𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 | 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛

03: baptism of speed

The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the paddock as Tatum made her way through the narrow corridors of the Benetton team's garage area. It was quieter than usual, but it was enough for her to be in the thick of Michael's world.

The roar of engines revving and the chaotic chatter of mechanics hadn't yet kicked off, making it the perfect time for her to take it all in.

Michael had given her a tour a few days before, walking her through the complex when the place was mostly empty, just a handful of crew members milling about. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm her-at least, that's what he said.

Though in truth, Tatum didn't need coddling.

She might have been new to the Formula 1 circus, but racetracks were hardly foreign to her. Still, she had appreciated his gesture. The paddock was a labyrinth of trailers, garages, and technical equipment. Getting a feel for it without the usual chaos was useful.

But today was different. She wasn't just a spectator or a childhood friend tagging along. She was here as Michael's assistant-responsible, accountable.

"No big deal," she thought sarcastically, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she scanned the organised chaos.

She had insisted on arriving separately from him. Something about showing up alone felt like a necessary rite of passage. Tatum didn't want to hide behind Michael's shadow or stroll in with the easy confidence of someone attached to a star. She needed to feel the thrill, the jittery excitement that came with diving headfirst into something huge.

Besides, there was a certain satisfaction in doing things her way.

Walking toward the Benetton garage, she took in her surroundings. The pit lanes and garages were slowly buzzing now with early activity. Men in overalls and grease-stained hands, worked like machines, preparing for what was to come. The acrid scent of burnt oil mingled with the sharp tang of metal and sweat, filling the air with a palpable energy. Even without engines revving, she could feel the hum of anticipation vibrating through the ground.

It was all so raw, so real.

She tugged at the collar of her oversized blazer. Despite the casual feel of the paddock, Tatum had dressed with intent. High-waisted mom jeans clung comfortably to her hips, paired with a simple but fitted tank top underneath. The oversized blazer gave her an air of ease but professionalism, and most importantly, her shoes were practical-comfortable enough for long hours on her feet. The multiple paddock passes around her neck signalled her importance.

Not that she needed them to feel like she belonged. Oddly enough, she didn't feel out of place. In a sea of mechanics, engineers, and drivers, she blended right in.

There was a strange calm that settled over her as she walked further into the heart of the paddock. Sure, her stomach fluttered with nerves, but they were the good kind-the kind that kept you sharp. Her eyes scanned the space, noting the organised chaos of it all. She smirked, remembering Michael's words from the night before.

"Just try not to trip over anything. I don't need you face-planting on the first day," he'd said, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

Tatum had laughed it off at the time, but now she rolled her eyes. God forbid she tripped over a tyre or slipped on oil. Her knees would never recover from the embarrassment.

She walked past the Benetton garage, noticing the logo emblazoned in bold colours, the hum of the crew already tinkering away at Michael's car. As if on cue, one of the engineers looked up, gave her a brief nod, and returned to his work.

There was no fanfare, no whispered chatter about her being Michael's assistant. Just a nod of recognition-she was a part of this now.

Tatum lingered at the edge of the paddock, eyeing a pair of young journalists eagerly setting up for interviews. They buzzed with excitement, no doubt hoping to snag a quick quote or some exclusive behind-the-scenes tidbit. She scoffed, knowing full well they'd soon become a pain in the ass. Just another part of the things she'd have to deal with.