Page 2 of In the Cockpit

Chapter Two

The Pitch:The biggest bromance in Formula One.

It was a terrible idea. I glanced down at the tablet where I had a list of shots I needed the drivers to do. The individual stuff had gone well. Jason and Alejandro had looked confident and sexy as each smirked, cheered, and sighed for the camera–satisfying everyone’s gif toolbar needs for the upcoming season. Though I myself would never use a thumbs up image of Alejandro, who looked pained in his attempt to be cheerful, I had spent enough time online to know that the fans would both love and expect to find the new footage once the planes touched down in Australia for the first race.

“All right team, let’s break for lunch. Everyone back in sixty,” called the production manager. I tried to relax my shoulders as I walked over to where the two drivers were removing their race suits from atop their street clothes. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. I’d seen drivers remove their suits hundreds of times. This time, though, my mouth went dry at the sight of them. The sun caught the action in just the right light, as if the heavens themselves were proclaiming “Good God, do you see those abs?”

I struggled to stay focused and professional but it was impossible not to notice Jason’s tanned and toned body as he shrugged into a clean t-shirt.Focus, Kat. You won’t do yourself any good if you’re caught ogling the new guy.

“Hey, Kat!” smiled Jason. “Are you joining us for lunch?” I was looking at his eyes, not the strong pecs under the crisp, tight shirt. Mostly.

“Y-yes, I thought it would be a good idea to go over the specifics of what we are planning for the team shots,” I replied, praying he didn’t hear my stutter.

“Oh?” sneered Alejandro, his dark eyes shadowed. “Or are you just using that as an excuse to babysit us?” His thick Spanish accent made the accusation sound lyrical. Too bad that was where the pleasantry ended. He finished lacing up his shoes and started walking towards the door.

Why yes, you insufferable asshole.I grimaced and gestured to the door, turning to Jason. “Shall we?”

“Sounds good,” he replied, delight fleeting over his features. We fell into step together, following Alejandro. Jason held the door and gestured for me to go first. I fought down the blush that threatened to stain my cheeks.

“So Jason,” I said, “how are you liking England? You just moved here, right?” I knew the answer but felt the need to make some sort of small talk.

“Yes,” he answered. “I was based out of Austria before this season.” He smiled slyly. “Which I reckon you already know because you have a dossier on everything about me.”

Busted. “True. But we have a lot of media days ahead of us, so might as well get used to making repetitive small talk. What about your sister? How is she liking the move?”

I glanced over in time to see Jason’s face morph at the mention of his sister Sarah. It was no secret that part of the reason he was such a focused competitor was because of her. Sarah had been diagnosed with a chronic illness when the two were children. I didn’t know the details, it wasn’t any of my business, but knew that it had left Sarah in a wheelchair and their family with mountains of medical bills. Bills that could not be paid without Jason’s driver contract. He was only signed to the team for one season and had already made it known that he intended to get it extended through whatever means necessary, causing much of the animosity between him and Alejandro.

“Sarah is adjusting,” Jason said. “I told her she didn’t have to move with me but she said someone’s got to keep my head on straight.” He smiled, “Plus I think she’s just happy to be somewhere where she comfortably speaks the language.”

I nodded. An international sport, Formula One featured many languages. And though most drivers, like Alejandro, came from pedigreed families who ensured their children learned a variety, for others it was a bit of a struggle. “I get that. You don’t realize how much thinking goes into just having a conversation until you have to switch languages.”

Jason’s face lit up with a huge grin as we approachde our table. He greeted the server with a high five before placing his order. Despite the cost cap and budgetary constraints placed on teams, one thing the Smith’s Racing Group didn’t scrimp on was catering. Alejandro was already at the table, looking oh-so pleased to see us. We sat and I turned the conversation back to the business at hand.

“Ok, gentlemen. This morning was acceptable. But the afternoon is when the real work begins.”

“Yeah,” said Jason. “What exactly is it you said we need to do? Be fake best friends?”

Alejandro snorted—clearly aware of just how far fetched the idea was. “Just give me the villain edit and be done with it.” The villain edit would make him into an antagonist, a rival, and hype up the conflict between the two. It was a fan favorite...when the two weren’t on the same racing team.

God if only, I thought. “We can’t do that. The fan base is becoming more invested than ever before and while we’re not a top team, we need to appeal to them off the track just as much as we do on. More even. So even though you two don’t like each other? It doesn’t matter. I know you are both super competitive, and everyone is going to be pitting you against one another, but you have to present as a team. Ok?”

Jason huffed out a breath. “I’m game. But I’m not the legacy driver expecting everyone to bow to me.” I could’ve strangled him.

“Look, you,” said Alejandro, pointing in the other man’s face. “I do not expect to have everything handed to me. But I have been at this ten years and this car is builtfor me. Show some respect.”

Instead of backing off, Jason flashed a smarmy grin. “Fat chance. The car might have been built for... yet why is my simulator time better than yours?” He turned to face me and I froze, not wanting to be pulled further into this feud, despite that being my very job. “What do you think, Kat? Maybe it’s time to stop respecting our elders and send them out to pasture.”

Alejandro’s eyes grew stormy, his hands turned to fists at his side. “Why you –”

I knew they didn’t get along, but I hadn’t understood their rivalry now bordered on exchanging blows. Showing up to the afternoon shoot with my drivers battered and bruised wasnotan option.

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