‘Calm down, Jonny Bravo, it’s tucked away safe and sound. I was referring to the little tuft of corn silk on the top of your head. It’s so cute!’
‘Isa.’
She huffs and calls for JC. From what I can see, they’re in our suite back at the hotel. Boy do I wish I was there right now. My bladder would feel a lot freer.
JC emerges in the background drinking a protein shake.
I point at the camera. ‘Dude, that’s mine!’
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You weren’t here. Finders’ keepers. Hey, why are you calling me and not acting your little leafy butt off?’
‘Har har.’
Isa mumbles something in the background and Trey’s big face fills the screen.‘¡Qué ridículo te ves!’
‘Thank you for illustrating my point,’ I say over the sound of him cracking up. ‘I do look ridiculous, and I’m going to be a laughingstock when this airs.’
‘You’re a laughingstock right now, bro.’ Trey’s wheezing as he angles his phone to take a picture.
‘¡Ya basta!’I snap.
‘This is going straight on the group chat,’ he throws over his shoulder as he walks away.
‘Hey—!’
‘Tiago,’ JC says in his manager voice, ‘we talked about it this morning. And yesterday. And the whole of last week.’
‘Remind me again how doing aCasa Verdecommercial will help me become a World Champion one day. Their burritos suck balls.’
‘It’s called playing the game. Besides, you don’t have much of a choice right now.’
‘I never had to do this degrading shit at Volare.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t make the rules.’
My notifications start pinging one after the other.Greeeat.They’re overlapping so quickly I can barely read anything, but I do catch one from my eight-year-old cousin. A long, nauseating,‘jajajajajajajajajajaja’.
I want to sink to the floor but my suit’s too inflated and my knees can barely bend, so I slump against the wall.
‘It all feels so useless. Our car’s not looking strong on this track either. Teams are already starting to pull away from us and it’s only the second race. How am I supposed to show off what I can do if I’m way down at the back?’
‘At least there’s DFK,’ JC offers. ‘They look even worse than you do.’
That’s little comfort, a Prius could beat them.
When I leave the studio, it’s dark outside, making the illuminated billboard across the street almost blinding. Logan Rogers, in black and white, thirty metres tall, in front of the Nike tick. In China. How the hell do they know who this quarterback from Phoenix is? Who watches the NFL inChina? They probably don’t even know what a quarterback does!
My hands ball into fists. I’m an internationally recognisable F1 driver and I’m out here dressed like a freaking vegetable. Meanwhile, this blonde lumberjack’s modelling for the biggest sports brand in the world.
Between the sponsorship disasters and racing catastrophes, I need to think bigger. Way bigger. Rogers didn’t get on that billboard by throwing forty-three touchdowns last year; he had Jules Butler.
But she wants Tom Webber.
He doesn’t even need her. Racing for Martinelli, backed by world-class coaches and publicists, and nearing retirement. It’s not fair. Guys like that go from strength to strength while I’m down here looking like a joke. Well screw her. I can do this on my own.
Chapter 9
JULES
