Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

t h r e e

Fia's encounter with Charles played on her mind constantly during her Ferrari factory tour the next day. She was supposed to be getting to know the engineers, learning about what they did and how they did it, but all she could think about was how small he'd made her feel. Or tried to make her feel. She'd had enough practice with people like that at university to develop a thick skin.

It was no secret that unless you were exceptionally lucky, the only way to succeed in F1 was to be rich or famous enough to attract sponsors. Fia loved the thrill of watching a race and witnessing outstanding driving, but she'd never given much thought to the people sitting behind the wheel and what they might be like. It's not as if she'd ever expected to meet them.

Silvia had informed her that the demonstration was due to start at two p.m. that day. After the factory tour, she left the journalists and headed back to the press office half an hour early, expecting to travel to the circuit with her boss, as they'd discussed earlier that morning. But when she arrived, the building was empty. She checked every room and found nobody.

"I'm doomed," she muttered, heading back into the midday sun. The circuit was a short drive away in Fiorano Modenese, and Fia didn't have a car. She also didn't have Silvia's phone number.

"That's a bit dramatic," a voice said from nearby.

Fia shielded her eyes against the glaring light and saw Carlos Sainz walking towards her. He wore a big smile on his face that radiated warmth. "I'm Carlos," he said, holding his hand out for her to shake. Even if she hadn't known who he was, his bright red racing suit plastered with the Ferrari and Shell logos was a dead giveaway.

"Fia."

"Nice name. Is it Italian?"

She shook her head. "Irish."

Fia's dad was from Dublin and had insisted on giving her a traditional name. Her mum, however, had objected to the Irish spelling—Fiadh—because most English people wouldn't know how to say it, and other children might make fun of her for having an unusual name. In the end, they'd agreed on a simplified version: Fia.

Part of her wished her father had won that particular argument. It felt like another part of him she'd lost.

"Well, Fia, judging by how lost you look, I'm guessing you're new to Silvia's team."

"That obvious, huh?"

Carlos removed his sunglasses and met her gaze. She'd never noticed in interviews how lovely his eyes were; any woman would kill for those lashes. "Not at all," he laughed. "But she's famous for her sink-or-swim approach."

"And I look like I'm sinking."

"Not sinking," he backtracked. "Maybe flailing around a little bit."

Fia couldn't help but laugh. "Pre-sinking," she said.

"Exactly. Luckily for you, I'm about to head over to the test circuit. I can give you a ride."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He gestured for her to follow him. "I'm warning you, though; I drive fast."

"If you can drive fast enough to make time go backwards so I'm not late on my first day, that'd be great," she said, only half joking.

"I'm good," said Carlos, unlocking his car, "but I'm not that good."

"Of course, you drive a Ferrari Competizione." Fia ran her hand along the bonnet, admiring the matte paintwork. It was a beautiful machine. "Reckon I can get one of these now I'm part of the team?"

"You're into road cars?"

"Only the fast ones."

Fia and Carlos smiled at each other and climbed in. It was nice to meet someone easy-going and polite—the exact opposite of Charles. She wondered how they got along as teammates when they seemed so different.