Page 4 of Not So Fast
A reporter in the back of the room raised their hand. “Xander, have you heard about the podcastNot So Fast with Mia Neal?”
Xander cleared his throat. On a long list of uncomfortable subjects, this one might be the worst, only because it was brand-new andsoshiny. He was shocked the question had taken so long to come up. “I am aware of it.”
“Ms. Neal’s got quite a following now. Apparently,Not So Fastis blowing up. All because of her criticism of you. How do you respond to that?”
“That’s one too many questions,” Isabel interjected, something she was not technically allowed to do.
“No. It’s okay.” Xander held up a hand, wanting to be a good sport, but also wanting to fight back. So much of being a driver was sitting back and taking criticism while never arguing, but this podcast woman was going too far. “You know, I value everyone’s opinion, especially those of the fans. But being a podcaster isn’t the same as being behind the wheel. With all due respect to Ms. Neal, I’m not sure she knows what the hell she’s talking about.”
A low rumble rippled across the room. Several reporters nodded. Some eagerly scribbled notes on pads or typed on their laptops or phones. Xander was certain that, at best, he’d created a delicious and tempting soundbite and, at worst, set off an international incident.Fuck.
“Let’s move on,” the presenter said. “Who has a question for Kenji Matsumoto?”
Kenji, the only Japanese driver on the grid, sat a little straighter and ran his hand through his glossy, shoulder-length hair. All props to Kenji—he looked like a rock star, and the media treated him like one, too.
Xander caught Isabel staring him down. She tapped herwatch then gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. Xander nodded, understanding that she wanted to chat with him after the press conference. Because of course. He was in trouble again.
Xander spent the next twenty minutes in near-bliss as the other drivers were made to withstand the questions. After Kenji went Brett Lockford, the super-young fellow Brit who’d taken Xander’s seat at the worst team on the grid, Hughes Racing. Then there was Emilio Alvarez Baquero, the ultra-smooth Spanish driver for Vermillion. Emilio and Xander had come up through the same driving academy when they were younger and had been good friends for a while now.
The other drivers nailed the session, but they weren’t under the same sort of fire Xander was. When the grilling was complete, Emilio leaned over to speak to Xander. “Sorry the podcast woman is creating problems for you. People don’t appreciate the pressure we’re under.”
It felt good to know someone understood what he was going through, although Emilio was in a different stratosphere than Xander this season. He was favorite to win the Drivers’ Championship. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“And I don’t care what people are saying. I don’t think you’ll lose your seat. Mega will give you some time to sort things out.”
Xander had heard some rumblings of his seat being in jeopardy, but right there was confirmation of just how serious things were. All that pressure he was feeling was now doubled. Because the only way to lessen the pressure was to prove himself on track, and that was the one thing he wasn’t doing these days.
“Thanks. Good luck this weekend.”
“You, too.”
Feeling beaten down, Xander made his way over to Isabel. “I made a real dog’s dinner out of the podcast question, didn’t I?” He wanted to get all uncomfortable subjects out of the way. If he’d made a mistake, he’d own it and move on. It was becoming a well-tested reflex.
“I tried to intervene, but you didn’t let me.”
“I know.”
“Come on. We need to talk. Let’s find a quiet spot.” Isabel led them outside the media center then across to Mega Racing hospitality. Inside, everyone from publicists to technicians and team executives occupied a good third of the tables, enjoying the spread of afternoon treats offered by catering, like coffee, sandwiches and pastries. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good. But thank you.” They found a table in the corner and settled in. “Okay. Give me what you’ve got. I’m all ears,” Xander said.
“Mia Neal’s podcast is becoming more of an issue. And that thing you said about her not knowing what she’s talking about could make it much worse.”
Anger quickly bubbled up inside him, but who could blame him? His patience had been worn thin by the press conference. “How? Won’t this woman get her fifteen minutes of fame and fade back into the shadows from whence she came?”
Isabel snickered. “Fromwhenceshe came? Sometimes you’re comically British.”
“You know what I mean.” Although he had no earthly idea what Mia Neal looked like, he imagined her hunkered down in a dark room—a lair—with nothing but a microphone, internet and an agenda to make his life miserable.
“I’m afraid Ms. Neal is showing no signs of fading. Her popularity is growing. As is her visibility within the sport.”
He narrowed his sight. “Visibility? What does that mean?”
Isabel turned and scanned the room, then leaned closer to Xander. “You aren’t going to be happy about this.”
That was an easy bet right now. Xander was happy about virtually nothing, especially the headache that was now brewing. “Come out with it. Please.”
“Dirk invited her this weekend. I just found out. She’ll be in the paddock in time for qualifying.”
