Page 37 of Hot Lap
Nitro's team principal studies him for a long moment, then nods. "Alright then. Let's talk about tire strategy. The medium compound is showing unusual degradation in the heat."
The meeting continues for another half hour, diving into the details that separate podium finishes from also-rans. By the time they’re done, Reece feels centered in a way he hasn't since waking beside Maiken in Las Vegas.
As he stands, Miguel sidles up to him. "Anyone who makes Graham that angry is probably worth keeping around."
Reece raises an eyebrow. "News travels on the pace."
"It's a small paddock." Miguel shrugs. "Your father isn't known for quiet displeasure."
Before he can respond, Reece’s phone buzzes with a message from Lynch Sutton, who drives for Telco Italia:
Want Lina to meet with your wife, explain F1 wife shit & intro the others over lunch? Fresh meat always gets the piranha treatment. If she's interested, L will be in the lobby at 12:00.
Relief washes through Reece. The Suttons are well-respected in the paddock. Lina’s the daughter of a driver. She has twenty-six years of experience navigating F1's social complexities, which makes her the perfect guide for Maiken.
He types a quick message to her:
Lina Sutton has offered to meet you, explain some of the ins and outs of being an F1 WAG, and introduce you to a few others. Think it’ll be helpful. She’s Lynch Sutton’s wife.
He pauses, then types:
He drives for Telco Italia & Lina’s dad is Tanner Walsh.
Then he adds:
Tanner’s a retired world champ.
The response comes quicker than he expected:
What time?
12:00. She’ll take you to lunch.
OK
…
Thx
It's not exactly warm, nothing like the woman who laughed with him all night in Vegas. But at least she didn't tell him not to bother because she won't be his wife much longer or toFUCK OFF. That counts as a win. His thumb hovers over the screen. He wants to say more, but what exactly? That he's thinking about her? That he hopes she'll give him a chance? That despite everything, he meant what he said through that door this morning?
Instead, Reece pockets the phone.
One step at a time.
CHAPTER NINE
The small meetingroom feels like a jewel box and gives curated calm vibes that I’m not sure I should trust. Its walls are paneled in cream silk and dark wood with inlaid gold detailing that catches the soft glow of recessed lighting.
A lacquered table anchors the room. It’s sleek enough for high-stakes negotiations and is surrounded by elegant leather chairs. An arrangement of white orchids sits in the center.
Coy Hayter is at the far end when Claudia escorts me in. He's reviewing something on a tablet, but he stands as I approach.
“Ladies, good morning.” He has a pleasant British accent and a deep voice.
He's older than Reece, early fifties maybe, with a neat beard and brunet hair that's gone silver at the temples. His dark green polo and khakis somehow look sharper than business casual should allow.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Lange. Or would you prefer I call you Mrs. Pritchard or…?”
