I tried not to let that affect me, pulling into a higher gear.
Most people I worked with liked to make donations and be seen leaving the building, strategically showing just enough of their face behind their hand or hat or hood.
But he didn’t say he wanted to beseendoing those things; he said he wanted tohelp.
“Okay, I can make some changes,” I said, mentally notingsome of the events I could rearrange. I didn’t realise he would want to get down and dirty.
“And drug rehabilitation,” he added. “Especially when we’re in France.”
“That can be done.”
“Good,” he said, looking down at the interview questions. “There’s one more thing.”
His words were cautious, slow. They made me glance back over.
He didn’t look up. “I want to run a charity for girls to get involved in the sport. Start racing. There’s one woman in the whole of the championship. She’s inSprint3, and, frankly, I don’t think it’s good enough.”
When I didn’t immediately respond, his eyes met mine.
“Or… would that look weird?”
A curt shake of my head. “No, that would be good. We could get the woman you mentioned involved.”
“Good,” he said. “She’s nice, so that could work. I want to buy them dirt bikes and make tracks in places we don’t often race. Places where women aren’t treated equally.”
The way he spoke, almost angrily as he stared at the paper in his hand, told me this was personal.
“I’ll speak to your manager,” I said, voice still not as strong as normal.
He didn’t speak as I went round a roundabout, ready to guide me. “I wouldn’t waste your time.”
If he knew his manager was awful, why did he keep him?
I knew the answer before I even finished thinking the question. Because he didn’t care.
“Will you do this forLuca, too?”
I shrugged. “Seeing as he’s about to get a lot more attentionthan he is used to, for the first season, probably.”
“This is not my first season,” he countered.
“No,” I agreed. “But it’s the first season where you will getpositivepress.”
He breathed in deeply and his clothes screeched against the leather seat as he sank further into it. “What else?”
“To make you seem more… stable,Crisand I have agreed for you to have a relationship for the media,” I told him, trying not to wince.
His eyes blazed with fire behind the iris. He breathed heavily through his nose. “Crisagreed?”
“We’ll have a ‘soft release’ of the relationship,” I continued. “So a photo here or there, a shadow of a woman’s figure—”
“Who?” he asked, looking thoughtful as he leaned back.
“Well, we still need to find a volunteer.” I sighed as if it would be difficult.
He raised a critical brow.
I waited for him to tell me a name—a girl he had on the side or someone he liked.
