Page 51 of Hot Lap
Petra leans forward. "Every track suits my driving style if I'm quick enough." That gets her a few laughs. "But seriously, the technical sections here reward precision over raw power. That plays to our car's strengths this weekend."
"Reece, do you agree with that assessment?"
He nods. "Petra's right about the technical nature of the circuit. We've made some setup adjustments that should help us be competitive in both qualifying and the race. The key will be tire management as the track temps evolve."
The press conference continues with similar technical questions, the motorsport journalists making the most of their time. Reece begins to hope they might actually get through without incident.
Then a voice calls out from the back: "Reece, is it true you married a stripper only six hours after you met her?"
The room goes quiet.
Reece identifies the source as a reporter fromInside Formula. It’s one of Graham's media properties.
Bloody typical.
His father can't ignore an opportunity to stir up shit.Drama equals clicks and clicks equal money.
Claudia stands. "As I stated at the beginning?—"
The reporter barrels on. "With respect, F1 fans are invested in drivers' lives. There are photographs circulating of what appears to be a wedding ceremony in Las Vegas. Can you confirm or deny?—"
Reece says, "Mywifeis a professional dancer, choreographer, and dance teacher. Let's be clear about that. And my personal life isn’t up for discussion. We're here to talk about racing."
Petra leans into her mic. "Fascinating how none of you asked about my personal life when I split with my boyfriend last month." She flashes a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Is it because I'm a woman, or because my relationship wasn’t good fodder for sleazy headlines? Sorry about that. Both."
The room erupts with follow-up questions and uncomfortable laughter. Through the sea of raised hands and shouted queries, Reece spots a familiar face at the back of the room. Junior Betterton stands by the door with a recording device, arms folded over a crew shirt from Graham's production company. Wanker looks enormously pleased with himself.
Claudia steps forward. "That concludes today's press briefing. Technical information packets are available on the media server. Thank you."
She motions for the drivers to follow her. As Reece stands, another voice calls out.
"Was it love at first sight, Reece, or did your new wife read the bank statements first?"
Reece pauses, finding the reporter who spoke. It’s someone he doesn’t recognize. The room falls quiet as he holds the guy’s gaze. "If you think Maiken needed a bank statement to say yes, that's absolutely a reflection of your values, not hers. One hundred percent. Pretty disappointing question, honestly."
Petra places a hand on his arm. "Let's get out of here before I tell them where to shove their microphones."
He follows her through the door, ignoring the shouted questions that trail after.
In the hallway, Claudia’s already on her phone. "Yes, we need to restrict both reporters’ access. Their questions violated our clearly stated boundaries." She catches his eye. "Sorry about that, Reece. I should’ve seen it coming when I spotted Graham's people registering for credentials."
"Not your fault. Bloody typical of them, though."
"Your response was good. Dignified but sharp. I can work with that."
Petra rolls her eyes. "Those bloody wankers. Absolute rubbish, asking about someone's spouse that way. Proper out of order. None of their fucking business."
As Reece turns to leave, Claudia adds, "Oh, and Reece? Be careful leaving the paddock. DBJ’s been hanging around with a camera crew, trying to get reaction footage for that show of Graham's. I suspect you'll feature prominently in this week's episode."
He nods. He needs to talk to Maiken. The thought of her seeing Graham's edited version of events makes his stomach churn.
He pulls out his phone as he walks, resolving to get ahead of whatever narrative his fucking father is creating. This isn't just about him anymore. He owes Maiken more than having her introduced to his world through Graham's distorted lens, twisted by his family’s dysfunction.
He starts typing:
Hey, about today?—
Then stops.
