𝗻𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹 ━━━━ oscar piastri

01. the indecent proposal

Cherry Rivera marches toward the imposing McLaren HQ with fierce determination. Today is the day. She's been prepping for weeks, and now it's finally here — her shot at the promotion she's been working toward since she left Williams Racing last season after three years.

Her career began humbly, making tea for the guy who makes the coffee, but in three years, Cherry has clawed her way up through the ranks. Now, poached by McLaren, she's ready to be recognised for her genius.

The HQ is massive, its futuristic glass structure gleaming under the sunlight. A lake surrounds the building like a moat, which Cherry mentally notes to avoid at all costs. No dying today, she hopes.

Inside, people in suits and lanyards move with purpose, their hurried steps full of confidence. Cherry adjusts her bag and squares her shoulders, trying to mimic their air of importance. But just as she steps toward the revolving door, disaster strikes.

The heel of her shoe catches in the door's gap, sending her hopping like a startled flamingo. She fumbles, grabs the door, and manages to pull herself free — but not before the stiletto snaps clean in half and continues its merry ride in the rotating door.

Brilliant. Now she's standing in front of McLaren HQ in one shoe, holding the broken stiletto like she's Max Verstappen with his 2023 Hungary trophy. There's no time to fix it — she'll be late to the meeting. She eyes the clock, then her ruined shoe, and makes a split-second decision.

No shoes are better than one shoe. Right?

She slips off the other shoe, stuffs them both in her bag, and marches toward the elevators in her bright yellow SpongeBob socks.

As if the day couldn't get any more embarrassing, she notices someone watching her. A young man leans against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

Oscar Piastri. Of course.

"Bold look," he calls after her. "You'll definitely stand out."

"Dare to be different," she retorts, praying he doesn't see how mortified she is.

As she reaches the elevators, her mind races. This is fine. No one will notice. But as she walks into the meeting room, the stares tell her otherwise. The SpongeBob socks are a real conversation starter, if the whispers trailing behind her are any indication.

Lando Norris, sitting at the head of the table, grins. "Cool socks. I had the same ones, but my washing machine ate one. Now I have to wear Squidward on the other foot."

Cherry blinks, momentarily thrown. "Uh, thanks," she mumbles, feeling anything but professional.

Around the table, several men in smart shirts and loafers sit, looking like they've been waiting impatiently. At the far end, Zak Brown, the team ceo, sits with a bemused expression.

"He means hello," Zak says dryly, gesturing to the empty seat beside Lando. "Please, have a seat. We have a proposal for you."

He clears his throat and slides a stack of papers in her direction. "You've done some great work over the winter break, Cherry, and the folks down at Williams gave a glowing recommendation. Now, we're hoping you can help us with something a bit... unconventional."

"Unconventional?" Cherry arches an eyebrow.

Before Zak can answer, the door swings open, and Oscar strolls in, his presence commanding attention without the need for a wardrobe crisis. He takes the seat beside her, flashing a grin as if he hadn't just watched her nearly face-plant in the revolving door.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, not sounding very sorry at all.

Cherry struggles to keep up as Zak explains the situation. NDAs, reputation concerns, media fallout — it's all swimming in legal jargon, but one phrase stands out.