“Jesus.And you told Jack?”
I rake over our conversations and try to remember.“Well.Matt hasnotbeen to see Stavros, but he never said those horrible things about him being ‘burned-out.’Never.And the part about Noah is stupid.They took a while to gel, but Matt respects Noah.I certainly didn’t tell him Matt is in therapy.He only told me, I’m not even sure Archie ever knew...He’s clearly found that out some other way.”
“Shit.”Keyla lays her bag, room key, and baseball cap on the dresser by the door, and nods for me to go sit on the bed.“Problem is that some of it’s true, and you said it, so it’s hard to defend the parts that Jack has made up.”
“It’s a disaster,” I say angrily.“I could kill him.”
“Fuck Jack Sheppard, Chloe.You need to think about Matt.Your team.Barry.” She pauses and takes a deep breath.“Have you spoken to the press team?”
“I’m too ashamed,” I whimper.The tears that have been threatening since I saw this hot mess at seven forty-five a.m.start to flow.But Keyla looks at me sternly, her dark eyes sympathetic but impatient.I take a deep breath and pull myself together.“But I will.”
She nods approvingly.
And then just sits there.
“Now?”
“Now,” she replies firmly.
I reach across to pick up the phone, and spot the message that has come through from Matt.
Tell me it isn’t true.
“Oh god,” I moan.“What have I done?”
I turn the phone around to show Keyla.She nods, takes a breath, and says, “Call your press team.”
“I need to reply to Matt.”
“I know, but first, call your press team.”
The phone buzzes in my hand, a number I don’t know, and I tap on the answer button before I have a chance to think.
“Hello?”
“Chloe.It’s Daemon here fromMotorsport Monthly.Just wanting to ask you a few questions about Stavros Aetos and Matt Warner.”
“Arghh!”I shout, hanging up immediately, and tossing my phone across the room.
“Chaos Chloe needs to fuck off,” Keyla says, pulling herself up from my bed and collecting my phone where it landed on the carpet.“We need Capable Kick-Ass Chloe.The woman who worked her way up through the leagues and is fucking smashing it out there as F1’s youngest everteam principal.The girl I know and love.Can she come back, please?”
I smile pitifully, retrieve the phone from her, and then dial the media team.Of course, they waste no time with small talk.
“Hi, Chloe, this is Faye speaking,” says a voice.“We met in—”
“I know you, Faye,” I say, my voice shaky.
She grunts happily, and then launches into a plan.“As I see it, we have a few options.We sit it out, which is totally doable.Vegas is coming up, and we hear that Rossini are going to announce some changes to their driver lineup for next year, which should steal the headlines.Option two.We come out fighting.You deny the story—”
“But I said some of those things,” I say, my voice as quiet as I can make it.
There is a beat of silence, and then a sharp intake of breath down the phone.
“It doesn’t matter, Chloe,” she replies sympathetically.“I know Jack.I know all the journalists.I know you guys are old friends.People chat.People say shit off guard.I know you didn’t say this on the record.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So, we can deny the story,” she says.
