‘I think a Google Alert. Pagari’s comms team are having a crisis meeting right now.’
Oh.
My.
God.
I close my hands over my nose and mouth. My head’s spinning.
Work.
Mum.
‘Hey, hey…’ He gets up and puts his arms around me. I don’t reciprocate. ‘It’s not that bad.’
How can he possibly be so flippant? ‘It’s not bad, it’s career ending.’ For me, not for him.
‘Don’t worry, our comms team are second to none. They want the fire out even more than we do. Do you think it was Micah?’
I break free like I’m wrapped in poison ivy. ‘You’re obsessed! I couldn’t carelessabout Micah! You’re not getting this, Jack. It’s not a little PR crisis for me – it’ll destroy my credibility forever. There are ethical codes to maintain impartiality?—’
‘It was only onekiss, Minnie. We were drunk after the race and made out. That doesn’t make you biased, it makes you up for a good time.’
I bite my thumbnail. ‘It makes me look like a gold-digging slut.’
‘No it doesn’t. You’re making it worse than it is.’
I sink onto the bed.
Say it works out like Jack thinks: we weather this shitstorm and the story blows over in a month and life goes on as normal. Then what? 24/7 media scrutiny? Channel 3 tightening their Code of Ethics? My name a permanent feature on Reddit forums? Our day-to-day relationshipeven moresecret?
And when – because it’s when, not if – it comes out that we’ve been lying about what we are, it’s game over. I’m unemployed and Jack’s reputation is in the toilet. He’ll bounce back, of course. But me?
Is all this worth it for a man who can’t even admit he likes spending time with me?
‘Don’t you think we should be honest?’ I suggest quietly. It’ll be worse in the short term but we can start rebuilding trust and minimising speculation now.
‘What do you mean?’
I don’t know how to have this conversation after what happened in Holland. ‘About our… friends-with-benefits arrangement.’
He chuffs a laugh. ‘You make it sound corporate.’
I honestly don’t know what to think about it anymore. ‘Shouldn’t we?’
‘Course not, that definitely affects your impartiality. They’ll make it out as more than it is.’
‘And what is that?’
Seconds pass like hours.
‘It’s casual.’ He shrugs, and I swallow the compulsion to sag to the floor.What does that even mean?‘We don’t talk about racing, do we? You’re not biased in interviews, are you?’
I shake my head but all I can think about is chewing my nails off watching Jack last Sunday.
‘Exactly.’ He claps once triumphantly, like he was right all along and I’m a stressy fool. ‘They’ll make it into some huge deal. Let’s keep it to what they know: an isolated drunken kiss.’
‘But what about the—’ I stop myself saying future. If we’re so casual to Jack, there is no one month’s time or three months’ time. He won’t worry about us being exposed at a later date – there is no us, there is no later date. ‘Never mind.’
