Page 2

Chapter two

Kristian

The helicopter came in to land atop the impressive, glass–fronted McLaren building, the blades buffeting dirt and debris around in the air. Frank Matthews, owner and CEO, was waiting for me with his papaya orange tie flying around in the wind. It was the exact shade of the McLaren logo, and I knew that wasn’t a happy coincidence. I hoped the rest of the team were a little more casual.

Once the pilot gave me the go ahead to disembark, I unclipped my harness and took my ear protection off. A member of Frank’s entourage opened the door for me, and I muttered my thanks as I clambered down from the helicopter.

“Great to have you here.” Frank greeted me with a wide smile and a firm handshake. “Come on in. We can chat in my office and then I’ll give you a tour and introduce you to the rest of the team.”

“Thanks,” I replied, following him and the small group of people down some concrete steps and inside the building. It was a relief walking into the air–conditioned corridor and I took in my surroundings as I was led towards an elevator. It was lavish – all pristine marble floors and muted colours. I caught the eye of a young blonde as we filed into the lift. Judging by the leatherbound clipboard, pen and corporate phone in her hand, I presumed some sort of PA. She cast me a flirtatious smile and I glanced away. It wasn’t my style to shit where I ate, and besides I was more of a brunette man.

“I trust the journey was pleasant?” Frank asked. I hated making small talk and shoved my hands into my suit trouser pockets.

“Yes, thanks.”

We entered the elevator, and a stuffy silence elapsed. I watched the floor numbers as they counted down on the digital display, praying Frank’s office wasn’t in the basement. When the lift pinged, I breathed a sigh of relief, and the doors trundled open. I followed Frank out into yet another pristine corridor. At a frosted glass door, most of the group peeled off and just Frank, his PA and I headed inside.

“Take a seat.” Frank motioned to the leather chair that was on the opposite side of the desk to his own. He sat down, leaning back with a groan as if he were glad to be off his feet. He caught his PA’s attention. “Get us a coffee, would you?”

“Of course, Mr Matthews.”

“Not for me, thanks,” I interjected. “A bottle of water if you’d be so kind.”

The PA scuttled from view and soon it was just me and my new boss. He stared at me for a long moment, and I smiled stiffly.

“The team took the announcement about as well as you predicted,” he said, using his nail to pick something out from between his teeth. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“I’m not surprised,” I replied coolly. “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to help you win championships and to make money.”

Frank laughed. “Well, you’re already a step ahead of Harold Warner. That snake has been stealing from me for years. I dread to think how long it—”

“Perhaps best to draw a line under it,” I interrupted. “What do you want from me for the remainder of the season?”

“What you said – to win. Rossi and Harrington are a great duo. We had the constructor’s championship well within our sights before this debacle. I’m worried the upset will throw everyone off their game.”

I shrugged. “If the drivers are as talented as you think, this won’t make too much difference to them and let me worry about whipping the engineering side of things into shape. You’re doing well so far, but there’s always room for improvement…” I faltered. “Unless you’d rather me just keep the status quo?”

Frank shook his head. “No, I’ve seen great, great things coming from your team in F2. Do what you need to do.”

I grinned. It was music to my ears. As Frank’s PA returned with a coffee and a bottle of water, I got to my feet. She held the bottle out to me, and I took it, nodding my head in thanks.

“Unless there’s anything else, I think I’d like to get to work,” I said.

Frank leapt up, straightening his suit. “How about that tour? I could—”

“No, thanks. I’d rather get a lay of the land without the pressure of the owner’s eyes on everyone, if that’s alright?”

He leant over the desk to shake my hand. “Of course. Well, that sort of gumption has certainly been missing around here for many years. No talk, just action – I like it. Go, get on with whatever you need to.”

“Thank you,” I replied, smiling politely as the PA eyed me once more. Once I was out in the corridor, alone at last, I sighed. I was a little apprehensive, as I always was whenever it was time to gel with a new team and it sounded like this one had been having an easy time from Harold. That was about to change, and I knew it wasn’t going to win me any popularity contests. I loved success and wasn’t about to let anyone’s feelings stand in my way. This was Formula One – the best of the best. As far as I was concerned, the team would shape up or ship out. There was a long line of folks just waiting to replace them, after all. Drivers included.

I followed the brass signs back towards the lift, before choosing the button labelled ‘workshop’. I’d taken the time to acquaint myself with the details of the McLaren cars after I’d accepted this job and was already looking forward to implementing some changes. I just hoped I wouldn’t get too much push back – not that I was about to take anything lying down, but it would make for a happier work environment if they didn’t make me stamp my authority too firmly.

The lift pinged and I sucked in a breath. The doors rolled open to reveal yet another corridor, but this one had a set of heavy double doors at one end. I could already tell by the smell of oil and rubber that this was where I would find the engineering team. Tools clattered and clanged inside, voices echoing around the marble hallway as I approached though I couldn’t make out what was being said. I pushed inside the garage, immediately locking eyes with one of the mechanics. His brows rose and he wiped off oil–stained hands on his overalls.

“Um, hi?” he said. “Can I help you?”

He didn’t recognise me. I smiled and held out a hand. “I would hope so. I’m Kristian Wright, the new team principal.”

The look on the mechanic’s face was a picture. He may not have recognised me by sight, but he certainly knew me by name. He floundered, lost for words before glancing down at his filthy hands.

“It’s okay,” I said, gesturing to mine where I still held it out to him. “I can wash them later.”

He laughed nervously but shook my hand. I took in the impressive workshop, eager to see what the team had been working on since their return from summer break.

“Can you show me around?” I asked.

McLaren was one of the biggest names on the F1 circuit and it showed. Their office was vast and state of the art, with over eight hundred personnel on their books. I was rather excited to be a part of such an impressive team. The cars were beauties, and I was pleased to see little that needed improvement in terms of their performance. It was a shame the same could not be said for the wider team.

Whilst the engineers were top notch, headed up by their world class technical director, Carlos Muinez, the mechanics were rudderless. There was a rather impotent chief at the helm, but it was my first day on the job and I didn’t want to make any rash decisions until I’d seen the team in action.

I’d commandeered a notebook and a pencil from one of the offices and it was already half full of my notes. I flicked through it absentmindedly as I made my way back towards the car park. Though it was late, already gone 10PM, I would type all of this up once I got home and get it into some semblance of order before deciding what to tackle first. Frank’s PA had provided me with a company phone, already preloaded with the names and numbers of the whole team, and I created a group chat on WhatsApp.

KRISTIAN: I’d like for us all to meet first thing tomorrow morning. Meet me at the McLaren building at 8AM.

I watched three dots appear and disappear as the recipients typed their responses.

SOPHIA: I’ll be there.

BIANCA: I can’t. I have press responsibilities I’ve already agreed to. Will be in after lunch.

I immediately opened the team calendar. All three of us had a press conference booked in for 10AM, not just Bianca. My lips quirked in annoyance. Curious, I hadn’t expected the older, more experienced driver to be the one to cause me the headache. I tapped out my reply swiftly.

KRISTIAN: 8AM or don’t bother coming in at all.

Perhaps it was harsh – I hadn’t even met my drivers face to face yet – but I knew how this was going to play out. The drivers were by far the most challenging members of any racing team. They were the ego, the face of the company and the ones who put their lives on the line to race those rocket ships on four wheels around the track for our profit and amusement. They were vital members, but contrary to their overinflated opinion of themselves, they were not irreplaceable. Like all celebrities, Formula One drivers tended to get a bit big for their boots, and I wanted to swiftly nip any insubordination in the bud.

BIANCA: 8AM it is.

Good. I smirked, locking my phone and sliding it into my trouser pocket. I’d never worked with a female driver before, and now I had two of them to contend with. I didn’t plan on treating them any differently to the male drivers, and I hoped that strategy wouldn’t end up biting me in the arse at a later date.

I unlocked my car and climbed inside, heading out of the car park towards the new, rather expensive studio flat I now rented just a few miles away. I wanted to be close to the action at all times, and since my salary had received a healthy bump by agreeing to come to McLaren, I figured it was worth the outlay of funds.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes stinging. I was exhausted. It had been a whirlwind couple of weeks and now the second half of the season was due to begin in a matter of days and I felt like I had so many things I needed to achieve in such a small space of time. I was stressed, but quietly confident. I had faith in my abilities and soon the rest of the McLaren team would too – I hoped.

By 7AM the next morning I was at my desk, breakfast muffin and superfood smoothie in hand. I ate swiftly, sifting through the mountain of paperwork that had been sorely neglected by Harold Warner before his termination. I could already feel the beginnings of a stress headache at the base of my neck, muscles bunching and burning. It was going to be a long day. I was so engrossed I barely heard the knock at my door.

“Come in,” I called, scrawling notes as I glanced back and forth between the papers.

“Mr Wright.”

I glanced up, surprised to see a disgruntled Bianca Rossi stood in the doorway. I turned my hand to check my wristwatch – 7:46AM.

“You’re early,” I said.

“Would you rather I be late?” she snapped.

Oh, yes. I had my work cut out with this one alright. I ignored her insolence and simply gestured to one of the two chairs I had laid out before my desk. The Italian closed the door behind her, making a show of sitting heavily. She whipped out her phone, her fingernails tapping loudly against the glass screen of the device. I felt a muscle twitch in my cheek.

Giving up all hope of being able to think clearly, I threw my pen down on the desk and sat back in my chair. Bianca kept her attention glued to her phone and I was able to quietly observe her.

Of course I had seen Miss Rossi thousands of times on TV, in magazines, even on promotional posters plastered all over the race tracks we attended, but she was startlingly beautiful in the flesh. I didn’t much care for her attitude, but I couldn’t deny she was rather pleasant to look at. If it wasn’t for my desire to remain professional and the hugely inappropriate age gap between us, I might have been tempted to admit she was my type. I cleared my throat, resisting a smirk when her dark eyes glanced up over the top of her phone.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m sure formal introduction is not needed, but I will do so regardless – Kristian Wright.” I sat forward in my chair and held out my hand.

Bianca hesitated just long enough to get my blood pressure to rise a few points before dropping her phone into her lap and taking my hand, shaking it firmly.

“Bianca Rossi."

“Congratulations on the 1–2 before summer break,” I said, my chair squeaking as I leant back against it. “I’m sure it was difficult to have first place whisked away from you, but you took the defeat gracefully.”

Bianca visibly stiffened. “Second place is hardly a defeat,” she argued. I could see I was getting under her skin, but something about her cavalier attitude with me so far spurred me to continue plucking at that raw nerve.

“Anything that isn’t first place is a defeat,” I replied.

“Then it’s a good job I don’t have my sights set on anything less.”

Her response surprised me, and the fiery brunette stared me down, almost daring me to continue debating the issue with her. Changing tack, I smiled.

“Good.”

Another knock, this one softer, came at the door and both Bianca and I looked up in time to see Sophia Harrington pop her head around the door. In stark contrast to her sullen teammate, Sophia was the kind of woman whose gentle demeanour shone from her like sunshine. The blonde smiled nervously and inched into the room.

“I’m not late, am I?” she muttered, checking the time on her phone.

“Not at all. Please, sit.” I gestured to the empty chair beside Bianca. “Kristian Wright – nice to meet you.” I extended my hand to her on the same fashion as I had to her teammate. I felt Bianca’s gaze flitting back and forth between us.

“I’m excited to work with you,” Sophia replied, obediently slipping into the chair.

I sat back down and took a moment to appraise the two women in front of me. It had only been within the last fifteen years that female drivers had become commonplace within F1. It had all started with Maddie Michaels. At twenty years old, my career had only just begun when Maddie had completed her successful debut and became the first woman to ever win the world driver’s championship and constructor’s championship. Maddie’s success empowered a whole generation of women, more and more of them joining the motorsport circuit, and with some healthy figures being pumped into funding the F1 Academy, we began to see some real talent coming through.

I’d never worked with a duo quite like Rossi and Harrington. They were like chalk and cheese – Rossi was infamous for her temper and her grit, powering her way to the front of the pack through sheer talent and aggression. Sophia was measured and intelligent in her tactics, choosing to play the system than to put herself or her car in harm’s way. Both women possessed skills that were vital to becoming a successful F1 driver and were the perfect example of there being more than one way to win a race.

I’d spent plenty of time preparing for this meeting. I’d memorised everything about my drivers, keen to get a jumpstart on how best to manage them, but as Bianca and I caught one another’s eye again, everything I had wanted to say seemed to abandon me.

“I want McLaren to win the constructor’s championship this year,” I eventually said, my voice sounding tight. “What can we do to ensure that happens? I’m asking you both, as the drivers on the front line. What do you need from me to make our success a reality?”

I could tell my question had stumped them. Sophia glanced to Bianca, clearly hoping her senior teammate would take the lead. The Italian frowned.

“I just need everyone to get out of my way.”

Despite my attempt to sustain a masterful poker face, my brows jumped up with surprise. Sophia laughed nervously.

“That’s an… interesting response,” I muttered.

Bianca shrugged. “You asked me what I wanted from you, and that’s what I want. Give me a strong, reliable car and the space to use it as I see fit, and I’ll bring the championship in for you.” She crossed her arms beneath her bust and I fought with all I had not to let my eyes dip automatically. I was almost relieved to have a reason to look away as I turned my attention to Sophia.

“And you?”

The blonde nibbled her lip. “I suppose I did well with the one–stop approach during our last race. More robust strategies and back up plans?”

I smirked. It was comical how ‘to type’ they were behaving. Bianca was just as stubborn and forceful as she was rumoured to be, and Sophia had given me exactly the sort of carefully considered reply I’d expected. If I could simply get each of them to embrace one another’s strengths, I knew we’d have a winning combination… but right now it felt volatile. Bianca left unchecked would rip the team to shreds, and Sophia would tangle herself up in knots with data rather than taking action. They could each learn a little something from one another, and that was a task for me.

“Alright,” I said simply. Both women stared at me. “The car will be the strongest version of itself, I will ensure that.” I paused to eye Bianca before turning to Sophia. “And I intend to work closely with the senior team on refreshing some of the stale strategies I’ve seen from McLaren in previous seasons.”

“O–okay, great,” Sophia spluttered.

Bianca picked up her phone and began tapping away on it once more. “Can I go? I have that press appointment that you—”

“Go. We’ll be seeing plenty of one another over the coming months,” I replied, fixing the Italian with a confident smile. To my surprise, Bianca’s dark eyes looked me up and down and a brief, but sultry smile crossed her lips.

“Looking forward to it “

I wasn’t entirely sure if she was being sarcastic or genuine, but I forced myself to remain composed. Bianca and Sophia got up, heading for the door, but this time my base urges won over. My eyes dropped to Rossi’s shapely behind, her jeans fitting her figure like a second skin. I coughed into my fist and began leafing through paperwork.

“I’ll see you both soon,” I called out, maintaining the facade of shuffling papers until both drivers were gone and my door clicked shut.

“Fucking hell,” I sighed, scrubbing my hand down my face. I hunted through the piles of paperwork until I found the personnel files I’d requested on each of my drivers. I opened them up, pushing Sophia’s aside and bringing myself face to face with the bleary passport photograph of Bianca Rossi.

It was no wonder that picture had inspired no interest in me – it was out of date, clearly five or six years old. She looked like a child, not even a vague comparison to the bombshell of a woman who had sat before me. I eagerly scanned the information within the file until my eyes found what I was looking for.

Date of Birth: 3rd February 2015.

She was twenty–four. I groaned, feeling conflicted – a little disgusted with myself, and yet also titillated. I was twelve years her senior. When I started my career in this business, she would have been only seven or eight years old. I felt dirty.

I quickly closed the file and shoved it back amongst the stack of others. I didn’t know why I was even wasting time on this train of thought – even if the age gap between us wasn’t completely inappropriate, I couldn’t pursue Bianca. I was her boss, and this was my first opportunity to show the rest of the circuit what I could do. If I stood any chance at keeping my team principal title here at McLaren – or at any other team, for that matter – I needed to do my very best. Somehow, I doubted fucking one of my much younger female drivers would portray the image I was hoping for. McLaren had already had enough scandal for one season. All eyes would be on us, and we needed to be whiter than white. I had to remember that. I would repeat it over and over in my head if necessary until I could keep my eyes off Rossi and her fucking perfect arse.