‘I just quit my job,’ I blurt as I hurry to the media centre. I need to get out of this paddock. Out of this climate. Out of this country.
‘What?’
My laugh’s shaky and god-dammit I’m crying. ‘It was a long time coming.’
‘What happened?’
I push back the hair sticking to my hot face. ‘The usual. Brian made a shitty comment and I decided enough is enough.’
‘What did he say?’
I suddenly realise I can’t tell him. The boyfriend topic isn’t exactly a welcome one. ‘We were arguing about you and Micah, and whose fault it was, and he referenced that I’d have bias. On air, I might add.’
He doesn’t say anything immediately.
‘Jack? Are you there?’
‘So you quit your job because of me?’ he says slowly.
‘No! Because of how my team treat me. The comment was just the catalyst.’
‘But if that photo had never got out, they wouldn’t?—’
‘They were like this from the beginning. It’s partly their fault, partly my fault – they thought they hired a round peg for a round hole, and I’m a square peg.’
‘Eh? Is that journalist jargon?’
‘No, I just…’ I let out a breathy laugh. What a day. How am I now talking about shapes? ‘It wasn’t the right fit from the beginning.’
‘That’s the frustration talking. You love your job, and you’re incredible at it, and I?—’
‘The job, not the company,’ I point out. ‘It’ll be ok. I’ll go home, take Christmas off and start looking for something new in January. Everything will be fine.’
‘Will that something be in F1?’ He sounds a little… afraid. He knows as well as I do that broadcasting jobs don’t grow on trees. Only two UK networks cover F1, and the other one has a full roster of World Champions from multiple motorsports.
I can’t see myself trying something new like social media management or team communications just to stay on the circuit with Jack. Especially when he’s not evenmyman.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit.
The optimistic part of me hopes he’s worried about us. I am. It’s not smooth sailing when we work side-by-side; how am I supposed to convince a chronic commitment-phobe to try anything resembling long-distance?
That’s not today’s problem. Today, I need my body weight in brigadeiro and a flight back to London.
‘You’re still coming to Vegas, right?’ he asks.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be ready to come back in three weeks,’ I mumble, hating that I’m letting him down. Also, lay people don’t have a spare £1k to drop on an American race weekend.
‘Right. Qatar? I can fly you out, and you can watch the race from the garage.’
‘We’ll see. I need to sort the next twenty-four hours first.’
‘Come to mine in Monaco for a few days to cool off before going back to your mum’s. Let’s sort one issue at a time.’
I smile, liking the way he sayslet’s. ‘It’s a plan.’
Chapter 47
MINNIE
