midnight rain [f. colapinto]

t w e n t y - f o u r

Evita hated to admit how anxious she was for Franco's first press conference. At least when she was behind the reporter, she could prevent him from saying anything that would possibly ruin his career, but out on stage with Oliver Bearman and Zhou Guanyu, Franco was on his own.

Evita stood in the wings, massaging hand sanitizer into her palms. Out on stage, Oliver, a rookie subbing for one of the Haas drivers, was speaking about his experience driving in Azerbaijan last year.

"I like your hair," said a woman's voice off to Evita's left. Evita turned to see a young woman approaching her, an inviting smile on her face.

Evita mustered up a shy smile. "Thank you," she said.

"Like seriously, you're so pretty," gushed the curly-haired woman.

Evita felt herself turn red. "Thank you," she said, hoping the woman couldn't see her blush.

"I'm Genevieve," said the woman. Evita noticed she had an American accent. The familiarity made her miss Logan more than she already did. "Are you okay? You look a little stressed."

Evita noticed she'd been picking at her fingernails again. She quickly let her hands fall to her side. "I'm fine," she said. "Just a tense morning."

"I can imagine media days are stressful," said the woman. "You must work for the new driver."

Evita nodded. "Franco Colapinto," she supplied. She didn't know why she felt inclined to tell her the name of the driver she worked with, but she did anyway.

"Of course, I forgot his name," said the woman. "By the way, what's yours?"

"I'm Evita," said the Argentine.

"What do you do for work? You look like you're important," said Genevieve.

"I'm Franco's PR manager," said Evita. "I make sure he doesn't get into trouble. What about you?"

Genevieve wasn't wearing a team kit or anything, so Evita wasn't quite sure what she was doing in the backstage area, which was heavily secured. There was no way she could have simply wandered in. Genevieve laughed. "I'm not working. Well, not really. My dad works for Haas, and I help out on race weekends. I'm just here to help Ollie navigate the paddock."

"So you hang around just for fun?" asked Evita. It was a strange idea, coming to a race weekend for fun. She wondered what that was like.

"Pretty much," shrugged Genevieve. "I have nothing else to do today, so I'm babysitting."

Evita found herself laughing. "I've been doing quite a bit of that too."

"What's it like managing Franco?" asked Genevieve. "He's the one who was flirting with the reporter in Italy, wasn't he?"

Evita rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Oh don't remind me of that," she complained.

Genevieve winced. "Sorry, is that a touchy subject?" She paused, looking back and forth between Evita in the wings and Franco onstage. "Oh, that's why you're stressed."

"That's putting it lightly," said Evita.

"Do you get along?" asked Genevieve, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"I wouldn't go that far," said the Argentine. "Are you close with Ollie?"

Genevieve shrugged. "I've only met him a handful of times. He's a sweet kid though. Dad's excited to have him on the team next year, so that must count for something."

Evita nodded, trying to focus on the conversation instead of Franco's voice filtering towards the wings. She glanced over to him, catching the tail end of an answer to a question about Zak O'Sullivan, one of the Williams Academy drivers. Franco looked calm, but Evita could sense the ever-present charm lingering around him. She wondered how much of it was genuine.

Genevieve must have noticed her staring because she let out a small laugh. "You're really not a fan of him, are you?"

Evita blinked, her attention snapping back to Genevieve. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"We can save that conversation for another time," said the American, a light smile on her face. "But it seems like you two have a lot of history."

Evita's jaw tensed. "History is one way to put it."

"At least he seems like he's behaving himself today," said Genevieve, looking over Evita's shoulder to the stage.

"Barely," muttered Evita sourly.

Just then, the press conference wrapped up, and the three drivers headed off stage so the second group could begin. Franco caught sight of the girls talking and approached them.

"Ladies," he greeted them, his voice calm. His gaze lingered on Evita for a moment longer than necessary.

Genevieve smiled politely at the newcomer. "Nice job. Very professional."

Franco grinner. "I always do." He glanced at Evita, a sly smile on his face. "Well, most of the time. Depends on the company."

Evita rolled her eyes. "Are you done?" she asked him.

"We can be done," said Franco.

Evita turned to Genevieve, smiling at her new friend. "It was nice to meet you. We should hang out sometime."

The two women quickly exchanged phone numbers before Evita and Franco wandered out to the media pen. Once they were out of earshot, Franco leaned closer to Evita. "You and your new friend seemed to hit it off," he said lightly.

"Don't start," grumbled Evita. She looked straight ahead, though she could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

"What? I think it's nice. You could use more friends around here," he said, his tone a little too sweet to be natural.

"Yeah, because unlike you, I don't rely on good looks and charm to get people to like me."

"Oh, so you think I'm good-looking?" Franco raised an eyebrow.

Evita's face flushed. "That- that's not what I meant," she stammered.

"You're so fun to be around, you know that, right?" asked Franco. "You're a challenge."

"Just drop it, Franco," said Evita. "Come on, you have more interviews to do."