CHECKERED FLAG - c.l [2]

Progression

We were back in England now, I was second in the drivers championship, Max only 11 points ahead of me, there was an unannounced pressure in the air as I strolled through the garage at Silverstone, my home track.

It had been a year since the last time I had won here, for a British driver, or any driver at all, winning at Silverstone meant a lot more than just winning.

Silverstone was the home of motorsport, a track I had grown up driving on with my dad at the weekends, a sentimental value that I held very close to my heart, filled with memories I was yet to think about as I walked through the gate on Friday.

Amanda was at my heels as I peered at the amount of media huddled in front of the gates, waiting for me to give them any sort of acknowledgment.

Amanda hadn't been happy when she found out about my scene at the Ferrari dinner party, the headlines alone were enough to have her screaming down the phone at me for hours.

"You should have called me!" her voice cackled through the speakers of my car when I had called her from my home in England, the earliest she had replied.

"Amanda, I did call you," I almost narrowed my eyes at her as if she could've seen me through the phone, "we all called you, but you didn't reply," I had tried to defend as I waited for the gates of my driveway to open, I had been running late to a lunch with George.

"Well I was busy," she pretty much mumbled as I sighed, driving through the gates and checking the road for any on coming traffic.

"Look we'll speak about this on Friday at the track," I didn't wait for her to reply as I ended the call, racing off on the road, now 20 minutes late, George waiting for me.

And we did speak about it on Friday, she had shown up to my house this morning, grilling me for my unprofessional approach, which I again stated down to the fact she was not around for me to confined in.

"You have a fan stage appearance with George and Lewis in 20 minutes," she spoke as we walked past the huddle of cameras, all pointing towards me and Rosco who I had the pleasure of looking after that morning.

"Not going to grill me anymore for what happened in Monaco?" I smirked at her, referring back to the dinner as we walked into the Mercedes hub, saying hello to a few of the hospitality members.

"Do not remind me of the headache you constantly give me day in and out," she puts her elbows on the bar as I order us a coffee each, smirking at her while she massaged her temples.

"You love me really," I side hugged her and she groaned as if I was clenching around her, I laughed, shoving her away playfully.

"Good morning Miss Scott," Toto's voice flooded the room, my muscles tensing under my shirt as I dared to turn around and face him.

He too was upset with my appearance at the Ferrari dinner, but the past few races since had made up for it, but that didn't stop the tension from making me uncomfortable as I stood under his stare, feeling small.

"Hello Toto," I said watching as he nodded to the staff greeting him, "coffee?" I asked, showing him the cup that was in my hand, which I had order for myself, but thought it a semi peace offering.

She smiles, taking it from my hands as he took a sip, almost choking, "do you drink black coffee?" he narrows his eyes at me, peering through the lid, "only on race weekends," I smile at him truthfully.

He hums in response, nodding his head as he places his other hand on his hip, taking another sip but his face grimacing.

"Lovely day for practice today isn't it?" he said almost taunting me, I agreed with him, the sun shining through into the room, reflections of the glass casting rainbows over the floors and tables, the room a little too warm for my liking.