“Christ,” Jack says, as he watches Matt squirm on camera.“Sorry, but I can’t stand the guy.”
I laugh, shaking my head at his brazenness.“Well, we can rectify the situation at the end of the season.I’m not sure I understand why Barry spent all that money on someone so out of form.”
“It’s panic-buying,” he says, shaking his head.
I laugh feebly, but then think on his comment.“What do you meanpanic-buying?”
“Well,” he says, tipping his head, his eyes narrowing a smidgen.“Seems like he’s making a final play, don’t you think?”
“Final?”
Jack puts his drink down.“Maybe it’s just rumors.”
“Are you gonna keep me hanging?What rumors?”
He scans the empty bar and then lowers his voice.He looks so fucking serious all of a sudden, the hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle.
“The word is Barry is running out of money.”
“Explains my modest hotel room,” I quip, as my heart starts to sink.
“You didn’t hear it from me, Chloe, but word is if Arden isn’t in at least the midfield and Matt doesn’t attract a major new sponsor before the Vegas Grand Prix, he’s going to need to fold.”
“Vegas?That’s four or five races away,” I say, aghast.“No.It’s not possible.”
“You know what this sport costs.Barry’s been trying and failing for five long years.He struggles to attract sponsors because, well...who the hell is Arden?And who the hell is Barry, really?He’s not one of us.”
I cringe a little at that.Jack, like many in this sport, can come off really fucking elitist sometimes.I sigh.“We actually lost a sponsor less than three minutes after Matt was announced,” I admit, but then I dig deep, sucking in a breath.
“You’ll need more,” Jack says, squeezing his lips together with a pity that embarrasses me.“But I’m sure if anyone can turn it around, you can.”
“There’s only so much anyone can do in a handful of races.”And with a driver who is seriously out of form and unlikely to court any sponsors the way he’s driving.And frankly, the way he’s behaving.
“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Jack offers.
I sit for a moment, looking at my drink, my gaze softening as I zone out.A disorienting mixture of alcohol in my veins and the reality of what Jack is telling me makes me feel dizzy.Even if this is an exaggerated rumor, it’s still deeply worrying.I get this big break, and then...what?The team folds before we finish the season?What kind of legacy would that be?Could I ever recover?Everyone knows you only get one shot.
The bartender arrives with my plate of chili crab, and the spicy, fishy mix hits my nose and makes my stomach growl with a confusing mix of hunger and nausea.
“It’s just been one thing after another today,” I say, standing, gathering up my things.“Sorry, Jack.I should wind down.Race tomorrow.”
“Let me walk you to your room,” he says, picking up my crab dish and knife and fork, and nodding toward the lift.“What floor you on?”
“Seven,” I say, and he thumbs the button as I hold my card to the reader.I am swimming, exhausted suddenly.“Thanks for writing about me, and for being so kind.”
As the lift rises slowly, I start to dream of crawling into my bed when Jack says, “Just being nosy here, but do you know if Matt has spoken to Stavros since the crash?”
“No,” I say, yawning.“Not heard.”
“Probably not, then,” he says.
“That would be ice-cold, but also another example of Matt blissfully ignorant of the impact he has on people.”
The doors open with a ding, and suddenly, in the quiet intimacy of the hotel hallway, I realize allowing Jack to walk me back was probably ill-advised.Not that he fancies me or anything, but I really shouldn’t have a journalist walking me to my hotel room.
When we get to my door, there is an awkward dance where, because I have no room in my full hands to take the crab from Jack, he slips inside my room and slides the plate on my dresser for me while I lean on the door to keep it open.My room is dark, with only the small lamp on next to the bed, and it feels uncomfortable having him in my space.
“It’s not aterribleroom,” he says, grinning as he quickly exits into the hallway.
