Page 91 of Flat Out
Outside, the rain misted against the windows, the chill of a damp Silverstone night pressing through the glass. I focused on that as I sank into the corner of the booth, Callum’s thigh firm against mine, his heat keeping me anchored. The comfort ofgood food, low light, and his presence was enough to ease the edge of my protesting muscles.
Marco was halfway through a story about a disastrous sponsor dinner when Ivy interrupted, swirling her wine like she’d been born to command attention.
Honestly, she probably had.
“Oh, by the way,” she said lightly, “Off the Gridwill be filming the entire week”
The reaction was immediate.
Marco groaned, dropping his head dramatically into his hands. “Not again.”
Kimi muttered something vicious in Finnish and jabbed his fork into his steak as if it deserved violence. Callum swore under his breath.
I blinked. “What is…Off the Grid?”
Three heads swiveled toward me like I’d just admitted I didn’t know what Formula 1 was.
“The new docuseries,” Callum said flatly. “The one Netflix won’t stop shoving down everyone’s throats.”
“Oh,” I said slowly, wary of this news and wondering why this was the first I was hearing of it. “Like… interviews?”
Ivy tilted her head, her perfume wafting between us, something citrusy and warm. “Try no privacy, darling. You’ll be mic’d every time you’re in the paddock. Camera crews will trail you day in and day out. In the garage, the hotel lobby if they can swing it. Interviews shoved in whenever they like. And when they’re done, they’ll splice it all together to make you all look like soap opera characters.”
Marco pointed his fork at me. “Last year, they cut mine so it looked like I was either flirting or drunk in every scene. The producers told me I was ‘good television.’”
Kimi didn’t even look up from his plate. “Because you were.”
Marco smirked, unbothered at the jab, and flicked his gaze toward Ivy. Ivy was tracing a manicured finger around the rim of her wine glass, appearing bored.
Meanwhile I was mildly freaking out on the inside.
“They made me look like a villain,” Callum muttered, sipping his water, much to his dismay. He’d wanted a whisky, but I shot that down real fucking quick. Not until he was off his meds. “Every clip they chose made it seem like I hated Tobias. Which, to be fair, Ido, but I don’t scowl twenty-four hours a day.”
Kimi finally glanced up, arching a brow. “I beg to differ.”
Marco laughed, nodding. “Absolutely. You were the King of Scowls before Dubois.”
Callum just gave a lazy shrug, then draped an arm over my shoulders like a man unconcerned. My face heated, not at the intimacy—though that too—but at how effortlessly he claimed me, the kind of casual touch the cameras would never miss.
He loved me loudly, and while I was still adjusting to that, I melted into him without a second thought.
Their banter blurred as Ivy’s words sank in.No privacy.Mic’d up. Conversations sliced and edited until the truth didn’t matter. My stomach plummeted to my knees as I thought of what we couldn’t risk leaking: sabotage. The FIA submissions we technically stole. Luminis’s manipulation of my car, painted as driver preference. IfOff the Gridpicked up even a hint of any of it, it would be twisted into some ridiculous, speculative entertainment before we ever had the proof.
My throat tightened. “But… how? Why would I have signed up for that?”
Callum’s hand squeezed mine beneath the table. “Because it’s in the FIA bylaws. Media rights. They can film us no matter who they partner with. Doesn’t matter if you signed anything.”
Speechless, I stared at him. “That’s obscene.”
Marco lifted his glass with a smooth smirk. “Welcome to Formula 1.”
Ivy leaned forward. Her voice cut through the table chatter, sharp and knowing. “We should probably prep you for that, Frenchie. It’s survivable if you play it right. This week, you stay feminist-forward, race-focused. Strong, smart, unshakable. They want drama? Fine. We’ll give them the dramawe choose.”
Marco propped his chin on his hand, watching her like he was ready to whisk her away. “Madonna, you make it sound like a revolution,” he said, grinning. “Lead us,Signorina, and I’ll follow anywhere.”
Kimi snorted, leaning back in his chair at the end of our booth, like he was the odd man out, though he probably preferred being set just a tad apart. “Tragic. He thinks she even knows his name.”
Marco shot him a glare. “She knows.”
