midnight rain [f. colapinto]

t h i r t y - t w o

The paddock was thrumming with energy as Evita arrived early on Friday afternoon. She was a few hours earlier than needed, but she had scheduled a meeting with Franco to discuss his most recent interviews. She balanced a plastic coffee cup, along with her bag and her media credentials. Evita slipped into the Williams motorhome, anticipating a nearly empty building.

Instead, she was greeted by at least fifty Williams employees, crammed like sardines in the main room of the motorhome. Alex stood at the front of the room, holding a singular cupcake, topped with blue frosting and a candle.

"Good afternoon?" she asked cautiously. "What's all this?"

"Happy birthday!" cheered everyone in unison. Then, they burst into song, a ruckus of off-key notes breaking Evita's peaceful moment.

Evita froze, her face falling. "Oh no. No, no, no," she muttered, burying her face in her hands as the team continued to sing.

When the song ended and calm was restored, Alex stepped forward, still holding the cupcake. "Happy birthday Evita," he said. "Make a wish!"

She glared at him, but she knew the expression of annoyance didn't quite meet her eyes. "You are the absolute worst, you know that?"

"But you love me anyway," said Alex.

Evita sighed, but leaned forward anyway to blow out that candle. The room erupted in applause.

"Alright," said Evita, still blushing furiously. "Don't you have cars to prepare or something?"

As the team dispersed, giving Evita well wishes as they left, Alex stayed behind. "Admit it: you loved it."

Evita narrowed her eyes at him. "Admit it: you just wanted an excuse to publicly embarrass me."

"Both can be true," said Alex. "But seriously, happy birthday. If anyone deserves a fuss made over them, it's you."

"Thanks, bro," joked Evita.

"Alright, Ev, get to work. Have fun at your make-out session, sorry, meeting, with Franco."

Evita groaned. "Go drive your car, Alex," she said, shoving his shoulder and heading to the small conference room where she and Franco had their meetings. "And, thank you for this. It was really sweet."

The conference room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft tapping of Evita's fingers against the keyboard of her laptop. The door clicked open, and Frnaco walked in. He looked a little flustered, his team jacket only half zipped, and carrying a coffee cup and a paper bag. "Hey," he greeted. "I'm not late, am I?"

Evita barely lifted her head in acknowledgment, her gaze still focused on her notes. "No, just in time," she replied.

"Happy birthday," said Franco. "Sorry I missed that thing Alex organized. I got a little turned around in the subway after I picked these up for you."

He placed the coffee cup and the croissant next to Evita's laptop.

Evita glanced up. "Thanks," she replied. She made no move to grab the drink, instead continuing to type on her computer as if Franco wasn't there.

He stood there for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. "Are you okay, Evita? You seem a little, umm, colder than usual."

"I'm fine," said Evita.

"I know you're not big on parties," said Franco. "Is that what's going on?"

Evita refused to admit it, but he was right. He was always right when it came to her. Somehow he always knew how to read her, and she wished it would stop. She hated that he knew that she was acting strange because the whole celebration made her anxious. Evita never wanted to be the center of attention, but yet, she had been. And Franco knew it was a problem.

"We can reschedule the meeting if you want," said Franco. "I don't want you to yell at me."

"I'm not going to yell at you," snapped Evita. She took a deep breath and sipped her coffee. "I'm sorry, that was rude. Let's just get this over with."

Franco's eyebrows knit together with confusion and concern. He took a seat next to Evita, so he could see her notes over her shoulder. "Alright, what's first?"

Evita scrolled up to the top of her document. "What the hell happened in Baku with the DAZN reporter? How many times do I have to tell you, do not flirt with the people interviewing you."

"There's the Ev I know," said Franco, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

Evita glanced at him, her mouth curling into a hint of a smile. She looked away, studying her notes in an attempt to ignore Franco's piercing gaze.

"Focus, Franco. We have a job to do." She tried to sound firm, but the softness in her tone betrayed her once more.