The Bull Prince | Max Verstappen

Chapter Nine: Romain Grosjean

27. May 2016

Joanna did not feel cruel. Thank you very much. No, Max was grown up and he knew what he was getting himself into as he came to her room, so being kicked out was the logical result. The not so logical result, which followed next in Monaco. Even though it all started pretty normal.

Well, by Monaco's standards.

Normally the driver briefing was fairly civilized, but Monaco was different. Especially after the first training, in which Max was more often in the wall than on the track. The rookies not doing so much better, which led to an emergency meeting with Charlie.

It's not like Joanna had something other to do than to run back to the FIA every time someone got nervous because of a little crash on the narrow streets of Monaco. Not really happy with the call or the situation, Joanna made sure her dinner was stored away before she grabbed the keys and her phone. She would just head for the meeting room real quick, so she couldn't be bothered with changing into team gear again.

"That's better fucking important. My food is getting cold back at home." Joanna muttered as she flopped down next to Romain much further in the front than she would normally sit, but she was still angry with Sebastian for accursing that she didn't even notice the mind games she was playing, so the Austrian didn't take her normal seat next to him in the back row. Romain gave her an amused look, while Joanna pulled the sleeves of her oversize hoody over her hands.

"Fernando asked for this meeting, what do you think." The French replied, which caused Joanna to roll her eyes before she realized that Romain genially waited for her to answer the question. She should have known that the French was far too precious to be sarcastic.

"We'll see." She answered with a shrug of her shoulder, as Fernando entered the room. His look was full of reproach and negative bewilderment at how some of the drivers had made it this far in the first place. A very explicit way of looking at someone, but Joanna knew the look. The Spaniard had honored her with it so often, Joanna wasn't quite sure if he was able to look at her without hatred in his gaze.

The Spaniard didn't waste a minute, before starting to complain about Max in particular. Not quite understanding why he was so against Max, Joanna wondered why Fernando didn't attack the rookies for making the same mistake until she realized what this was really about. Their bet. He tried his fucked-up mind games with Max, but the poor Dutch wouldn't react kindly to that.

The younger Ferrari driver had half the mind to expect Max to punch Fernando right in the face until she noticed that Max wasn't saying something in his defense. Seemed like Christian Horner and Helmut Marko did their utterly most to make sure he wouldn't open his mouth when accursed of being too young or bad driving.

Looking over her shoulder at Max, Joanna coughed the Dutchman already staring at her. What was he expecting that she would do? That she would get involved just to take his site, to back him up. For once this wasn't her fight against Fernando. Even though it was her fault that the Spaniard was attacking the much younger Dutchman in the first place. Stupid bet and stupid Fernando.

Joanna was known around the paddock as a headstrong and independent woman if she needed to be, but over the years the young Austrian had learned to see the difference between a fight worth her effort and a lost cause. It wasn't like she didn't understand that Max felt like he needed her support. She would have hoped for someone to skim in and offer something as well, back in her early years, when the unavoidable criticism was too much.

She wasn't his girlfriend. It's not her job to come to his defense. She wasn't one to offer her opinion unrequested. But why wasn't Max's expression enough? He practically begged her to say something, to help him. Would it be someone else, she wouldn't even consider stepping in. She wondered why Sebastian didn't. He was normally fast to protect the younger ones, the next generation from harsh criticism.