Page 17 of Formula Dreams
“They’re British enough,” she says dryly.“So we’re taking the sponsorship.”
The tension in my shoulders spikes because I hate this marketing crap.“What kind of campaign are we talking about?”
“Print and video.A whole series of commercials and behind-the-scenes segments.The theme’s ‘The Spirit of Competition’—you and the Titans drivers doing cheeky challenges, scripted banter, that kind of thing.All off-track, everyday stuff meant to show ‘athletic grit meets everyday charm.’”
I blink.“That’s a terrible slogan.”
“That’s not the slogan.Just the pitch.”I hear the faint sound of typing on her end.“They’ve hired a writer who’s done campaigns for major brands, all steeped in clever, dry British humor.”
“Yes, we Brits are hilarious,” I drawl with fake enthusiasm.
Harley laughs under her breath, apparently finding me funny.“Look, I know this isn’t your favorite thing—”
“I hate media.I hate people.”
The humor in her voice is gone.“Buckle up, Buttercup.That’s part of the job that we pay you insanely well for.Besides… you drivers get along relatively well and what’s not to like?It’s Lex, Nash and Francesca.It’s not like they’re monsters.”
I don’t even try to hide my groan.“Why can’t Lex just do it for Crown Velocity?He’s so much better at that type of thing.And really, why Accardi?She’s got no credibility at this level yet.”
“Because she’s good at this kind of thing.”I hear the defensiveness loud and clear, indicating that I’m going down a slippery slope if I’m in any way inferring this is because Accardi has a pair of tits rather than balls.“She pulls numbers.You do too, when you show up.This isn’t negotiable.They’re rolling this out in three phases between now and the summer break.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.“She irritates me.”Fuck… I said that out loud.
“Is that so?”Harley asks.
“She’s—” I pause, searching for the reason, and it eludes me.“She’s opinionated.And she’s a rookie.”Stupid reasons but accurate.
Harley snorts.“She just placed thirteenth at her first FI race and walked through hell to get there.I think she’s earned the spotlight.”
I don’t respond.Because I can’t really argue with that.I expect Accardi will make serious bank on endorsement deals as she’s the hottest story in all of sports right now.Accomplished, smart and supermodel gorgeous, how can they not want her in front of a camera?
“Meeting’s tomorrow morning,” Harley says.“Ten sharp.Titans HQ in Guildford.I expect you to be there.Smiling would be a bonus but not required.”
“Didn’t you say I could take some time off for my mum?”I ask in a last-ditch effort to avoid this.
“Sorry, that offer’s expired.”
I close my eyes and nod.“I’ll be there.”
“Good.And Ronan”—she softens, just a fraction—“seriously, if you need anything…”
“I don’t.”I hang up and shove my phone into my pocket, but my thoughts don’t stop moving.
Francesca Accardi.Her amber eyes that are difficult not to get lost in.Her soft rolling accent.The way she looked at me at that Italian restaurant in Suzuka, like she could see every brick in the wall I’ve spent years building.
I’m irritated, but also apprehensive.That woman that sets me on edge, but I’m not completely sure why.
And she’s not the only thing I have to worry about.
Lex used to be my friend and now he avoids me like I carry some sort of contagion.Not that I blame him.
Maybe this forced proximity will help.I can’t fix everything—but perhaps we can be teammates again.That might make this fiasco worthwhile if it offers me the chance to repair the friendship I so thoroughly damaged.
CHAPTER 6
Francesca
The Titans headquarters—myofficial workplace—is sleek and understated, a statement of quiet confidence rather than flamboyance.Formerly Excalibur Racing, I’m astonished at how quickly they were able to redecorate in the Titans’ colors.Floor-to-ceiling glass panels reflect a manicured circular drive in purple-gray pavers that match the team’s palette.White metal accents—curved canopies and angular columns—mark the entrance under a discreet Titans’ logo in shiny black lacquer.
