❝What happened to us?❝
❝What happened? We grew up, Amaya.❝
𓈒 🏁 .* ⋆ ۪
A childhood best friends to lovers fic, where Amaya Varese struggles with being the only woman in a Formula One seat, as well as he...
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╰┈┈➤
𓈒 🏁 .* ⋆ ۪
Amaya took a deep breath from the backseat of the chauffer car she was in as it came to a stop beside Maserati's headquarters.
Looking out the heavily tinted windows, she could see a few employees already waiting for her inside the building, right by its sliding glass doors.
"Thank you," she quickly said to the driver before grabbing the door handle and pushing it open.
Instantly, a film crew crowded around her, microphones and large cinema-quality cameras surrounding her.
She blinked before standing up straighter on instinct.
A woman from inside the building had stepped outside to approach her, lightly guiding her by the shoulder.
"Aren't all news crew prohibited this close to the headquarters?" she asked the woman, who stood a little shorter than Amaya, as she waved her hand over her head to trigger the automatic glass doors at the entrance.
The woman looked up at her as Amaya glanced around, the cameras following them inside the shimmering, glass-plated building.
"Netflix, dear. They want to capture your first moments as an F1 driver." She said, calmly.
"You know, as the first woman to drive in F1 in a while, the footage will get them good money." She added with a chuckle, shaking her head as she waved off a camera guy who got too close, bringing the girl up a flight of curved stairs.
A few more employees followed behind them, chatting away in their own bubbles of conversation.
Amaya tried to ignore the film crew.
She was already nervous in the car, but as reality set in and the cold air-conditioned wind inside the building wrapped around her and brushed against her face, her hands started to shake.
"Oh." She replied simply, and the woman glanced at her, noting her features.
Amaya caught herself picking at the skin of her fingernails, and decided to ask the woman questions to distract herself, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
