“Let’s say they don’t ask me to do work for Monaco an—”
“They’re not that bloody stupid. You bring in numbers in a desired demographic. They’ll ask you.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, let’s pretend, for the sake of this conversation, they don’t. And don’t you dare suggest that you will fly me over for dinner because I wouldn’t accept that.”
“You realize that me buying you a first-class ticket to France is the equivalent of me paying for your Uber to a restaurant, right?”
Well, there’s that.
“But I also know,” he says slowly, “that you wouldn’t even let me get you an Uber, so I won’t offer it. I don’t need to. You will be in Monaco. So the only question is, will you have dinner with me or not?”
Chapter Thirteen
It’s a glorious Saturday afternoon in Northern Italy. Puffy white clouds stretch across the blue sky over the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix, and I marvel at the magnificent place I find myself in. The racecourse is nestled in the valley, and the setting is beautiful, with trees surrounding a track with nineteen turns and significant elevation changes. Homes with terra-cotta roofs dot the landscape around the track, and the scene is just breathtaking.
And as I hurry from the F2 press conference to the Collings Motors garage, I try to wrap my head around the fact that my life has—within a matter of days—completely changed.
So much has happened since Wednesday. The interview I did with Caleb aired during Friday’s race-weekend preview show,The Gear Box, and it not only got monster numbers, but it went viral on the website. I’m clippedeverywhere. I’m on Threads. YouTube. Connectivity. TikTok. All because the elusive Caleb Collings decided to finally sit down for a one-on-one conversation. The views The Downforce Network is collecting online are HUGE.
I crushed it with a key demographic the network is desperate to grow.
Women.
I knew Caleb and I knocked that out of the park as soon as we recorded it. The numbers only confirmed my gut instinct. I’ve also received great reviews for my fun and unconventional interview style. The network immediately contacted my agent to work out a contract to host a half-hour online interview show like the one I did with Caleb—a mix of soft racing questions mixed in with completely irreverent ones—with all kinds of people working in F1, from drivers to race engineers to team principals. So that’s being negotiated now, and I can hardly get my head around it, everything is happening so quickly.
They also want me to do social media content and stuff for F2, like the grid walk I’m doing tomorrow. In fact, I’ve attended F2 practice sessions, qualifying, and press conferences to prepare for my big debut on the grid.
I will be traveling with the network to cover F1.
And I will be in Monaco next week for the Monaco Grand Prix.
Which means I have a dinner date with Caleb.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
But putting thoughts of that aside, I can’t believe mere weeks ago I got one shot at a motorhome tour for social media content.
Now I’m getting to report on F2 and host an interview show for the network.
Not to mention the sponsorship deals that are coming in.
I know I’m getting these opportunities because of Caleb. I know my talent is pushing them through, but the door wouldn’t have opened as quickly—IF EVER—without him.
And here I am, about to watch the F1 qualifying session to determine pole position and spots on the grid for the race tomorrow—and I’m going to be in Caleb’s garage for all of it.
Butterflies dance in my stomach. I could tell myself it’s because I’ve watched this race on TV so many times, and it’s surreal to be here, on this historic track, for a Grand Prixweekend. Or because I’ll be doing live TV on this very track tomorrow.
But I know those would be lies. The butterflies have never truly gone away.
They’ve been there since I saw Caleb for the first time here in Italy.
We haven’t seen each other since that night. We’ve both been busy with work. But I watched his press conference back in my hotel room on Thursday night. I bite back a laugh when I think about it. He might have told me all about the joys of foam candy, but when it came to answering the questions from reporters?
The same tight-lipped Caleb returned.
I don’t know if he’ll ever change, and I can’t say that I blame him.
And it once again reenforces how huge it was that he offered to sit down and speak with me.