Chapter 2
Peter
I’m sitting in a chair, surrounded by a bunch of people who think they know everything.
Ready to lecture me about my latest “scandal”.
I will admit that the pictures sprawled out in front of me don’t look good.
But they don’t show the whole truth either, and none of these idiots would ever believe me if I told them that. Therefore, I play along, like the bad boy reputation that is expected of me.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” my agent asks me, gesturing to the pictures.
I look lazily at the pictures that were taken a few days ago. In some of them, I have girls on either side of me, my shirt open as they hungrily kiss my throat. They were eager to have a shot with the F1 driver who graced their favourite club for the evening.
I can’t even remember their names.
I don’t even know if I asked.
I simply don’t care.
All I care about is Formula 1.
It’s not the girls who are the problem, though.
The problem is the other picture which must have been taken after I left.
The picture is of the same table I was photographed sitting behind, but there is a line of Coke clearly laid out on it.
Drugs are a hard limit I would never cross, but no one seems to care about what I say. If they knew me at all, they would know I’d never indulge in that kind of stuff.
“It’s not mine,” I tell them, annoyance rolling off me.
It’s the truth.
All eight people in the room seem to be in a singular agreement.
They don’t believe me.
They’ll see when the drug test comes back, which will be negative, but still, it doesn’t feel too good when none of the people who should be on your side doubt your every word.
Sure, I’ll admit that I have a fair share of bad incidents under my belt, but in the grand scheme of things, they are small.
Being seen with girls and enjoying a party isn’t a crime.
“Peter, this is serious. If you don’t clean up your act, you’ll lose your spot on this team,” the PR manager says.
Like hell.
They can’t fire me.
I’m their only hope of ever fighting for that title again.
They know this just as well as I do.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, feeling bored with this meeting.
Nothing like getting lectured like a child.
“It’s not in our control, Peter. Our team has been bought, and the new owner expects change; if not, he’ll make them himself.”
Now this is interesting.
I didn’t know our team was even on the market.
New owner or not, I don’t plan on changing for a bunch of suits. They can call me when they have a championship title to their name.
Maybe then I’ll actually listen.
I stand, done with this meeting.
Eager to get back to the sole purpose of my life—
racing as fast as possible and making the world around me go silent.
I storm off, impatient to get away from these people.
When I get out of the meeting room, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the resentment inside me.
It’s almost time for me to get ready for the first practice of the season. I can’t wait to get my body back into an F1 car and prove those idiots wrong.
If our car is good.
I don’t pay attention to my surroundings, and bump right into someone as I turn the corner to our bus.
And it’s not just anyone.
It’s the only girl, or rather woman, who didn’t even consider my world before turning her back to it last season.
Usually, other girls don’t mind sharing me, but Molly May simply raised her eyebrows and went right back to where she came from.
I was up on my feet and chasing after her, but the beauty was quicker, disappearing before I had the chance to talk to her.
Even though I find her alluring and more interesting than most, I know nothing good would come out of this.
She’s more.
And I don’t do more. I do simple.
Hookups.
One-night stands.
Flings.
Molly doesn’t strike me as that type of woman, which means I’ll keep my distance.
Some harmless flirting, though, that never hurt anybody.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there, sweetheart,” I drawl, happy to at least have a beautiful girl to look at after the terrible morning I’ve had.
“No wonder, it must be hard to spot others when you’re all the way up on your high horse,” she says, her eyes narrowing.
It irks me when someone lectures me about my attitude. She can get in line together with my team.
“You don’t know anything,” I say, stepping closer to her, feeling the frustrations beneath the surface.
The need for someone, anyone, to just stop drawing their own conclusions about me and my life.
They don’t know anything.
And I don’t particularly plan on explaining myself to people who want to believe the worst of me and every headline there is.
Molly’s expression softens as she looks into my eyes. I cast my gaze away, feeling exposed under her stare.
I can’t do this.
Therefore, I step past her and move down the paddock to the chaos that awaits.
As soon as I’m in the part of the paddock where the media is stationed, my name is called, and everyone wants a comment on the latest scandal.
Like hell I’ll comment on that.
A bunch of lies printed on paper.
The cameras flash and I bring out my sunglasses, holding out my hand as I make my way into the garage.
I spot Ryan right away, one of the mechanics on the team and my closest friend.
We’ve always shared our love for cars in different ways. I’ve always wanted to be the one behind the wheel, whilst he prefers to work under the car.
Where I go, he goes.
I give him a hug, and he claps my back.
“Hey, man. How did the meeting with the suits go?”
Suits, our nickname for my dear team of managers, PR assistants, agents, and all the other fancy titles they give themselves.
“It was a shit show, like always. None of them believed me when I told them the coke wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t care less.”
Ryan looks at me with a solemn expression. “You should tell them, they’d never say that if they knew,” he says.
He’s the only one in the F1 world who knows my story and background.
All the others know the fabricated version, created by carefully building a brand, or rather, my name, over the years.
“You know just as well as I do that shit like that would spread like a wildfire, which is precisely why I won’t tell them. If they want to believe their own theories and not believe me, then let them.”
I can tell Ryan wants to say more on the matter, but he lets it go.
It’s not the first time we’ve had this discussion, but unlike him, I don’t care that people have a certain impression of me.
He’s loyal to the core and hates it when people talk about me in a way he knows isn’t right, but I try to reassure him that it doesn’t matter. What matters is racing, which I plan to do well this year.
As long as I get to race, they can think whatever they want.
After losing the title last year, I’ve worked harder over the winter break, determined to be stronger and ready to fight for this title.
No one will stop me from getting that title back.
I start getting ready for the practice, finally feeling the noise in my head settling down.
～
I pull off my helmet, placing it on one of the shelves in front of me. Our designer has created a badass helmet design this year.
The petrol blue shades and the lines representing racing lines go well with the colours of our car.
I wanted a design that represented speed as that’s the goal of this season.
The first official practice is done, and even though our pace isn’t nearly enough just yet, the feel of the car was good.
Hopefully, our team will be able to perfect the car as the season starts for real.
I’m in my driver’s room when the door opens and my agent, Hillary, walks in with a man who’s actually not wearing a suit.
Can’t be one of Hillary’s friends then.
I still get the impression that this man knows wealth, money, and power, but he doesn’t seem concerned with showing them off.
“Peter, this is Arthur MayWilder, the new owner of our team.”
I confirm my suspicion that this man knows money, but he doesn’t resemble the suits or their rigid way of handling people.
I stand up, shaking his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, knowing this is part of my job.
Greeting the suits with a smile, even if they’re not wearing one.
“Is it?” he asks, a playful smile on his face.
He doesn’t strike me as the typical type I usually meet whenever money and power are involved. There’s more warmth around him, but it’s clear he has some real money if he’s bought an F1 team.
“It’s the polite thing to say,” I tell him, shrugging, my own smile breaking through.
“Yeah, I get that. I’d like to schedule a meeting with you, Peter. I know you’re a busy man, but I’d appreciate it if you took the time.”
Another surprising thing about this man.
He asks me for a meeting rather than demanding it.
Typically, I wake up to a full calendar packed with unnecessary meetings I didn’t agree to.
Giving my agent access to my accounts can really be a pain in the ass.
I appreciate Arthur coming here and asking me himself rather than going through Hillary.
“Absolutely, when are you thinking?” I ask, not missing the surprise on Hillary’s face.
She probably thought I was going to turn him down. Maybe she even told Arthur to just schedule without asking me.
“What about tomorrow morning?”
We agree to meet at nine, and when Arthur politely declines Hillary’s request to join, I feel tempted to thank him.
I’m twenty eight years old and fully capable of doing a meeting on my own, which Arthur seems to agree with.
Hillary, on the other hand, would like to keep the control, probably worried I’ll offer Arthur a line of coke over breakfast.
“Relax, Hillary. I’ll behave,” I say, causing both me and Arthur to chuckle whilst she just gives me a look of doubt.
～
At quarter to nine, I park my Audi R8 in the parking lot before making my way over to our garage.
Several mechanics are already here, working and preparing our cars for Free Practice 3 and Qualifying later today.
I go around and greet them, asking how it’s looking ahead of the day.
The qualification later today will be the first true opportunity of this season to see where we are. The practices can give an indication, but the qualification is the real test.
I check my phone and see that I have five minutes before meeting Arthur, so I make my way onto the bus and to the meeting room.
Grabbing a cup of coffee, I settle into a chair, enjoying the peace and quiet before the spectacle of race day begins.
One race weekends, it’s hectic from morning till evening. Having a few moments of quiet here and there is appreciated.
“Am I interrupting your nap?” Arthur chuckles as he comes through the door.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, sitting up in my chair.
He settles into the seat facing mine, his own coffee cup in hand.
“As you may have noticed, Peter, I prefer to conduct my business with the people who are actually the ones who can make a change happen,” he starts.
I got that from the moment he told Hillary he’d meet with me without a watchdog.
“I believe you have inputs which are valuable to me as an owner of this team, and I’d like to hear them if you’re willing to share.”
I’ve been an F1 driver for five years, and this might be the first time anyone in the higher ranks has asked me for input.
He genuinely seems interested in hearing my thoughts on our strategy going forward and is determined to get this team back on top.
It’s refreshing.
The suits usually think they know best and will happily tell me that it’s their money at stake if our team performs badly.
I tell him my thoughts, explaining to him that last season the budget seemed uneven.
Not enough for the mechanics and the cars. I’m guessing someone wanted a nice bonus and took away money that could have been used to improve our cars.
I went over the numbers myself, and when I saw that we didn’t maximise the spending we could on car development, I nearly handed in my resignation on the spot.
Luckily, our owner took his leave before word got out, but the bomb will probably drop any day now.
If they don’t prefer to keep the attention on me and my latest scandal, that is.
“And you, nothing you could have done differently last season?” Arthur asks, his tone curious without being judgmental.
I’m sure he followed last season closely and witnessed some of my not-so-fine moments all over F1 media.
I take a deep breath and decide to be honest with the man. He’s given me no reason not to be.
“I could have done a lot differently last season. And I don’t plan on repeating those mistakes, sir.”
I spent the last season frustrated and angry, at myself, our team, and the world of F1.
I’m still dealing with similar irritations, but I plan to work through them and focus on myself and my performance.
I don’t have all the answers yet, but I plan to at least do my best in the sport that means everything to me.
Even if my team has given up on me, Arthur seems like a guy who doesn’t believe every rumour thrown his way.
He’d rather do his own investigation.
“And the drugs in those photos?” he asks, getting straight to the point.
“Not mine,” I tell him with a firm tone.
He thinks over my answer, and the relief that settles in my chest when he seems to believe me is larger than I expect.
It feels good to be believed for once.
“Okay then. I look forward to this season, Peter. I’m sure we’ll make it memorable.”