Montero - Toto Wolff

3| The Monaco Tyre Disaster

Sun broke over the sleeping city of Monaco, old money seeping slowly through the streets via classic cars and generational wealth, whilst the newer money paraded itself through the Formula One drivers who were doing final preparations for the afternoon race.

You were doing the final prep on Bottas' car, making sure everything was where it should be, confirming the tyre pressures with the control centre. You avoided Toto's wandering gaze, and you didn't want to look at him either.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Out of nowhere, Liam appeared with a coffee in his hand and a wrench in the other, "You're walking oddly."

From the moment your alarm went off, you debated laying in bed for a while longer. There was no way you wanted to get out of bed, face the garage and Toto himself after what had happened.

When you got home last night, you realised you hadn't picked up your underwear, the lacy number resting on the World Champion's Bonnet the entire night until someone removed it, if anyone did.

"I hit my hip on a side table," You lied.

Liam laughed, "Of course," he paused, "Were you working late? I heard someone saying you had to lock up."

Your cheeks flushed red as you nodded. How could you forget such a simple fact? You were left to lock up which meant everyone knew you were the last person in last night. So if your underwear had been found-

Bono called your name, he was waving you over to sit between him and Toto, who was busying himself with paperwork.

"Excuse me for a sec," You mumbled, making your way between the other members of the team until you were at the control centre-styled island dividing the garage. You could see all of the people working on Lewis' car ahead of the race and wondered if they had seen the thong.

Toto looked over his shoulder to see you, and shuffled in his seat so that you had more room to sit between him and Bono.

"The tyre information suggests that the pressure dropped overnight, some slight issues with Lewis' chassis too, probably from yesterday's qualifying," Bono read off the screen displaying the driver's information.

What he said caused blood to rush to your cheeks with the thought of your boss fucking you filling your mind as you sat right next to him.

You nodded, "It only went down one percent, it's probably nothing too bad," your claim earned a look from Bono as he peered at you from over his glasses.

"You're right, but we need to keep an eye on it," He paused and leaned over you, "Remember what happened last time, Toto?" he joked and the Austrian to your left leant closer, his elbow propping himself up so he was leant around you.

He chuckled deeply, "I do, but I don't want to talk about it" he pinched the bridge of his nose and placed his other hand on the back of your chair.

"Didn't his car literally fall to bits?" You teased and looked directly at Toto who just remained plain faced.

Bono chuckled, "Be careful, Toto's still not over that, neither is Lewis." Bono patted your back and then excused you from where you had been sat.

You returned to Liam

-

"Valterri is coming in!" Liam announced and pulled the visor on his helmet down and grabbed hold of the wheel behind you.

Every time you had to use the wheel gun, you hated it. And now you were trying to not panic as you gave the gun a whir. You pulled your visor down and heard the approaching convoy of drivers trying to box.

"Incoming!" Someone announced and suddenly there was a wheel in front of your face and you moved without thinking.

But the wheel wouldn't come off.

You tried again, fully aware of the clock ticking down the seconds and the positions Valterri would be losing. You tried again, this time completely panicking over the fact that the wheel wouldn't come off.

"Fuck!" You yelled, reclining onto your thighs as you caught the driver's eyes in the mirror. "It won't come off!" You said to whoever could hear you and that was it.

The ignition was switched off, and your driver was out of the race. You knew you'd be in trouble for it, it would be the worst thing that's happened to you.

You thought back to the thong. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

By the time your thoughts caught up with reality, Valterri's car was back in the garage, and you were being called over to Toto Wolff.

His dark hair was raked back, a victim of his stressful hands, and his eyes tracked your movements towards him. His hands were on the table, balled in fists and his legs were spread.

Wolff gestured for you to come closer with his two fingers, and told you when to stop.

"What the fuck was that?" He spoke, calm and strong as he looked down at you. "You're embarrassing," he degraded as you stood strong, fully aware of the fact this conversation was being had in the middle of the busy garage.

You swallowed hard, "It was a faulty nut, not my fault, is it?" your hands shook in your pockets as you hit back, constantly battling in this personal battle of egos and power. Something he'd win.

"Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect!" He growled and stood up, his chest almost inches from your chin.

A laugh rippled through you, "I'd like to see you try," you squared yourself up to him and felt his hand grip your elbow.

"Outside, now." He warned and pushed you out of the Mercedes garage and into the Paddock.