It’s not a strange question and yet it feels strange coming from him. The aloof driver who distances himself from everyone in the paddock and turns monosyllabic in press conferences.
‘Good, yeah,’ I reply.
He has startling presence for someone with such boyish features and a height of, well, me. I get the impression when he talks, people listen. He doesn’t sound like I thought he would – very well-spoken, with an exceptionally deep voice. Silken, really.
Could he be talking to me because of Jack? No, of course not. How would he know? He wasn’t here when I went in or out of Jack’s driver room. Neither of us have told anyone about that night, not even Kurt and especially not Étienne.
My original excuse now feels ridiculous. ‘I’m doing a piece on Pagari,’ I blurt out, vehemently hoping none of the comms team are within earshot. ‘A behind-the-scenes look at the Canadian Grand Prix from inside the top constructor.’ I’d totally watch that. Why didn’t I think of it in the first place?
Please don’t question it, Micah.The lie’s flimsy at best, and it’ll buckle if I have to explain why I’m here when my camera crew is not.Oh but they just love the view from the roof. In the rain. With all their equipment. And without their presenter.
‘If you interview Lorenzo,’ Pagari’s team principal, ‘see if you can get me a raise,’ Micah says, straight-faced.
What?
I’m about to mumble something about not having the authority when amusement glints in his eyes. Was that… Was that a joke? At last he cracks a smile, and a hesitant laugh escapes my lips. He’s funny. I’ve never heard him be funny. I’ve never even seen him smile – not in podium photos or the corner of TikTok dedicated to the grid’s most ‘mysterious’ driver.
‘Will do.’ I nod like he’s my commanding officer.
‘I like your interview style,’ he continues as the barista sets my coffee in front of me. ‘I saw your interview with Étienne in Miami, and Tiago in Monaco. You don’t ask the usual inane questions:What’s your strategy? How’s the car?’ He mimics a high voice but it’s still deeper than mine. ‘You’re natural and informal, but also get to the core of what we do and why.’
I’m not blushing. I would have every right to, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not.
‘Thank you,’ I say, bringing the coffee to my lips.
‘You can interview me, if you want.’
I so nearly do a spit-take, and instead collapse into violent coughing. He looks on, entertained.
‘Me,’ I croak, hand on my chest. ‘Interviewyou?’
‘Is that ok?’
Time to get real. If he’s seriously posing this, I have a duty to interrogate his motives before I whip my team into a bunch of excited schoolchildren. If Micah goes through with the interview, this could do wonders for my career, but if he cancels at the last minute, the damage would be irreparable. More than just Brian will think I made the whole thing up.
I put my coffee down and cross my arms. ‘Are you being serious? You’ve only done one interview in the two years you’ve driven for Pagari, and it was for my competitor. Why now? Why Channel 3? Why me?’
‘All great questions,’ he says evenly. ‘To be a World Champion nowadays, you need more than racing prowess. You need to be a personality. You need a fandom.’
‘You’re plenty popular doing absolutely nothing for fans. You’re the second most searched-for driver on social media.’
‘They’re intrigued by me; they’re not fans.’
Interesting. I think the post-race montages of him sweaty, dressed only in his underwear, would suggest differently.
‘It’s time to show the real me, and I think you’re the perfect broadcaster to do it with. You’ve even made Étienne likeable,’ he says.
‘Étienne is— Good point.’
‘So will you?’
This is surreal. Micah Adetunji wants something from me. I didn’t think I’d ever speak to him, let alone work with him.
‘Have you ever done a hot lap?’ he adds.
‘No…’
‘Then you’ve never done a hot lap at Silverstone in a Pagari Aetheria.’
