SO AMERICAN, lando norris

ONE, shifting gears

CHAPTER ONE,
shifting gears

Daphne Brown was exhausted—not the kind of exhaustion that a quick nap could fix, but the heavy, bone-deep fatigue that came from chasing time zones and losing. Her body ached with the weight of jet lag, her mind lagging half a day behind, caught somewhere between the relentless hum of an airplane and the stillness of her London hotel room.

Her father, Zak Brown, had flown her out without much preamble, insisting it was "time for a change of pace" after she announced her break from music. He'd framed it as a chance for them to reconnect, to spend time together beyond the brief phone calls and holidays they usually shared. Daphne hadn't protested too much—she loved her dad, after all—but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something more behind his eagerness. Especially when he mentioned brunch at McLaren HQ and promised her "big news."

The morning air clung to her skin as she stepped into the towering glass entrance of McLaren's headquarters. The building gleamed in the pale sunlight, sharp and futuristic, a place where speed wasn't just a concept but a philosophy. Daphne moved through it with quiet grace, dressed in her signature casual elegance: a snug black cropped shirt and jeans, paired with chunky boots that echoed softly against the polished floors. Her sunglasses shielded her tired eyes, and she clutched a vanilla iced matcha, its faint sweetness the only thing tethering her to wakefulness.

At the front desk, she flashed a polite smile. "Hi, is Zak Brown in?"

The receptionist glanced up, recognition softening her expression. "Yes, of course, Ms. Brown. His office is just down the main corridor. Go past the car displays, and you'll see his name on the door."

"Thanks," Daphne murmured, her voice smooth and unhurried. She followed the directions, winding her way through the maze-like corridors. The air inside the building felt electric, charged with ambition and the promise of precision. She passed rows of McLaren cars, their glossy exteriors polished to perfection, each one a testament to innovation and power. For a moment, she let herself pause, trailing her fingers lightly over the hood of a striking orange model, her reflection fragmented in the curves of its surface.

Finally, she reached her father's office, the door marked with his name in bold, minimalist lettering. She adjusted her sunglasses, took a long sip of her matcha, and knocked lightly before stepping inside.

The room was warm with familiarity. Zak was behind his desk, his larger-than-life energy filling the space, while Daniel Ricciardo was sprawled on the couch, his grin as effortless as ever.

"Daphne!" Zak's voice boomed, his face lighting up as if she'd just brought him the moon.

Her gaze darted to Daniel, and she couldn't help but laugh softly. "Danny, what a surprise," she said, her tone teasing. "Didn't expect to see you here. What's the occasion?"

Daniel leaned back, arms draped over the couch, his grin widening. "Me? I'm just here for the free food. Your dad promised me breakfast."

Daphne rolled her eyes, stepping further into the room. "Of course you are. Never change, Danny." She dropped into a chair opposite him, crossing her legs with an air of practiced nonchalance. "So, Dad, what's the plan? Please tell me you didn't drag me across the Atlantic just to watch Danny eat."

Zak chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Believe it or not, Daph, I had other motives. But first, how've you been? Really."

Daphne arched a brow, the edge of her lips quirking into a faint smile. "You're not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?"

"Would it kill me if I did?" Zak shot back, his tone light but meaningful. "It's been a while since we've had time like this. I want to hear what's on your mind."