Racing For Love

Chapter One

This wasn't how I'd envisaged the first morning in my new job going. I was covered in coffee from head to toe, and my new fancy office shoes were squelching as I headed to the ladies loos with a change of clothes. I was thankful that there was a large stash of branded clothes here - well, it was expected given that it's the head office of Bianchi Racing. Decked in the team's signature red, I took a deep breath and went back out.

I'd arrived just before 9.00 - perpetually early, I gave up waiting in my car, but I arrived to chaos. I spoke to the receptionist and told her I was here to see Ingrid, the hospitality manager - she just pointed to the slight, grey haired woman in front of me holding a clipboard with a frazzled look on her face.

"Hi, Ingrid? I'm Annie. I'm supposed to be meeting you at 9.30. Sorry I'm early"

"Yes yes, no problem. Can you make coffee?" a german lilt to her accent noticeable, and strangely comforting, despite the abrupt line of questioning.

"Yes, I can make coffees. Why?"

"Half of the team has been taken ill." Ingrid explained. "It seems there was an issue yesterday with some seafood, so we're extremely short staffed. The main management team is meeting this morning, and they need drinks. Machine is there and there's a list on the counter of their order. Oh, and thank you."

I went over to the machine. Of course it was a Bianchi model - famed not only for racing cars, but for the top line in coffee machines. Luckily, I spend two summers whilst at university working in a local café - honing my barista skills. I was a little rusty, but got the hang of it quickly, steaming milk with one hand and twisting dials to make espresso with the other.

Once I had completed the coffees on the list, I loaded them onto a tray, and tried to find Ingrid. She was nowhere to be seen, so I found the nearest person and asked where the management team were meeting. I figured that using my intuition this morning would stand me in good stead with Ingrid - she seemed like a no-nonsense person.

"They're down there, to your left. Be careful of the hallway with that tray" - the kind stranger offered, before going in the other direction. I pondered the suggestion - what could possibly be in a hallway to watch out for, but I realised that there was a small step, barely noticeable as I rounded the corner. Pleased to be over that challenge, I continued, concentrating on not spilling the drinks, before seeing what was surely the management team meeting in a light conference room with big glass windows.

As I looked across, I saw Lorenzo Bianchi - current F1 champion, and he smiled up at me, just as my foot caught. It turns out there was two small steps and though I successfully navigated the first one, I did not have the same success with the second. My foot twisted, and in trying to right myself, I managed to trip, muscle memory taking over and my arms folded in, tipping the tray up and all the coffees onto my chest and down my legs. I was perfectly positioned for the whole of the team to see what I'd managed to do, embarrassment flooding my face as I bent to pick up the cups. Of course Ingrid appeared at that moment shooing me away to get changed as she dealt with mopping the floor.

I came out of the toilets to see Ingrid who asked me to remake the drinks. She was warmer than I'd expected, reaching out to my arm and checking I had not burned myself. Bianchi machines make coffee to the perfect temperature of 91.5oc and my blazer had taken the brunt of the spill, protecting my skin from scalding. I went back to the coffee machine, thankful that I had left the list on the counter, but there was someone blocking me.

The machine was in what appeared to be a communal space, and since I'd not been introduced to anyone yet, I figured it must be someone who worked on this floor - nearly everyone seemed to be wearing Bianchi clothing, so the only identifying features seemed to be the sandy hair and broad shoulders. "excuse me" I politely began "I'm afraid I need to use the machine to make drinks for the management team. Would you be able to wait a minute?"

The man in front of me turned, and grinned - of course I now recognised him as Jono Campbell - the joker of the F1 circuit, and Bianchi's second driver. I gasped and apologised, embarrassment flooding my face and turning my ears pink for the second time in as many hours.

"Is this the list for the meeting? I've already made the first couple. Well, and mine" he said in a low voice, with a hint of laughter in it.

"Erm, yes it is. Thank you. Let me take over, thank you" I said. Fumbling over my words as, though I wasn't supposed to admit it, I was a little in awe of the handsome man in front of me, but I doubt he recognised me - I'd not been here for over three years.

"Sure thing, Annie Stephens" Jono smiled "Mine's the black coffee at the bottom of the list. Don't make me another one, or I'll be all jittery" wiggling his eyebrows and walking off.

It was a good job I had a lot to focus on, otherwise I would have been fangirling at the moment I'd just shared with Jono. I knew coming in to the Bianchi team, I would eventually see the drivers, but I didn't expect that just yet, especially since my role was supposed to be a junior position.

Coffees remade, I slowly and cautiously walked back to the board room, avoiding tripping this time. The meeting was underway with graphs being displayed on one white wall, and a table full of people. I went round delivering drinks and when I got to Lorenzo, he stopped me with another of his dazzling smiles and asked if I was ok, his fingers touching mine as he took the cup from me, a jolt of electricity passing through me. I muttered something - who knows what - trying to keep myself from blushing as Lorenzo looked at me with his dark, brooding eyes.

I turned back to the rest of the group, just as they began discussing the marketing for the following F1 season. I wasn't here in a marketing capacity in the slightest, but having just finished by degree in marketing and PR, I was interested to hear what they had to say. A stuffy older guy stood up and fumbled over a USB port before bringing up his presentation. My dissertation was a review of social media with the top F1 teams, and knowing how Bianchi performed, I wasn't surprised this guy was head of the department. As he ran through his latest strategy and figures, I could see that the socials were a small part of his plan, and this seemed short sighted in the modern climate, especially with the changes rumoured for the next season...but I wasn't here for this. I hung at the back sorting out the other refreshments, just as Ingrid had asked me to do, before I heard my name.

"Annie, it is Annie isn't it? Joe Stephen's niece? You're young - what do you think?"

Am I allowed to be offended by the young comment? I felt like I should be and my brain was whirring thinking about what to say before I realised that they were all looking at me waiting for an answer. It was Andrea Bianchi, the team owner who had asked me the question - I couldn't ignore this request.

"Oh, hello Mr Bianchi. Erm, well, I think you need more focus on your socials. Um, I would focus on video content, as this has the best engagement rate at the moment. Cross posted across various platforms, it picks up engagement from most of your key demographics. But the current plan is good, I'm sure." I hastily added the last part as I felt the marketing head's eyes bore into me at my response...whilst most of the people around the table are nodding, his face is like thunder.

"Mark, have you got room in your team for Annie? I think she would be a great asset. I'm sure Joe said you're into marketing?"

Mark, the apparent head of marketing responded curtly as I feel embarrassment flame again. Why is this happening to me? I specifically asked Uncle Joe not to say anything when I applied for the position here. I needed a stop-gap before I began my masters and a basic position with the hospitality team was exactly that. Of course it was my dream to be in an F1 marketing team, but I wasn't ready, and I didn't want to be here because of my connections, I wanted to earn it. I couldn't say no to Mr Bianchi, could I? He was the OWNER of Bianchi Racing.

"It's ok Mark, don't worry if there isn't" I try to reason.

"No, Mark wants you on his team, don't you Mark?" Mr Bianchi talks over me, gesturing for Mark to come across to me. "Annie, sit in the back and then you can go with Mark back to the marketing department once we've finished."

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to explain to Ingrid that on my first day, when she's already short staffed, that I'm now leaving her to join the marketing team...and it's not even lunchtime yet.