Page 20 of Overtake
“Any comment on Wyn Pritchard’s condition?”
“Was there an altercation at The Blue Wall?”
Claudia materializes beside me like a guardian angel dressed in pink and green. Cin always keeps her apprised of my whereabouts. It used to annoy me, but I’ve grown accustomed to that reality. I’m a valuable tool, and the team likes to keep tabs on me.
“Ms. Hayter will address questions at the scheduled COTA press conference,” she says.
“But—”
“Is it true Nico Belmonte?—”
“No further comments.” Claudia’s tone could freeze hell.
Rodrigo guides us through the crowd, and we’re almost clear to the SUV he’s ordered, when Quentin Giffard steps into our path. Unlike the other reporters, his microphone stays lowered. “Just one question, Petra. Off the record.”
I shouldn’t stop, but Quentin’s always been fair. Even when the stories weren’t flattering. I catch Rodrigo’s elbow and I nod for the reporter to join me as we continue forward.
“The stewards are reviewing yesterday’s crash with the race director,” he says quietly. “Word is, several teams have filed complaints about the lack of penalties. And so has Carlos Belmonte.”
That stops me. Nico’s father is filing complaints about his own son’s teammate? Carlos has managed F2 and F3 teams and was once the president of the safety committee at the FIA. Now he manages drivers—Nico, Lynch Sutton, and Gavril Rydderch, as well as several F2 and F3 drivers.
“No comment, Quentin.” Claudia is firm, but I catch her frown. This is news to her too.
He nods, already stepping aside. “Interesting morning for injuries,” he adds. “Seems Wyn Pritchard had an unfortunate encounter with a wall. Very solid things, walls.”
“Very.” I fight to keep my expression neutral. “Just as solid as race barriers.”
His eyes crinkle. Message received.
Claudia hustles me toward the waiting SUV, muttering rapid-fire Italian under her breath. I catch enough to know she’s questioning my ancestry, my intelligence, and my ability to keep my fucking mouth shut.
I offer a smile. “That was good.”
“Good?” She shakes her head. “Petra.Cara mia. Quentin Giffard just told us Carlos Belmonte is involving himself in yesterday’s investigation, and you made a joke about walls. How is this ‘good’?”
“Because now we know something interesting.”
“What? That you’re trying to give me an ulcer?”
“No.” I glance back toward the hotel. This explains Nico’s presence in the meeting. “That the Belmontes are siding with me.”
CHAPTER SIX
The WolfBett meetingroom in the hotel feels like a courtroom this morning as Nico stands at the window while the team owners deliberate his fate. Marcus Wolfberg occupies his usual seat at the head of the table, but his typically composed expression is strained.
“Let me understand this.” Karl Betterton’s on Zoom from his home in Las Vegas. Both his expression and his tone indicate someone’s about to get eviscerated. “Our four-time world champion was seen conspiring with our closest rival immediately before our second driver suffered an injury that might affect his performance at the next race?”
“I wasn’t conspiring—” Nico starts.
“Save it.” Damien Betterton, Jr. lounges in a chair, scrolling through his phone. “We all saw the photos. Hayter stalking Wyn. You thirsting for Hayter.”
Nico clenches his teeth. His hatred of Damien Betterton, Sr.’s only son, is well-known and well-founded. Instead of punching Junior in the dick, he turns to Marcus. “Why is he here?” He might’ve overlooked thependejo’spresence if he kept his mouth shut, but DBJ’s not smart enough for that.
Junior lowers his phone. “I’m representing my father’s interest.”
Nico pushes away from the wall. “You do not. Karl does.” Junior has no official team role. His sole contribution to Formula One is being a drone camera operator for Ground Effect Media, Graham Pritchard’s production company. When he isn’t doing that on race weekends, he’s wasting his father’s money, dogging Wyn at exclusive clubs, and sexually assaulting underaged girls.
Junior opens his mouth, but Jürgen Wolfberg talks over him.
