Saturday, September 1st, 2018- Monza, Italy
Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza
"I need to speak with you now," the voice coming from behind you still managed to make a shiver of disgust and fury run down your spine, even now, when you'd long since learned to deal with it and the man attached to it.
You turn, the hand not holding your phone to your ear gesturing for him to give you just a moment and then you'd be right with him, a professional smile plastered on your face in an effort to hide the expression of pure hatred that sat just beneath, threatening to spill out across your features if you weren't careful.
"No, now," Jos doesn't wait, doesn't restrain himself to the confines of polite behavior, just snatches the phone from you and hits the end button, then slamming it down on the counter beside you.
It's unavoidable, uncontrollable, the way you have to squeeze your eyes shut and your fists clench at your side, since it takes everything in you to not cause a scene right there in the middle of the garage. There are only two things that save you from that, from giving him a piece of your mind right that very moment, cameras be damned, which is the fact that behind his head, the clock on the screen informs you it's exactly two minutes into Q2 and that there is a little blue eyed, blonde haired little girl in his arms.
"Where did you get a child?" The question is popping out of your mouth before you can catch it, too surprised by the sight of Jos with such a delicate toddler in his arms that all reason momentarily abandons you. She's decidedly too young to be his second daughter Blue, who had to be nearly four or five now, while this girl couldn't have been more than two. They did look enough alike to give you pause though, the mystery child and Blue, their hair and eyes similar to a nearly chilling level.
"Don't ask questions, just here. Take her," without any further to do, Jos shoves the child into your arms, instantly looking happy to be free of the burden. She looks confused and slightly wounded by the abrasive gesture, glancing back and forth between your face and Jos looking for some kind of explanation, her blue eyes framed by pale, fluttering lashes spread wide and her tiny pink lips with their over pronounced cupid's bow pouted unhappily.
"It's okay," you tell her comfortingly, trying to soothe the fear held in her small face, "I don't like him much either. I'm much nicer than he is."
"What's her-" you change tactics mid-sentence, redirecting the question to the child now looking up at you with interest. "What's your name, lovey?"
"Kaia," is all she offers, her little fragile accented voice threatening to give out at any moment.
"That's a pretty name," you tell her with a bright smile, this one more genuine than what you'd managed to muster up to throw at Jos earlier. "How'd you get here?"
"She's Max's."
"She's what-"
"Under no circumstances is he to hear a word of this, to catch a glimpse of this, until qualifying is over," Christian Horner looks like he's about two seconds away from stroking out right here in the middle of the garage as he interrupts what he must have instantly known was about to get entirely out of hand, the heavy glare maintained between yourself and Jos already speaking of the fight that was primed to properly kick off.
"I won't have any of it in my garage until that clock," Horner jabs a finger at the qualifying countdown ticking away behind him, "has run all the way out. Do I make myself clear?"
"Christian," Jos starts, clearly vexed by the Red Bull principal's tone of voice, entirely unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way by anyone.
"I. Will. Not. Have. It." Horner takes several steps in Jos's direction, the threat in his voice and the finger raised warningly, utterly unwavering. "You've caused enough problems for today and there are more still to come once Max is out of the car. I'd save your strength and that attitude of yours for later on when you explain yourself to your son."
