Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

s i x

Fia woke slowly, relishing the bright sunlight warming her skin, and then, all at once, her eyes flew open. She was aware of only one thing: the sun was too hot on her face for it to be six in the morning.

Her phone screen confirmed the worst-case scenario: she was running late—an hour late. Panic flooded her whole body. How could this have happened? When she'd got back to her apartment last night, she'd drunk two pints of water and had a couple of ibuprofens to stave off a hangover. Her alarm had been set for six—how had she slept in until ten? Unless...

She opened the clock app and saw that all her alarms were switched off.

"Oh my god," she whispered. She sat on the edge of her bed and put her head between her knees, letting herself fall apart for a minute. One minute was all she could afford. When her time was up, she dragged a brush through her knotted hair, cleaned her teeth and put some deodorant on, hoping she didn't smell too much like a brewery. Her uniform was freshly ironed, hanging on the back of the wardrobe door—a reminder of her good intentions and just how far off track she'd managed to veer.

She needed this internship and the job that might come after it, but she was sure she'd thrown all that away now. There was no way she could come back from this.

Unfortunately, when she reached the press office, things went from bad to worse.

"You're late," Silvia said in a clipped tone. Fia opened her mouth to apologise but didn't get the chance before an iPad was thrust in her direction. "Care to explain this?"

On the screen was a photograph of her, Charles and Carlos at the bar last night. None of them were looking at the camera; they must have been caught unaware by a rogue fan or paparazzi. Fia studied the image, wishing the ground would swallow her up. It seemed like they were in the middle of an animated conversation, their faces washed out by the camera's flash. On the table in front of them was an array of empty glasses. There was no denying it—they all looked wasted.

Fia opened her mouth, trying to formulate some kind of explanation. She could feel disappointment prickling in Silvia's gaze. "I—"

"It was my fault." Carlos came up behind her and shot her a glance that said keep quiet. She was more than happy to oblige.

Silvia raised a doubtful eyebrow, tapping her foot.

"A group of us went out last night, including staff from the different departments at Ferrari. I thought it'd be a good chance for Fia to get to know people, so I invited her," Carlos explained, unleashing the full charm of his big warm eyes. It must be hard to stay mad at him. "But it wasn't just that." He leaned closer to Silvia and dropped his voice as if imparting confidential information. "You know what Charles is like, always getting bad press exposure for being with this or that woman or getting too drunk." Silvia nodded and hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I asked Fia to do me—us—a favour and keep an eye on him. And let's just say I didn't take no for an answer."

Silvia looked between Fia and Carlos, gauging the truth of the story. Fia held her breath. Eventually, the older woman nodded. "I suppose this is the first time in a while we haven't had to do damage control for Charles after a night out. You must have done something right," she said to Fia. "Though I don't appreciate my staff turning up hungover. Don't let me find out you've been drinking before an important day at work again."

"It won't happen again. I swear."

Silvia pursed her lips. "Good. Now let's get to work."

____ 🏎️ ____

By the time Fia finished for the day and got back to her apartment, it was past seven p.m., and she was exhausted. Silvia had worked her to the bone, presumably as punishment. She deserved it; she'd nearly thrown everything away for the sake of a good time. Even though her boss had forgiven her, she sensed that all hadn't been forgotten – nor would it be any time soon. She needed to impress Silvia more than ever. Maybe Sadie had been onto something after all.