GIMME!GIMME! | Lando Norris

Twelve ✨

For someone who spent the majority of her adult life so far working with social media, Isabela felt like an idiot—of course people would find her socials before she was able to private them, and of course, they would have a field day in the comments of the videos and clips from the short interview with her, Lando, and Oscar.

"She's not even that pretty. Lando can do better."

"Gotta hate when girls don't know their place."

"Losing a little bit of weight wouldn't kill her, would it?"

She knew better than to let anonymous strangers get to her, but the overwhelming tide of negativity was impossible to ignore. And, to add salt to the injury, Mark had texted her a very fun, encouraging, and comforting message: "You've really outdone yourself, haven't you? Let's see how you handle what's coming next week."

So, Isabela resorted to the only thing she knew would make her feel better—texting a friend, getting herself looking like a million dollars, and drinking the night away.

She only had one dress that fit the occasion—a sparkling black dress that she had gotten for the McLaren Christmas dinner—that she paired with a knock-off pair of black Versace Medusa Aevitas pumps. After downing half a bottle of white wine while doing her hair and makeup, she had the bright idea—the first of many "bright ideas" that would follow her night out—to text none other than Pietra.

And that's how she found herself, dressed for the club, on a train to London, slightly drunk, on her way to a night out in a different city with a girl she had only met once. After all, you only live once, and, honestly, if people wanted to talk about her, at least she would give them good reasons to—at least, that was what her slightly inebriated self kept on reminding her. She was just a girl living her fanfic main character's life.

When she arrived, P was waiting for her outside the Oxford Street train station in a sleek black car, leaning out the window with a grin. "Ready to party?"

Isabela quickly slid into the passenger seat and, for the briefest of moments, she felt insecure—Pietra looked effortlessly pretty in her satin dress. "I hope you know where we're going because I sure don't."

"Don't worry. I know all the best spots." P laughed, starting the car. "Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of us becoming besties, but why the sudden call?"

"I needed to get out, like... I need a distraction. A big one," Isabela said, her voice firmer now. "I'm sorry if it made you feel weird or uncomfortable. We can call the whole thing off."

"Nonsense, we are going out," P's tone shifted to one of concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Not really," Isabela admitted, pulling the visor down to check her lipstick. "Mark, the other PR manager at McLaren, is being Mark, the internet hates me, and I just... I don't want to think about any of it tonight."

"Say no more," Pietra said, smiling comfortingly at her. "But if you need to talk about it, I'm here."

Isabela gave the girl a small smile back, and they understood the small agreement made in the car—they were going to be there for each other. The city pulsed with energy as they arrived at an upscale bar tucked away on a side street. Inside, the space was alive with music, a DJ spinning beats that seemed to sync with the thrum of Isabela's heart. The neon lights painted everything in shades of electric blue and pink.

P grabbed Isabela's hand, dragging her toward the bar. "Two tequila shots to start!" she shouted over the music.

"Two?" Isabela echoed, wide-eyed.

P smirked. "Trust me."

The burn of the tequila was sharp, but it lit a fire in Isabela's chest that felt more alive than anything had all day. By the third shot, she found herself on the dance floor, laughing as P twirled her around dramatically.

Two hours later, Isabela and P were deep into the chaos of the dimly lit London club, the air thick with pounding bass and the scent of spilled cocktails. Isabela was well past tipsy, her laughter loud and uninhibited as P pulled her onto the dance floor.

Another round of tequila arrived at their table, and Isabela downed hers without hesitation. The liquid courage dulled the edges of her insecurities, replacing them with a reckless abandon she hadn't felt in years. For once, she wasn't the PR professional managing crises or the girl worried about her place in the world—she was just a woman dancing her frustrations away.

But as the night wore on, it became clear to P that Isabela had crossed the line from carefree to completely hammered. She leaned against the bar, her words slurred as she gestured animatedly about something P couldn't quite follow.

"Okay, babe," P said, gently prying the empty glass from Isabela's hand. "I think it's time to call in some reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?" Isabela echoed, swaying slightly.

P sighed, pulling her phone from her purse. A quick call later, she leaned into Isabela's ear. "Max and Lando are coming. Just... don't pass out before they get here."

By the time Max and Lando arrived, Isabela was perched on a barstool, laughing loudly at nothing in particular. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed. Lando's eyes immediately sought her out, his brows furrowing in concern as he approached.

"Isabela," he said, placing a steadying hand on her arm. "What's going on?"

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes glassy but still warm. "Lando! You're here!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her, gently peeling her off.

"You've had enough, Izzy," he said firmly. "Let's get you home."

"Nooo," she protested, a pout forming on her lips. "I'm having fun."

"Fun can wait," Lando said, nodding at Max and P, who gave him a knowing look and stepped aside to let him handle her.

He guided her outside, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. She stumbled slightly, and he caught her, his hands firm but gentle on her waist. She tilted her head up to look at him, her expression softening.

"You're always so nice to me," she murmured. "Why?"

"Because you deserve it," he said simply, his blue eyes meeting hers.

Her lips curved into a wobbly smile. "You're really pretty, you know that?"

He chuckled, his ears tinging pink. "Thanks, Izzy. Let's get you in the car."

In the car, Isabela leaned her head against the window, her mind swirling. The shadows of doubt lingered, but Lando's presence made them feel less daunting. She glanced sideways, catching his profile in the glow of the streetlights.

"Lando?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah?" he replied, glancing at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

"You're kind of my favorite person right now," she confessed, her words slurred but sincere.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're drunk, Izzy. Get some rest."

But his smile lingered, even as he focused on the road ahead.