Page 19 of Dirty Air
Gerald returns with coffee and a croissant, placing them in front of Fritz before sitting down again.
“Thank you.”
“This is Monica, with our sales department. We’ve been approached by Bitten-Bräu for quite the impressive offer. We wouldn’t usually handle brand sponsorships for individual drivers unless they exceed five mil and, well, this one does.”
“They want to sponsor me?” Bitten-Bräu isn’t a small brand by any means, but Fritz can’t imagine they have that much extra money laying around. “For over five million euros?”
“Pounds, actually,” Monica corrects. “We use British banks, and the sponsors use our currency.”
“What would the sponsorship entail?” His father, the realist. He doesn’t look the least bit shocked at five million anythings.
“Photoshoots, mainly.” Monica watches Fritz, even though she’s answering his father. “A print ad campaign you could knock out in a day, maybe some video footage. If it goes well, there’s room in the contract to grow.”
Fritz nods along. He’s only done the odd photoshoot for Formation 1, but he can certainly learn how to take pictures with some beer if he has to.
Monica continues, “They’d like their non-alcoholic branding on the car and the suits, but we’d handle that, of course.”
“Why the deadline?” Fritz asks.
“They’re local to Frankfurt,” Craig answers. “They’d like the contract signed and ready to go so they can schedule a shoot tomorrow morning, before you leave. I know it’s very last minute, but they have an in-house team and it’s easier for our scheduling purposes if you don’t have to fly back here.”
The actual amount is twenty million. Fritz keeps absolutely silent as his father and Monica negotiate the driver-team split. Any percentage sounds like far too much money for a single day of modelling, but he’s certainly not going to complain.
Once everything’s signed, Craig looks happier than Fritz has ever seen him. Twenty million pounds can do that to a person. “We can get you both a ride back to the hotel, if you’d like. Get another couple hours of sleep in.”
“I can stay.” Fritz would like to avoid confined spaces with his sleep-deprived father for as long as possible. “I can nap in my driver’s room.”
Curled up against the wall on the thinnest mattress known to mankind, Fritz contorts himself into something of a comfortable position. He’s used to catching sleep whenever he can, so it isn’t long before he passes out.
Fritz wakes just enough to thank a startled laundry man for washing and hanging his race suit, before falling back to sleep. He wakes again to an alarm, but he’s exactly where he needs to be, so he silences it. A knock on the door and he knows exactly what to do.
“Go away.” It’s the analog version of snoozing an alarm.
“Hey.” Henry opens the door anyways and lets himself in. “They told me you were napping in here.”
“Leeeave.” Fritz tries to hold onto sleep but it slips away with every moment Henry spends in his vicinity.
“Your performance coach is out here talking to your sister and mother. Even if I leave, I don’t think you’ll be asleep much longer.”
Fritz should fire Dieter. Groaning, he pushes himself upright, swinging his legs under the mattress to get feeling back in them. “Why are you here? I cannot look at numbers right now.”
Henry softly closes the door behind him. “I wanted to ask about the meeting you had this morning? The one with Craig?”
Oh man, that happened just this morning.
Fritz can’t help but tease. “Are you afraid you are being replaced? By someone with more hair?”
Henry kicks his shoe.
“Hey, that is my driving foot!” Fritz laughs, pulling his legs up under him.
“There are rumors around the paddock,” Henry says with a hush, suddenly serious. “Something about a possible open seat atRed Boar next year.”
Fritz perks up, fully awake.
“Nothing is set in stone, but a pretty reliable source mentioned a possible retirement announcement dropping in the next few weeks.”
Fritz stumbles to his feet. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just grabs Henry’s shoulders. “Next year?”
