Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

t w e n t y - f o u r

Fia and Charles spent the rest of the weekend trading in secret touches: his hand tugging the back of her jacket when he walked past, their fingers brushing in empty corridors. They shared silent glances across crowded rooms as other people fought for their attention: the press, colleagues, friends. It was wrong and made Fia feel endlessly guilty, yet she couldn't stop. The memory of Charles' lips against hers, the taste of his desire on her tongue, was a constant distraction. They hadn't slept together, but somehow, that was even worse. It was quickly becoming apparent that they had neither the willpower nor the inclination to keep their hands off each other.

The only way she could distract herself was by focusing on work.

"How do you think we'll do in the race today?" Claudia asked Fia on Sunday, glancing at the bruise-coloured sky outside the window. They were working in Ferrari's press room, next to the hospitality space. Claudia's laptop was open - she was supposed to be editing some video content – but a psychedelic screensaver bounced around the screen. "Looks like it's going to rain pretty badly."

Fia's stomach knotted. She hated it when the track was wet, even more so in Suzuka. "As long as all the drivers are safe, I don't care what happens," she said honestly. Ferrari getting a podium was the last thing on her mind.

Outside, the sky darkened, and the first few raindrops fell.

"How is that press release coming along, Fia?" Silvia asked from her desk.

"Almost finished. Actually" – she picked her laptop up – "I wanted to get your thoughts on the final paragraph."

Silvia gestured for her to bring it over. She tried to control her nervous energy as she crossed the room – all she could think about was the impending race and the slick, dark asphalt glistening with fresh rainfall.

"This is good," Silvia nodded, scanning the document. "But this part needs more detail. If we just..."

Fia's attention wavered when she felt someone behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Charles. Her body seemed to recognise his presence, to respond even before she'd laid eyes on him. She took a deep breath; she could smell his cologne.

"Fia," he said. She turned around and shot him a glare that she hoped conveyed the words she was screaming in her head: what the hell are you doing? "I was just looking for you."

Silvia glanced up, surprised. "Charles. Shouldn't you be preparing for the race?"

"Yes," Fia said, clearing her throat. "Shouldn't you?"

He nudged his foot into hers, a subtle request to play along. She couldn't believe his audacity. When she saw Claudia watching them with a barely contained smirk, she felt blood rising to her cheeks.

"I wanted to grab Fia to talk about my media commitments this evening," Charles explained. Fia stood on his toe – stamped, actually – in a desperate attempt to stop what she knew was about to happen. Charles' gaze flickered in her direction for half a second before returning to Silvia. "If that is okay with you?"

"Of course," she nodded, closing Fia's laptop. She was clearly thrilled that Charles was showing an interest in his PR duties. "Take as long as you need."

Fia followed Charles, silently seething. She couldn't believe he had been so brazen when he knew the potential consequences for her. If Silvia started to suspect what was happening, she'd be out of the team immediately. Charles found an empty room and held the door open, reaching for her hand as she walked past. She quickly pulled it away; an amused smile tugged at his mouth.

"What the hell was that?" She demanded as soon as the door closed. He leaned against a table and watched as she paced up and down. "I mean, are you crazy? Do you want me to lose my job?"