Montero - Toto Wolff

19: Bonsoir, Toto

Silverstone Grand Prix, 2021

There were some things in life that were too difficult to fix, and as you stood in front of the mangled wheels of Lewis Hamilton's electric scooter, the feeling of doubt sat heavy on your shoulders.

You put the screwdriver down and looked up at the Seven-Time WDC holder, "There's no fixing this one, mate," you pitied, "I have no clue how you've managed to mangle the wheels like you have," the laugh that escaped your throat was gentle, authentic, and it softened the focused look that stuck on Hamilton's face.

"Ah," He paused, shifting his weight whilst looking down at the vehicle under your hands, "Thanks for your time," he said your name immediately after, something you'd never heard Lewis say recently.

After what happened with you and Toto in France... well, it's no doubt Lewis would try and avoid you.

[The French Grand Prix, Qualifying]

The Mercedes AMG-Petronas' Formula One Team's Principal, and man you were currently having an affair with, stood in front of the cameras, his eyes not meeting the lenses the press directed at him, but more through the gaggle of people lingering around the bull-pen. More specifically, he was looking for you.

Natalie Pinkham, a Sky Sports F1 reporter stood before him, bundled up in a coat as the rain drizzled over the track, her eyes following Toto's, "So Toto, is it safe to say both drivers are in with the chance of a podium tomorrow?" she asked him, though his focus was elsewhere as you stood chatting with Lewis.

The World Champion had just told you some shitty pirate joke, which currently had you holding your sides whilst you uncontrollably laughed to the point where your cheeks were a similar shade to the Ferrari livery.

Eventually, Toto had replied, but that was only the start of the burning jealousy throughout the weekend.

[The French Grand Prix, Race Day]

You woke up at the unsavoury hour of five in the morning, stumbling blindly through your accommodation before pulling on your exercise gear and making your way into the garage. Unfortunately for you, last night you had been locking up, which also meant staying on call just in case someone decided to come and work on the car through the night.

Lacing up your shoes, you took a deep breath and exited the garage door, locking it behind you as you stood in the pit lane by yourself.

Breath fogged before your face like remnants of your last conversation, you had hoped that Toto would take you for that date he had promised in Baku, but it had nearly been two weeks and he had barely made time for you.

With Max Verstappen leading the championship, and Red Bull leading the constructors after the previous race, it was no wonder everyone at Mercedes was working overdrive. They wanted their eighth consecutive constructors title, and with their successes came a long line of overtime.

You started your run, making your way down the pit straight and into the first corner of Circuit Paul Ricard, making a conscious effort to run on the balls of your feet so that your shins didn't hurt like last time.

The music blared through your headphones as you came towards the end of the first sector, turning blindly around the corner when your chin smacked straight into someone and sent you tumbling towards the ground.

"What the fuck?" You stated, now pushing yourself up off the floor whilst staring at the culprit who'd run straight into you.