Close Call

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It was approaching three in the morning. Nicholas had been out all night with friends and needed a break from their obnoxiousness. He decided to leave the bar and walk himself back to his hotel. He was staying at the most luxurious hotels in all of Monte Carlo. He hated it. He hated the fame. Hated money. Hated being looked up to. Tears began to form while thoughts of fame and money clouded his head. 

*ZOOM* 

A black Ferrari with the number 16 written on the side flew past Nicholas almost hitting him.

Nicholas began running after the Ferrari, cussing and screaming. The Ferrari must have heard him and stopped 20 feet ahead of Nicholas. 

A tall man with dark brown hair and glasses graciously got out of the car. 

Nicholas, still angry, began running toward him, about to punch him in his-

His dimples. They were the first thing he noticed. Then... the hair.... the glasses...and.... the face. 

This was not just any man. This was Charles Leclerc. 

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