Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

A racing incident. An accident or collision on track that the stewards decide was due to the nature and chaos of the race, no one particularly at fault. No penalties or fines assessed. I think that’s the best I could have hoped for. It’s disgusting.

“I understand.” Sandra slides over some paperwork for me to sign agreeing that each party agrees to let it go and behave professionally. They’ll go in our HR files but that’s it.

“Mallory, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this,” she p

auses for a moment and her shoulders drop. It looks as if she’s softened a bit but that would defy everything I know about Sandra Alix, having a heart. Or a personality. “You and Mr. Gibbes seem, oh, more friendly these days.” There’s the hint of a tiny, tiny smile on her lips but it’s stuck like her face is incapable of making such gestures.

“I think we’re working fairly well together now, Ms. Alix. After a steep learning curve, as you said,” I smile at her with every ounce of fakery in my soul.

Sandra starts cleaning up the shuffled papers all over her desk. “There’s nothing in Celeritas policy that prohibits intraoffice dating assuming it is not a supervisor-subordinate position or becomes problematic. With as much travel as the team endures, it’s not unusual. I’m sure you can imagine.”

I try to school my eyes, my heart rate, the sweaty palms. A closed mouth gathers no foot, so this is a high time for me to sit here and shut up. I’ve seen those YouTube videos on what to do when the cops stop you, no one talks and everyone walks. I don’t know if that applies here, but that’s my plan.

“That said, as an old lady who has been in this game for a long time, I would advise you to consider the optics for your career.” She taps a pen on a thick folder on her desk in an ultra-rare display of what appears to be genuine human emotion. “And as a woman, use caution.”

“Thank you, Sandra.” I wipe my palms on my pants and start to rise.

“Ah-ahem,” Sandra clears her throat very loudly, glaring at me, her pen tapping furiously.

My brow furrows, Sandra is leering at me, pursing her lips. I follow her eyes to the folder she’s tapping against. It’s two inches thick and labeled “Human Resources: Confidential. Digby DuPont.”

Oh, I see. That’s quite a thick HR dossier for the squeaky clean golden boy of the paddock. I knew it. And Sandra Alix, the hard-nosed, stick up her ass, ‘dragon lady’ as the boys call her, has warned me.

I raise my chin at her in understanding and give her a sharp nod.

Leaving the administration office, I hear cars running on the test track and decide to walk over. It’s a brisk spring day but the sun is shining, I’m in London, and I have Lennox’s oversized Celeritas jacket on that no one would know is his but us. The scent of his cologne, mossy woods and old leather, mixes with the smell of race fuel in the air.

And, by no small miracle, I am still employed. I don’t need to go running back home a total failure. For the moment, anyway.

Security waves as I walk into the track area and take a seat on a section of metal bleachers in the sun. Everyone else is inside the track building, I feel like I’m at my own private race watching two Formula 1 cars circle the track with aero rakes all over both cars measuring airflow over each part of the car.

These cars look older and aren’t labeled with driver numbers but I can tell which driver is which by their helmets. Lennox zings past under his blue and white Scottish flag helmet and then Dildo DuPont in his neon green helmet. It’s the color of ectoplasm, slime. How appropriate.

Wrapping Lennox’s jacket around me and watching him sail around this track he drove me around and around on last night, I don’t know how I’m going to handle the latest bomb he dropped on me. He called Cooper Media and agreed to the inside exclusive.

He wouldn’t discuss it much last night but I know why he did it. He thinks it would give me security against my father’s attempts to sabotage me. And it would, Cooper Media is one of the largest media houses in the world. They’re modern too, unlike the crumbling company my father clings to that still thinks newspaper is a viable media and that social platforms are for hippies and miscreants.

Working with Cooper on this would be the nail in the coffin for my family. It may very well kill my father. I’m frustrated that I’m letting myself feel guilty about it, too. Why should I when he is trying to sue his own daughter? Because no matter how many times they hurt me, I still want my parent’s approval and love. It makes me feel weak, but it’s true.

Every time Mom calls or texts, some naive part of me hopes it will be to tell me she loves me just as I am, that she supports me no matter what. It’s never happened in twenty-six years but there’s a little girl deep inside of me still holding out hope. One of these days, Dad might come to his senses and see my career as worthy and be proud of what I’ve accomplished.

Logically, I know it won’t happen. Emotionally, I want it. No matter how much I beat myself up right now.

As soon as it was a reasonable hour in New York, I called Max Cooper back. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but Lennox said he was expecting my call. They want this exclusive, badly. It would be huge in the European and Asian markets and Lennox has denied every similar request from every publisher his entire career.

If I handed Cooper a story like this that no one else has been able to, worst case, I’d have a job no matter what my dad does. It wouldn’t be exactly what I want to do, but it would be a paycheck somewhere in their social media departments. Best case, it would be an incredible stepping stone for launching my dream firm in Sports PR.

I’m not a journalist, technically, and can’t write the piece, but Lennox told Max Cooper there’d be no journalists or photographers allowed. Max said that was even better, he wants an intimate expose not a fancy spread. I’d record interviews and take my own photos and work with a writer to develop the perfect story. Lennox mandated I have ultimate control.

I told Max I’d think about it but Lennox has already scheduled our trip to Scotland after the next race.

He doesn’t know that I’ve been warned to back him out of the spotlight. Working with Cooper wouldn’t technically involve Celeritas and I don’t think they could fire me for it since Lennox set it up, but Doofus DuPont and his privileged family can certainly make his life worse here and on track. If he gets into any more trouble with his teammate, they’ll penalize him on track even more, if not outright terminate his contract. I’ve seen it happen in other sports.

Digby is going to be extra threatened now. It’s more important than ever that I keep him and Lennox apart. I can’t let Lennox know anything else about my mandate to keep him out of the spotlight.

For both our sakes, I need to figure this out by myself.

Twenty