Page 15 of Racing Hearts
“That’s where we’ll need Henri,” Nora chimed in. “Fans will believe that with him being your brother’s teammate, you’ve all been hanging out more and more over the last few months. One thing led to another… and now here you are.”
“The other drivers will never buy this!”
“Which is why we need the two of you toreallysell this,” Isabelle sighed. “Like it or not, the funding for both your seats is at risk.”
The room closed in around me.
“This is fucking ridiculous!” My foot stomping made me look more like a toddler throwing a tantrum than a grown woman, but I was too far gone to care. “I’m not doing it. I won’t. If that means giving up my seat, so be it. I’m one of the best drivers on this damn grid, and it is ludicrous that this is what it takes to stay in Formula 1. When did we stop giving a shit about talent?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. My feet had already carried me to the door, and before I knew it, I was sprinting out of the offices and towards the safety of my private driver’s room, tears pouring down my face. I slammed the door, collapsing against it as I curled into a ball on the ground, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, I repeated over and over. My mind raced as tears cascaded down my cheeks. I obviously hadn’t meant it when I said I would quit. The truth was, I would do just about anything, even start a PR relationship with the grid’s cockiest driver, to keep my Formula 1 seat.
Even if he had just spent the last week fanning the flames of my career.
I heard a knock on my driver’s room door, and from the sharp tapping, I knew that the group had sent Isabelle. She had a strong and distinctive knock, one that no one could deny entry to, no matter how angry you were.
“Go away, Isabelle!” I shouted through my tears.
“Georgia. Let’s talk.” Her voice was low and soft. Against my better judgment, I opened the door.
“Don’t get comfortable,” I said spitefully. Isabelle gave me a stern look that told me she didn’t appreciate the bitterness as she sat on the couch.
“Georgia, I know this sucks, and I know it’s unfair. You’ve fought twice as hard as the men on this grid to get here. And I’ve seen you fight, every damn step of the way. When we launched this team, you were my first call. I wanted you. Not just because of your speed. Because of your grit. And I still believe in you. But Valkyrie can’t survive without funding, and you can’t win a championship without a seat.”
She paused, letting that sink in.
“Lily manages the press like she was born for this. It’s part of the reason we picked her. I knew your competitive drive would complement her light, easygoing personality. But you’re not Lily, and that’s okay. We hired you to win a championship, and I still believe you can. But this PR thing? It’s the cost of keeping that dream alive.”
Isabelle finished and moved towards my massage table. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, giving me a gentle hug. I took a few moments of silence to compose myself, wiping away the tears that were falling from my eyes.
“But why Luca?” I sniffled.
“Because he needs this too,” she said confidently. “The photos already sold the fantasy. Plus, with Francesco being my cousin, and the Hermes team principal, it’ll be easy for all of us to manage the relationship and keep this secret.”
I took a long, shaky breath. “Do you truly believe this is my best option?”
“Yes,” Isabelle replied simply. “If I could have found something better than having to endure Luca Rossi visiting our garage for the next several months, I would have found it.” There was the hint of a smile in her voice, even if her expression didn’t change.
“Fine. But the moment my sponsorship prospects start to improve, we’re ending this.”
“Agreed.” Isabelle extended her hand like we were about to shake on the deal of the century.
As if on cue, I heard another knock on my door. Nora popped in, cautious and smiling.
“Come on in, Nora,” I groaned. She bounced in with that eager PR energy and handed me a pink Lisa Frank folder covered in sparkly dolphins, no doubt to represent Miami.
“So, what’s the plan then?” I didn’t need to tell Nora the obvious. Of course, I had agreed to this ludicrous plan. My F1 seat was too important. The mission to get women into Formula 1 was too important.
“We’ll take it slow. This week in Miami, we’ll do some small dates. Tomorrow, we’ll have you and Luca head to dinner. Nice and easy. Hermes have agreed to let you pop by Luca’s garage a couple of times this weekend, and they’llaccidentallycatch you on their social media.”
“I’m not kissing Luca if I get onto the podium.” Even if he was a pretty good kisser,never again.
“No one’s asking you to do that.” While Nora didn’t sayfor now, it was implied. The moment any driver made it on the podium, the media frantically searched for their significant other, desperate to capture that special moment.
“And I refuse to wear his stupid purple team jersey. I have myownjersey.” Nora’s lips curved upwards, but she nodded her unspoken agreement.
“This weekend is about sowing the seeds of the relationship and getting the fans excited. They’re going to love you dating F1’s most eligible bachelor,” she laughed, trying to soothe the tension. “Details of this week have all been put into your Miami outline so you know when and where you are expected, starting with a dinner date between you and Luca tomorrow.”
