GIMME!GIMME! | Lando Norris

Fifteen ✨

The office was buzzing with all the arrangements for the first Grand Prix of the year, but, try as she might, Isabela couldn't really shake the weight of the day's events off her shoulders. Coming into the role, she knew she was going to face some challenges; she just never thought she would get so attached to the person she was supposed to be managing. Granted, she was never a fan of romantic PR relationships—people liked authenticity, and nowadays, the internet could spot from a mile away what was forced and what wasn't. But it would be a complete lie if she said that her displeasure with the proposal had nothing to do with the bubbling feelings she was starting to develop.

After lunch, she went straight to the meeting room to meet with Steve and Mark, both of whom welcomed her with warm greetings, the latter surprising her a bit. He was way too happy to see her—something was definitely off. Nevertheless, the meeting started, and for the better part of two hours, they were just discussing strategic event attendances, possible brand deals for both boys, and potential VIP guests for different events and occasions. Mark was also informed that, in Steve's absence, Isabela would be the one in charge, and seeing the frustrated look on Mark's face made the whole meeting a little bit more enjoyable for Isabela.

As they moved through the topics and the slides projected, they finally came to the one Isabela was dreading the most. She took a deep breath and tried to keep a calm and composed demeanor.

"Right, here we are," Steve said, settling on a slide that displayed a grainy photo of Lando leaving a club. Isabela felt her chest tighten as she recognized herself in the background, her face partially obscured by her hair. Another slide appeared, this time showing them strolling through London—the moment she'd suggested going to her favorite hidden bar. "As we can see, this is less than ideal. The media is already speculating, and it's... not great."

"I can imagine. I mean, have you looked at her?" Mark leaned forward, his expression smug. "She's brave, I'll give her that... I wouldn't even think of going out of the house without shedding a few pounds if I looked like that."

"Although I think that comment is very much out of line and uncalled for," Steve glared, his tone dripping with condescension, "she doesn't fit the profile of the type of woman we'd want him associated with. You know, not exactly... polished enough."

Isabela felt the blood drain from her face. Her fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, and she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. They didn't know it was her in the photos. They couldn't know. But their words still cut like glass.

"But do you really think a PR relationship is the best way to go?" Isabela finally said, the firmness in her tone surprising even herself. "Recent studies show that the public has a bigger chance of relating to and supporting a brand or person if they are authentic."

"But it's not really faking it, considering it's someone from his past," Steve continued, flipping to the next slide, which featured a carefully curated paparazzi photo of Lando and Magui in Monaco. "Magui fits the profile; she's beautiful and already familiar to the audience, and we've worked with her agency in the past. I was thinking of reinstating the PR relationship. It worked well before; no reason it won't work again."

Steve nodded in agreement. "We'll frame it as rekindling an old flame. The fans will eat it up, and it'll divert attention from these... unflattering photos."

Isabela's stomach twisted into knots. She wanted to scream, to stand up and tell them how disgusting their comments were—how blind they were to the humanity behind their "profiles" and "optics." But she couldn't. Not without revealing herself and risking her job. So she tried, for one last time, to reason with them.