“Francesca,” Dario says, pausing to clear his throat. “It’s been a long time since you’ve shown any kind of interest in this business. Whereas Rocco, he’s been in the trenches his whole life. He’s ready to slide over to Principal, and we always assumed he would.”
“I have never left the business mentally, Dario,” I counter. “Rocco is doing an excellent job with the engineering side of things. It’s what he went to Oxford for if I remember correctly. But if he’s looking for a new job, I think he would also make an excellent sporting director. So perhaps you should consider retiring like my Dad and giving him your job. Because he isn’t getting mine.”
“He has worked hard for a shot at Principal,” Dario replies, voice firm and even. “And he hasn’t spent years parading around the internet in lingerie or trying to design high heels.”
“What a coincidence, neither have I,” I snap, and I hate myself for it. I need to stay even, calm, unaffected. Because even though he just tried to demean me, if I get angry about it, then it builds his argument. Women in power don’t have the luxury of showing emotions without being shamed for it. “My shoes are all flats, not heels. I walked in the Victoria Secret show, so yes, I wore underwear and it was streamed. I do believe Rocco has more than one topless workout photo on his Instagram, and it’s not to promote anything other than his pectorals. And aren’t you the one that insisted Billy take thatMen’s Healthcover last year? The one he did bare chested with his race suit hanging off his hips?”
“That was—”
“Work. I know. And so was what I did… do. But somehow, when a woman does it, you dismiss it. I think it’s time for your views to open up a little Uncle Dario.” I stand. “Because the simple fact is, I am not going to be removed from this job based on your assumptions or outdated opinions. I’ll leave if I fail, which, spoiler alert, I will not. Now, I’m heading to Milan to wrap up a promotion deal I have ongoing with a designer, and then I will see you all at the next race where my abilities will speak for themselves.”
I lean down to kiss my father again. He cups the side of my face. His hand is warm and reassuring.
I leave without looking back, without a faltering step, and sadly without telling Billy James to go fuck himself. But in a way, I guess he did me a favor. Because now Billy James will never get his hands or anything else in my swimsuit ever again.
