Page 116 of Overtake
“And posing as a fan to gain access to do it?” The pieces start clicking for Nico. “Then posting in these groups makes it look like fans are just sharing their paddock experiences, when this person is actually transmitting the data to someone.”
“Hiding in plain sight.” Marcus’s expression shifts from concern to calculation. “We need to handle this carefully.”
Victoria nods. “If word gets out that fan access is being exploited, teams will put a chill on fan participation. It could damage trust and the sport.”
“Yes.” Marcus checks his watch. “See if you can gather everyone in an hour, Victoria. Nico, think you can focus on simulation work until then?”
He glances at the time. “Yes. But we need to warn Petra. She has an interview with Graham’s production team soon.”
Marcus nods and picks up his phone. “I’ll speak with Coy. But the fewer people who know about this, the better. She shouldn’t even hint that she’s aware of it.”
Nico fists his hands. Petra needs to know her reputation and her future are at risk. He just hopes Coy can warn her before she’s blindsided in that interview. If Graham’s people even know.
Which… if they do? Well, that raises some red flags and major questions.
Marcus meets Nico’s gaze as his phone rings. “I know she’s the one with the greatest risk, Nico.”
Coy answers the call. “Marcus? What can I do for you?”
WolfBett’s team principal turns away, dismissing everyone to do their jobs. “There’s a problem, Coy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
My phone isoff and stored in my gear bag. I dislike being out of communication with the team, but ringers ruin takes, so for these taped segments, phones are always off. GEM’s makeup and hair person fusses over me. She hates that I never let her doll me up—her words, not mine—for these things, but this isn’t a sponsor shoot. This is a driver interview they’ll edit to suit their narrative, so I’m not adding to that false fiction by getting pretty for them. I’m a Formula 1 champion, not a fucking baby doll.
The interview starts like they always do with Graham’s people—bullshit questions about managing helmet hair and my diet and exercise routine, mixed with discussions of tire compounds and the Singapore crash. Pippa Blackwood, former F3 driver turned producer, swings between professional and sexist. I really do hate this woman. She’s a fucking harpy with her tongue shoved so far up Graham’s arse, I’m always surprised she can speak.
We’re about halfway through the session when an assistant steps into the room and whispers something into Pippa’s ear.
“Taking a quick break, Petra. Be right back.” Pippa steps out of the room briefly. When she returns, something’s changed in her expression and my internal bullshit alarm starts ringing.
“So.” Her voice and expression are cagey. “Let’s discuss these photos circulating online.”
Ew. Of course.
“Photos?” I drop my media smile, though I’d really like to walk before this gets ugly. She’s going to take things south, I’m sure, and I’m tired of talking about the kiss pic seen around the world and the podium snog and the newer photos from my date with Nico last night. I told the producers to stick to racing questions, and that’s what they agreed to when I walked in this morning. So, yeah, my hackles up. I know they do this to all the drivers, but it feels like I get more of these prying questions than the men do.
“Technical information, visible in fan images.” Pippa offers her tablet to me. “From multiple teams’ garages. Including some very interesting timing coincidences.”
“I’m sorry,what?” These aren’t the photos I expected. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take the tablet and see pics from the Nitro garage in Austin when the Honey Bunnies fed our mechanics and engineers. They’re part of a breakingPADstory about rumors of technical espionage in Formula One. I quickly scan it. Other teams are involved—WolfBett, JMR, Telco.
“Your relationship with Nico Belmonte certainly provides unique access to WolfBett’s operations.”
Media training only takes a girl so far and my patience evaporates. “What are you suggesting?” If she says it, I might actually smack the bitch.
“People will say that a championship contender might use a personal relationship to gain technical advantages for her team.” Her expression says she’s concerned. Her expression’s a fucking liar “It’s a fair question, given the evidence.”
Right. Because obviously I needed to seduce a world champion to learn about differential settings.
Or to win.
Oh, shit, I’m considering all the ways I can launch Pippa’s body over my front wing. And, yeah, Graham’s influence drips from every syllable. So after I run her down, I’ll be doing donuts on that arsehole’s carcass.
I nod slooowly and take a deeeep breath. “A fair question.” It takes all my self-control to keep my voice steady. Years of dealing with misogyny are coming in handy right now, and keeping her alive. “Fine, Pippa. First, we’ll examine your premise.”
She blinks. “My premise?”
“That I need to compromise my integrity, my team’s trust, and a fellow driver’s career to understand technical aspects of Formula 1.” I lean forward. “Tell me, when you raced F3, did you sleep with engineers to understand suspension settings?”
