I continue to the meeting.
The room is filled with team principals, chief engineers, and media directors from WolfBett, Nitro, Telco Italia, and JMR. Nico, Wyn, Reece, and I are the only drivers.
But other than Marcus and Richard, there are no owners, which means Graham Pritchard and Junior Betterton aren’t included.
Thank fucking God. I can only take so much bullshit in one day, and I most certainly would’ve introduced my fist to Graham’s face if he were here.
Nico catches my eye from where he stands with Carlos. Warning, warmth, and about six other emotions cross his face.
Right then. Time to deal with whatever fresh hell this is.
Marcus starts as soon as the door closes behind Reece.
“By now you’ve all seen the photos.”
Technical images appear on a wall screen behind him. There are carefully angled shots showing proprietary data from multiple teams. Some are the ones Pippa showed me, but there are a lot more.
He continues, “Someone’s using fan access to gather technical data from multiple teams.”
Heinrich adds. “They’re disguised as random social media posts, but they’re anything but innocent.”
“The angles are too perfect,” Richard says. “And the timing is too convenient.”
“And certain media groups are already spinning bullshit narratives about compromised integrity and technical espionage.” Dad sounds way too calm, so I know his blood is boiling.
Cin must’ve texted him about the interview I cut short.
Graham’s producers probably called to complain while I was still in the building. The whiny little wankers.
“They tried that angle,” I confirm. “It didn’t go well for them.”
“No?” Carlos nods. “Good. Suggesting that a driver, whose skills and technical knowledge are obvious needs to steal information to advance her career is...” He pauses deliberately. “How do you English say it? Taking the piss?”
Several engineers hide smiles. Even Marcus’s lips twitch.
Richard says, “The real question is who benefits from both the information gathering and the attempted character assassination?”
“Not Petra and Nico.” Reece speaks up beside me. “They’ve got nothing to gain and everything to lose from this.”
“And these photos predate their relationship,” Dad adds. “Some are from Monaco, Barcelona, and Silverstone.”
“Coy’s right.” Marcus nods. “This is a professional, coordinated effort.”
“So someone’s gathering intelligence?” Astrid Ravn, who’s Ravn Racing’s team principal and the daughter of the owner, Maximillian, crosses her arms. “And using fan access as cover.”
“But why leak them now?” Heinrich pulls up more images.
“To cause maximum damage to specific drivers.” I point from myself to Nico. “What better way to sow doubt about integrity and team loyalty than this shit?”
“Especially if you disapprove of inter-team relationships.” Nico’s not bothering to hide his anger. “Convenient fucking timing.”
“Very,” Carlos agrees. “Almost like someone wants attention focused on personal matters instead of technical breaches.”
The room falls quiet. He’s implying the perpetrator is using the relationship between Nico and me as a distraction.
“Right then.” Marcus straightens. “We need a plan for tracking the source of these pictures, managing media speculation, and protecting our people and our data.”
Everyone nods. Rivalry ends where common threats begin.
Dad flanks him. “Our first priority is securing technical areas. We need new protocols for fan access and stricter control of sight lines to sensitive data.”
“Without appearing to restrict appreciation events,” Claudia says. “We don’t want to punish genuine supporters for someone else’s exploitation.”
“Second priority,” Marcus says, “tracking the source. These photos show knowledge of team operations and technical understanding.”
“So we’re looking for someone with experience,” Heinrich notes. “Someone who knows what to look for and when to look.”
Reece crosses his arms. “Meanwhile, we’ve got races to prepare for and championship points on the line.”
“Which is exactly what someone’s trying to disrupt,” Dad says. “Whoever this is, they want to create doubt, force mistakes, and make us second-guess everything from technical decisions to personal choices.”
“That’s not happening.” I meet Nico’s gaze. “We race to win. Everything else is just noise.”
“Well said, Petra.” Marcus nods.
“We need to bring the FIA into this,” Astrid says.
“Agreed.” Dad nods. “And coordinate on security plans.”
The team principals dismiss the rest of us. As we head for the stairs, Nico catches my hand. “Do you have a minute?”
I caress his cheek and press my lips to his ear. “You’re not just noise.” I kiss him quickly. “Later, Bunny Boy.” I catch up with Reece, but glance over my shoulder before descending the stairs.
Nico’s watching me, a smile curving his lips. He got the message.