I smile to myself, then stash my fidget back in my pocket for safe keeping.
I don’t need luck today. Not with the way I’m feeling after that interaction.
It’s going to be great.
CHAPTER 17
EVANGELINE
With another look at the clock, I question whether I can actually finish this report before my friends get here.
Once I categorize these last sixteen comments for the content analysis I’m working on, my first official report for Granata will be complete.
It was a whirlwind of a day. To my surprise, I didn’t mind watching the action from the grandstands. Races can beloud, but with my earplugs in place, I had a lot of fun. I was eager to dive into my first data collection assignment, and feeling the sunshine on my face and soaking up the energy from the crowds only added to my excitement.
Aside from offering to take a few pictures for people, I didn’t talk to anyone. If I had, I imagine I’d feel far more drained.
I intentionally wore a basic black Granata T-shirt today to blend in with the spectators. Sitting among so many fans of my friends was an experience. The whole row of people in front of me were cheering for Flynn, all wearing special merch since it was his home race. A huge group of college-aged girls sported Abrams-Rhea colors and held up cutouts of Mia’s and Kenji’s faces. The number of women in the stands was exciting. Women account for three out of every four new F1 fans these days. I can’t wait to show Mia and Kenj the pictures when we meet up tonight.
I click through the tabs on my screen, combining some of the notes I took on my phone with a few more race day comments I found online.
Granata performed really well today, with Heath placing sixth andFerris finishing in ninth. To have both drivers land in the points at the opening grand prix is a fantastic start.
Most of the comments I’ve come across are neutral or positive in that hopeful kind of way that’s common at the beginning of any season.
Many,manycomments mention Alaric by name. It surprised me, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
He is the new team principal, and the reason my job even exists is to gauge how he’s doing and how the public’s perception of Granata is evolving. I certainly don’t mind having to ogle the man I’ve been secretly crushing on for about a week now.
I click over to an open tab that features a candid shot of Alaric that’s already making the rounds and will probably end up being a meme. He’s on the pit wall wearing his headset, looking right into the camera, with this mischievous twinkle in his eye and a smug smirk on his face.
He looks hot as hell. I may or may not have saved the candid to my phone.
I don’t know when the photo was taken, but if I had to guess, it was after Granata pitted both cars at the start of a virtual safety car when Kelly wasn’t in a good position to pit.
The virtual safety car lasted less than two laps, and the timing couldn’t have been better.
I was grinning from ear to ear when the call came in. I can only imagine how elated Alaric and the drivers must have been.
With a sigh, I force myself to exit out of the tabs featuring Alaric’s smiling face and refocus on my work. I’ve got seven minutes left—and that’s if Flynn and Bea aren’t early.
Granata and Kelly are often next to each other on the paddock, and for the next several races, the teams are staying at the same hotels. So Flynn and Bea insisted they’d swing by my room so we could head to the Ritz for Sweatpants and Chill together.
I copy a few more quotes from the notes app on my phone, then double-check them for clarity and categorize each in the spreadsheet, color-coding them accordingly.
Once I’m done, I save everything and upload it to the share drive. Then, with a grin and two minutes to spare, I close my laptop.
A thrill runs through me. It’s week one, and I got all my work done quickly and efficiently. On top of that, I’m genuinely enjoying my new position.
Dressed in a cute matching set of animal-print pajamas, I dig through my bag, ensuring I have everything I need for the night. I’m zipping my purse closed when there’s a knock at my door.
I check the peep hole, then confirm my hotel key is in my pocket before greeting my friends.
“Congrats, mate,” I tell Flynn in my best Australian accent, pulling him into a hug.
“Ah, thanks, Ev,” he says. “Would have loved to finally make it onto the podium and do the home crowd proud, but it wasn’t in the cards for today.”
I give him an extra squeeze.
