Starting from the Pit lane - Lewis Hamilton

Cameraman

Melissa had fun after all and was happy, even though she had to go back to that horrible, far away hotel.

The morning of the race arrived and she went all out. She would also have had the chance to stay in the Ferrari's box, which was a great leap in quality.
She put on a long black jumpsuit, quite formal, with a white half-sleeved bodysuit underneath to cover the cleavage and to keep warm. She fixed her curls with hairspray and put on quite flashy red lipstick, which is why she only put mascara on her eyelashes.
She reached the paddocks early and began to write down everything she saw around her. She spoke to some pilots and chased them like a fly chases fruits. Verstappen told her that he would definitely win and she also wrote down the commas, Perez didn't answer any of her questions and just smiled at her and wrote that down too. She met the Ferrari drivers but did not have time to receive an adequate response. The only ones she had interacted seriously with were those at Williams, Alfa Romeo and McLaren. She wasn't very satisfied but there was worse to start with, in the end she was quite satisfied with her work.

The race began and she didn't understand much. Or rather, she understood what was happening but she didn't understand the emotion other people felt watching that sport. She wrote down everything about that race. Melissa was always writing, her eyes going back and forth from the screens to the pen.
At one point, a car with the number 44 on it was pushed away by Perez's Red Bull, losing the podium. They gave a penalty to the red bull but Mercedes was no longer able to compete. She saw a man get out of the car and mime some fairly clear insults. She understood the disappointment, she had noticed that he was competing for the podium and had already secured it but the accident had ruined the car and he was no longer able to race.
She knew there was a lot of money behind that job but she never expected that a pilot's personal ambition could take over so much. Also because the team always comes before the individual driver, she learned this immediately.
After a while she sneaked into the Mercedes stable and recognized the driver's suit. She saw a man about 40 years old, with dark skin and with braids. He was turned three-quarters and she couldn't see his face clearly. He was studying the footage of the accident.

-No, that's not right. He deserves more than 10 seconds of penalty-
He had a strong English accent, and even though he was arguing with his engineer, Melissa understood 90 percent of the words he slurred out of his mouth. He didn't have a particularly deep voice but he had a nice timbre.
At a certain point Lewis turned and saw an attractive young woman quickly writing on a piece of paper
-Hey you! Who are you? What are you writing down, uh?- he approached her and snatched the notebook from her hand.
He tried to read but couldn't translate what was written.
Lewis Hamilton, number 44. Historic Mercedes driver, born and raised in England.
Melissa wrote everything in Italian, even what she overheard in english from the pilots.
He gave her the notebook back, visibly annoyed, and asked her again what she was doing there.
She showed off impeccable English, with a hint of an accent, but it was so subtle that anyone would have had to pay a lot of attention to notice it.
-Look, since you're being a know-it-all, cut short your pizza accent and get out of here as fast as you can. We don't need journalists, not now and definitely not here-
-Actually for me it's an internship, I won't sell any articles- she said with a calm tone and a warm voice.
-Sorry, my bad.- he smiled and took his own hands -I forgot to tell you that I absolutely don't give a shit about who you are, what you do and why you do it. Out. Now. Can't you see that there are people here who really work in the evenings? - he pointed to the team behind him while he burned her with his gaze.
Melissa, who in her life had had to deal with many, too many, men who underestimated her for her good looks, couldn't hold her tongue -Look, chocolate, I'm trying to work seriously here. I did everything I could not to disturb, I stayed quiet and didn't intrude, I limited myself to writing down what was around me and, perhaps, if I had looked in the mirrors you could have let Perez pass and then ask for the position back-
-What did you call me..- he interrupted himself – YOU come to tell ME to look in the mirrors and – he chuckled, breaking the cutter again – do you listen to yourself?- he looked at her with wide eyes.
He took her arm and dragged her out
-Leave me- -Don't touch me- she told him but he didn't let go. He wasn't hurting her but he was using enough force that there was no way for her to break free. Once down the steps he "pushed" her, very gently actually, away from him and threw the notebook at her. –and fuck you, I don't want to see you here anymore-.

Melissa turned around in disbelief. "C'mon" she gathered her things "What place did I end up in" she put everything in her backpack and set off towards the Ferrari box. They lent her some headphones and focused on her for a second.
Hamilton saw her and his blood boiled in his veins. However, Melissa owed a lot to her appearance, in fact, the shot had made many men in the editorial office "fall in love" and in no time she had already found herself alongside professional journalists.
She absolutely didn't ask questions to the interviewees but wrote everything down, even the ways in which the questions were asked.
Then she found himself alongside a professional journalist, very kind, and they chased some pilots together.
And they found themselves interviewing Hamilton.
The English journalist was accompanied by her TV, therefore, she had a cameraman who chased her everywhere and filmed everything. Lewis, as soon as he recognized the little Italian girl, glared at her and was about to leave but the camera pinned him to the journalist's questions. When he saw that she was a serious woman, he stayed and answered the technical questions seriously, albeit in an angry tone. Then, suddenly, the Italian accent cut the air –From now on will you focus more on defense or will you continue in an attacking position?- the journalist smiled at the girl but Lewis glared at her out of the corner of his eye
–I just answer to serious questions - and left.
Melissa muttered -stronzo- and unfortunately was caught live but, luckily for her, English television wouldn't give any weight to it. Nobody would have understood.

In the evening she returned to the hotel because the next morning she would already have to leave with her team to reach the Monza circuit while the riders would arrive after a couple of days.
She removed her makeup and put on an XXL t-shirt and pajama pants. She put her hair up in a braid and sank into the covers, tired, exhausted, still a little sour but overall happy with her experience.