Page 3 of Not So Fast
It gave her immense satisfaction to take her best friend to dinner. There’d been too many times when Jasmine had needed to spot Mia a few bucks. As soon as Jasmine was out of sight, Mia quickly pulled her phone out of her bag and checked her social accounts. She probably cared a little too much about them, but the chatter was fun and a boost to the ego—her numbers were skyrocketing, and she had tons of comments on every post, especially from female F1 fans who seemed to appreciate Mia’s approach to the sport.
She also got a few angry, creepy and unhinged DMs every day, but someone had to wade through the muck. As soon as she ventured into her messages, she saw one that made her freeze. From the verified account of legendary F1 driver Dirk Van Dijk, Xander Bishop’s teammate at Mega Racing.
Hello, Mia! I’m Dirk’s personal assistant, Heidi. Dirk loves your podcast and would like to invite you to the Miami Grand Prix this weekend. He will provide travel and accommodations, as well as a paddock pass for qualifying and the race. Please get back to me as soon as possible so we can make arrangements.
“Are we ready?” Jasmine asked, sliding back into the booth.
“They haven’t brought the check yet.” Mia was still trying to figure out what was happening. She’d read the message four times. It didn’t make sense that the assistant of an actual Formula One driver would contact her. “Does this look fake?” She handed over her phone.
“Who’s Dirk Van Dijk?” Jasmine asked, butchering the pronunciation.
“Xander Bishop’s teammate.”
Jasmine narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Why would heinvite you to a race when you’re so critical of the other guy on his team?”
“I’m guessing it’sbecauseI’ve been so critical of Xander. Every team has a lead driver and a number two. When Xander signed with Mega, everyone thought he’d come in and crush Dirk. He’d be top dog. But the opposite has happened. I’m sure Dirk will do anything to keep it that way.”
Jasmine swiped Mia’s phone, then handed it back to her. “It’s from his verified account. I think it’s real. You, my darling, have a famous fan.”
“But going to Miami on his dime? That seems a step too far.” Mia was certain of what the invitation meant, and it gave her a whole new understanding of Dirk Van Dijk and his ruthlessness. “I can’t go. I want to go, but I’ve taken too many journalistic ethics classes. The rules are clear. I should pay my own way, but I can’t afford it.”
“Mia. I don’t care what you tell your mom about your new job being journalism-adjacent. You’re not a journalist. You’re a podcaster.”
“Hey. I take my work very seriously.”
“I know you do. But most of the substance of your show is your opinion.”
“My opinions are based in facts. And I do report the news of the sport.”
“Which you will be in a better position to do if you have inside access. Plus, don’t you think your listeners will find it exciting? Hearing about everything behind the scenes?”
That did sound appealing. It could be another big step forward forNot So Fast. Mia bunched up her lips, her brain in overdrive. “You really think it’s a good idea?”
“You’d be a fool not to go.”
Mia looked at her phone, her mind a torrent of thoughts and her heart pulling in opposite directions. “I think he’s doing this so he can mess with Xander.”
“Not your problem. Like I said. Access, baby. VIP. You gotta grab it while you can.”
* * *
Xander Bishop had spent most of his life dreaming of being a Formula One driver, but no one had ever bothered to warn him about the misery of media day. This particular press conference in Miami was an especially horrible one, in part because of Xander’s terrible showing at the last race, in Japan. Xander qualified like shit, starting at fifteenth on the grid, then falling back three spots to finish in eighteenth. Meanwhile, his teammate, Dirk Van Dijk, had come across the line in third and earned his second podium of the season. In the same car Xander was driving. How was Dirk managing these results while Xander was struggling? It made no damn sense.
“Xander, are you concerned with the trajectory your season is taking, given that there was so much hype about you signing with Mega Racing for millions of pounds?” a sharp-nosed and scruffy-haired reporter asked.
How in the hell was Xander supposed to answer that question?Of course I’m concerned. I spend every waking minute keenly aware that I could lose my seat, be cast out of the sport, never to return. I have nightmares about being a complete and utter failure, disappointing everyone I know and love, especially my family, who count on me for everything, all while simultaneously watching the only dream I’ve ever had go up in flames.
Xander leaned back on the U-shaped white leather sofa he and four other drivers were sitting on for the weekend press conference and raised the microphone to his lips. “I’m notconcerned.” He shifted in his seat, noting theliar liar pants-on-firevibes from the drivers sitting on either side of him. “Yes, I’m having some difficulty understanding the car and getting the setup right. But that’s just part of the process. We’ll get there. The team and I are working incredibly hard to make sure this weekend in Miami is a successful one.”
He caught sight of Isabel Terry, PR rep and his personal handler from Mega Racing. She offered a reassuring nod then tucked her fire-red hair behind one ear. At least Xander could answer a question correctly.
“Why do you think Dirk is having so much more success with the car than you are?” another reporter asked.
Dirk was a good twelve years older than Xander and had left the sport for two seasons a few years back, but since his return, he was tearing up every circuit they visited. It was like he’d turned forty and had a run-in with a radioactive spider that gave him secret powers. He marched through every race weekend, fully confident in his abilities and then proving them on track. Meanwhile, Xander, in the exact same car, seemed to be regressing. The harder he worked and the more determined he became to do better, the worse things got.
“Dirk and I have very different styles. I’m not making excuses, but I don’t think you can compare us like that, even if we are driving the same car.” Although Xander felt exactly like he was making excuses. He didn’t understand why he was struggling so much right now, which was its own source of frustration.
“One more question for Xander,” the woman overseeing the press conference said, showing him some mercy. “Then we’ll move on to the other drivers.”
