Page 38 of Hot Lap
"Maiken. Please. Thanks."
He nods. “And please call me Coy. Everyone else does.” He takes his time with what he says, which I like.
We shake hands, and his grip is firm but not bone crushing.
Coy gestures to the chair kitty-corner to his. "Will you sit?"
I do, smoothing my hand over the dove gray cashmere sweater set that hides my body. The cardigan’s buttoned just enough to be modest and paired with tailored cream trousers that hang straight from hip to ankle and make me hate myself. I flat-out rejected the damn nude heels the concierge provided, instead going with my trusty brown-and-white Mary Janes. They mean business without implying the wrong kind of work. I'm also wearing my own lacy thong because I neededsomerebellion to preserve my soul beneath all this fucking compromise.
My eyeliner's sharp, my lipstick's a dark red closer to wine than blood, and my hair is pinned back in a clean twist that took three tries to get right. My only jewelry is a delicate gold chain with a tiny pearl pendant that sits at the hollow of my throat. And the wedding ring, of course. The whole ensemble whispers "corporate wife" or "diplomat's daughter" — elegant, expensive, and utterly forgettable. It’s sonotme.
I doubt I’m fooling anyone. I look like painted roadkill because I’m still that jet-lagged, but Coy doesn’t seem like the judgy sort. His focus is sharp, but not unfriendly.
Claudia takes a seat at the table and places her phone in the center. “This will be recorded and I’ll send you a copy of the audio file for your records, Maiken.” She meets my gaze. “That’s standard team protocol.”
Really?
"First, let me be clear." Coy folds his hands on the table. "I'm not here to interrogate you. You are not on trial. This meeting is simply to make sure you're informed of the team’s expectations for our drivers’ partners, to answer any questions you might have, and to offer any assistance that you may require."
That’s surprisingly respectful. I nod cautiously. "Okay."
He considers me for a moment before continuing. He’s probably figuring me out right quick. The clothes ain’t foolin’ the man. "You and Reece are legally married under the laws of Nevada. That marriage is valid internationally. There’s no easy undo button, only an annulment or divorce."
"That’s what I thought."
"Now, normally, teams get very nervous when a driver makes a major personal decision mid-season. Especially something that could affect focus or public image."
I brace for the next part, where he says I'm a liability.
"However, Nitro's position is that your marriage is Reece's business, not ours. As long as it doesn't negatively impact his performance, we will support him, and by extension, you."
I blink, thrown. "That's… not what I expected."
His mouth quirks into the ghost of a smile. "That's because most people think F1 is a snake pit."
"Is it?"
"Sometimes." His gaze sharpens. "But not in my garage."
I relax a fraction.
"Now, that said, there are certain realities you'll face, Maiken.”
There’s goes that moment of Zen. "Like the press?"
"Exactly. They're going to dissect your life. Your past performances. Your appearance. Your expressions. Your words and deeds. You will be judged, usually unfairly, by people who’ve never met you."
"Sounds great." My right foot is bouncing, so I uncross my legs and plant my feet firmly on the floor.
Coy chuckles. "It's brutal. But it’s survivable."
I nod. That must be true, since I’m not the first woman to run the gauntlet.
"You also need to know if you choose to stay married to Reece, you will become part of the circus. Even if you don't attend every race, you’ll be seen as a representative of the team."
"A WAG."
He grimaces. "I hate that term,Wife and Girlfriend. Like you're accessories. You're not. You're people. Important ones to the drivers who count on you."
