“Matt!Come with me,” says a familiar, booming voice from the far end of the hall.
Archie, my older brother and my Rossini race engineer, my nowformerrace engineer, is striding toward me like a bouncer.Thank fucking god.He’s big and brash and permanentlysweat stained and, right now, the only person I want to see.He yanks me quickly down the corridor, shaking reporters off left and right as he hauls me into a waiting lift.
“Take a breath.We can talk in private,” he says, a reassuring hand on my shoulder as the lift climbs to the top floor.
But my private suite is not the calming refuge I was hoping for.Gone is all my slick silver-and-bloodred Rossini paraphernalia, and in its place, a new, forest green hellscape.
A cameraman and lighting crew are setting up for interviews in the lounge area, in front of a large Arden Racing banner, while a producer and her assistant whoweredraped across the sofa, sipping on espressos, spring up when we enter.Everywhere I look, another Arden logo, inexplicably bigger than the last.There’s no escape from this nightmarish reality.
“Ten minutes?”says a cheery young woman clutching a clipboard.
“He’ll be there,” Archie says, shoving me into my bedroom, where I drop to the edge of my bed, my head falling into my hands.
“What.The.Fuck,” I mutter into my clammy palms.
Archie pokes at my untouched breakfast on the little silver tray at the end of my bed.
“Is this caviar on the fucking scrambled eggs?”he says, forking the little black balls atop a congealed yellow mound.“Gross,” he concludes, shoving it into his mouth, and then picking up a slice of bacon.“Why do you order this elitist junk?I hope the nutritionist at Arden is on your ass.”
“What the hell just happened, Archie?”I say, looking up from my hands.
“Well.You just got sold to Arden, my guy.”“I need to speak to Miles.”
“That so-called agent of yours should have been fired a long time ago,” Archie says, knocking back my freshly squeezed orange juice.“What’s he actually done since 2002?”
“Archie,” I say, my voice thin.My mind is reeling.
He stops eating and his body slackens.He brushes the crumbs off his hands and pulls up a chair opposite me.“I mean, it isn’t surprising, Matt.You were warned.”
“I was warned I might drop to reserve, not...this.”
“Would you have been happy with reserve?”
“No.”
“Then...”Archie raises his palms upward, as if this isn’t the worst outcome when it patently is.I scoff.
“And working for Chloe Coleman?Where the hell did that come from?”
“Well, she’s been amazing in F3,” Archie says, shrugging.“She’s just what Arden needs after their bad press this year.A surprise, sure, but it makes sense to me.She’s a rising star.”
I frown.“Right.”
Archie’s eyes narrow.“You didn’t know.”He shakes his head.“Dude, you were pretty good friends growing up.Practically inseparable on the track until you left for F1.”
I bristle.“Friends?She was more like a kid sister.”
“Yeah, I guess.But you were still friends,” says Archie.
“I hung out with her because Dad askedusto look out for her.”
“Admit it.You liked her.”
I glare at Archie.I don’t need this right now, especiallywith everything else blowing up around me.“Whatever, man.Does she still live in Brackley, or...?”
“Her family is still there,” Archie says, then he leans forward, looking me straight in the eye.“I know life has been a bit of a fucking circus, but you’d know that if you came home more.”
I take it with a slow nod.“I need to speak to her.”
