Page 21 of Overtake
“Nico’s correct.” He’s WolfBett’s third primary owner and Marcus’s uncle, and he’s calling from his home in Munich where it’s two a.m. and he’s misplaced what little sense of humor he normally possesses. “However the issue we face is the timing. With sponsor negotiations at hand, this kind of negative publicity could be damaging if not handled correctly.”
Nico’s even temper creeps a little closer to the red line. “Therealissue is that my teammate deliberately ran me and a competitor off the track. Again. And everyone’s more concerned about photos from a bar than the fact that he could have seriously injured someone.”
Marcus shakes his head. “We’re discussing the media frenzy Wyn’s bloody nose has caused, Nico. Now isn’t the time to revisit yesterday’s race incident.” But he meets Nico’s gaze and adds, “However, your father called me this morning. He’s filed a formal complaint with the race director about yesterday’s Nitro crash.”
“Good.” The word escapes before Nico can stop it.
On screen, Karl’s brows arch. “You approve of your teammate being investigated?”
“Yes, Karl.” Nico speaks carefully. These are dangerous and murky waters. A lot of history between the Bettertons and Carlos Belmonte hides under their surface, not all of its edges softenedby time. “Because I believe in clean racing. Something myteammateseems to have forgotten exists.”
Junior scoffs. “That’s calledcompeting, Nico? Maybe you should try it some time.”
Nico’s world turns red and he steps away from the window. He’s sorely tempted to slam Betterton’s face into the conference table. Instead, he says, “Four Drivers’ Championships suggest I’ve figured it out.” He pauses. “But thanks for the career advice, drone boy.”
“Enough.” Marcus’s gaze pins Nico and it’s full of warning and entreaty. He knows how close his world champion is to committing homicide. “We need to present a united front. The press is already speculating about internal team conflicts.”
“Where is Damien?” Jürgen asks. “He should be here for this conversation,not Junior.” His disdain for the youngest Betterton is obvious.
“Dad’s in Monaco.” Junior’s face is more smarm than smile. “Meeting with sponsors. Who, by the way, love Wyn’s aggressive style. Makes for great television.”
Marcus stands and steps between Nico and the idiot. “This is what’s going to happen. Nico, you’ll make a statement supporting Wyn. Victoria will draft it.” Victoria Swan is WolfBett’s press officer. “I’ll get the telemetry for both cars from Heinrich, and Junior...”
“What?” The moron scowls like a sullen child.
“Try to keep Wyn out of trouble until his nose heals. And remind him that ‘no comment’ is a complete sentence, no embellishment needed or wanted.”
“I’m not his keeper. Harun can do that. I shouldn’t even have to be here, except Nico can’t fall in line, as usual.”
Karl scowls on the wall screen. “Junior, shut up, do as you’re told, and get the fuck out of this meeting.”
For a moment, the less-than-prodigal son looks like he’ll argue with his uncle. Then he pushes away from the table and stomps from the room. One would never guess he’s six years older than Nico. But everyone in that meeting knows the sordid history between that piece of shit and him. And Nia.
“Karl, we have an agreement about him.” Nico rarely loses his cool, but Junior Betterton’s mere presence boils his blood.
“Yes, we do, and I’m sorry, Nico. That won’t happen again.”
“What about Carlos’s complaint?” Jürgen asks.
“That’s for the stewards to consider.” Marcus meets Nico’s gaze. “Unless anyone else wants to file supporting evidence?”
The question hangs there. Nico thinks of Petra’s bruises and two years spent watching Wyn’s “aggressive style” escalate. And he thinks of the battle his father had with everyone in Formula 1 and how the Bettertons backed him when no one else would.
“No.” It takes all his substantial self-control not to snarl. “I’m sure the stewards will handle it appropriately. They always do.”
Marcus looks pained. “Alright. We’re finished here. Karl, Jürg, we’ll talk later.” He reaches for his laptop to end the conference call. “Nico, stay back a moment.”
When the screen goes black, Marcus sits back and studies Nico. “Your father taught you to race clean and respect your competitors. I know that. But right now, I need you to be a teammate.”
“Even whenmyteammate is wrong?”
“Yes.” Marcus sighs and suddenly looks older than his forty-six years. “Because otherwise, Graham Pritchard will make this about more than one incident. And you know who he’ll blame.” He shakes his head. “She made herself a target. Not that I fault her for it.” He looks up from beneath his brows and adds, “You did not hear me say that.”
Nico nods, and he understands the message Marcus has delivered. Graham will smear Petra because it’s easier thanadmitting his perfect son is the problem, and because all this drama makes for great TV. Which, for Graham Pritchard, equals money.
“Fine.” Nico straightens. “I’ll make the statement. But I won’t lie about what I saw on track.”
“Just be diplomatic.”
