𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝑡𝑜𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑙𝑓𝑓 𝑓𝑖𝑐

3. juliet's hit list

iii. juliet's hit list

I will make a hit list, and Christian Horner will be at the top of it.

While he's an amazing and competent team principal, the absolute fool decided to deter that statement when he pulled Daniel out of the last-minute interview. He tried to explain what happened, he really did, but it would have been nicer if he paused for a second instead of pulling the Australian from the scene while his mouth was saying fuck all. Now, the Red Bull seat's empty; the only thing that's being filled is my temper.

Sebastian Vettel's time for media is already over, and as much as I would like to pull him back once more, it is better to leave him resting. Or rather, it's best to leave him on his free practice. It turns out engines can fuck up your game one way or another. Christian Horner's outburst post-Austrian race showed it, and it's not anything that I can blame on the team principal.

Still, Daniel is absent right now, so I want to strangle Horner with my two hands.

Horner must have superb hearing because when the string of curse words began to slip out of my mouth, he returned with Daniel jogging behind him.

Horner acts before I can open my mouth by shooing Daniel off to his seat in front of the waiting cameras with Lewis, Kimi, Jenson and Fernando.

Feeling slightly relieved, I turn around to express my irritation toward Christian, zeroing in on him like he's a culprit. He looks guilty for a second and tells me, "Minor problem with his car."

"Is it something to be solved with his... I dunno, the engineers? Before you know... you approach him before his interview?" I point out, watching as he sighs exasperatedly. Surprisingly, he does not say anything besides a mutter of apology as he walks away. I call him quietly and say, "Team principals interview in an hour, Christian."

He waves it off and continues to walk away. If this man is the same man my father works with, I understand why he gave me this job. He's a headache.

From what I know, I'm not the only one to suffer from him. I did not think of it until I felt a towering figure next to me. He completely diverts my attention from my newfound migraine by standing beside me. My eyes which were once glaring at Christian, softened at the sight of Toto Wolff.

"Mr. Wolff–" my mouth shuts at the frown that quickly appears on his face as I correct myself, "Toto."

"Tilly, it is great to see you here," he greets me.

We can't speak aloud as the drivers are already answering questions. But the exchanges of smiles and the question, "How are you handling the practice day?" has taken our attention away from our drivers, our conversation turning into a series of questions about... things in general.

I can't remember each question, but with each answer he provides, my brain takes them in.

"You've mentioned you live in the country," he says as I nod in confirmation. He asks, "How far of a trip did you make just to get here?"

I'm unsure if my answer will put me on a list of "fucking idiots who does not know how to control their mouths," but I hear myself say, "Don't tell me you want to get on my bed that quickly."

The slap of my hand catches the attention of the people near us–it's either that or the gasp that did it. Either way, I cannot believe I'm this stupid to embarrass myself in front of... Toto?

I certainly did not embarrass myself, I tell myself while I watch Toto's face turn red and chuckle. He laughs at it like it's funny. Like he hadn't expected me to say such things because of how flustered I was during my last encounter with him.

But it isn't just his face that caught my attention. The softness of his laugh almost had me kneeling in front of god. The last time I saw him at that 24-hour race in Dubai reminded me so much of how he is now, except more mature. He aged. But I'll be damned if I don't admit that he aged like wine.

But as I'm thinking of Dubai, I suddenly ask myself: Did he remember me, too?

As always, his voice diverts my attention from my doubts and insanity back to reality. I look up to see the redness of his face fading, his smile expressing nothing but amusement as he says, "I'm more of an old-fashioned kind, Tilly."

"Is that right?" I find myself saying. Oh great, more ways to embarrass yourself.

"I suppose," he teases, "I like to woo the lady first. I don't mind how long it'll take me to get there, but waiting would be worth it."

Our banter (do I even call it that?) is interrupted by the realization that we're still in the media pit and that the drivers are already thanking the journalists and photographers after their interviews.

I cannot say any more because Daniel's already on his way to approach me with a call, "Lady Boss!"

I turn to face him, his cheeky grin infectious as he asks, "How did you like my Aussie charm?"

Shit. I didn't even watch him fully. I was busy drooling over–

What kind of lie would I make up? Wait, no–

"I didn't know Aussies are charming, Daniel," I jest, laughing while I berate myself for sounding a little nervous. "Brits are lovelier, you know?"

"Austrians do it best, right, boss?" I can hear Lewis teasing his team principal. I turn around, watching as Lewis snickers at his boss' silence. Lewis wags his brows at me before he approaches and wraps his arm around me for a quick, tight embrace. He pulls away eventually, "He'd tell you more, but we've the practice to do."

"Stop stealing my Lady Boss from me, Hamilton," Daniel jokes, pulling me away from my thoughts as I shake my head. I pass it off as an expression of disagreement.

"Yeah, uh huh," Lewis nods as if letting this banter pass before he looks at Toto. The man still stares at me, and I'm not even scared. Intrigued, in fact. I'm on my way to becoming a shareholder of his rival team, but I'm here ogling him like it's a modern Romeo and Juliet.

Ugh.

"Third free practice, Tils," Daniel nudges me as I nod, finally turning away from the older man as I bid my farewell to the driver and team principal of the other team one more time.

I tell Lewis, "I'll see you at dinner tonight?"

Toto, catching the question that escapes my mouth, turns to look at Lewis with a surprised look. Oh no, I don't mean like that.

Lewis, however, cheekily grins and says, "If you're done giving my team principal the heart eyes, then sure–"

"Alright, we're heading out," I hear Lewis burst out in laughter as I drag Daniel out of the media room, thanking and nodding at each media staff member we pass.

Daniel seems interested in what he's heard but chooses not to say anything until we return to the Red Bull zone. He turns to me with a smirk and says, "You know, Tils, with the amount of berating that Horner's taken from you, we would have assumed you'd be married or something like that."

I glare at him, only for him to say, "But Seb and I were wrong– and I'm hardly wrong at these things. Maybe you really do hate Horner because of Wolff."

I roll my eyes at this as he continues to joke, "Horner's a good team principal–"

I immediately interrupted him, "But nobody can be equally competent and attractive as Wolff. So, I suggest you keep it shut before Christian gives me shit for fraternizing with his enemy. I've barely fraternized, but his mouth would say otherwise."

He mimics a zipper over his mouth as he promises to keep it silent. But knowing him for almost a month or so of being at the headquarters, he won't leave my obvious schoolgirl crush down. He and Lewis already found a weapon to use while I sit with them during dinner.

And if they continue on with it, I'll make sure that they're written in the hit list as second and third.