The Paddock Pact

Chapter 5: Risk Assessment

POV: Anya

The steady hum of the office printer and the neat stack of claims on my desk were supposed to ground me. After the utter chaos of my weekend in Barcelona, I just wanted normal, predictable, and quiet.

"Look who’s back!" Mark, my desk neighbor, dropped a coffee onto my desk and leaned against the divider. "How was Barcelona? Did you actually see the sun, or did you just read your k****e in the hotel?"

"A bit of both," I said, putting my glasses on and giving him a small smile. "It was nice. Loud, though."

"Yeah, F1 weekend," Mark laughed. "I watched the race. Total mess. Hey, did you see the drama online? That driver, Alvarez? Some paparazzi caught him stumbling into his hotel with some girl, and his ex is totally destroying him on Instagram."

My fingers froze over my keyboard for half a second, but I kept my face blank. Hiding my reactions to sudden bad news is basically my job description anyway.

"I think I saw a headline," I said, taking a slow sip of coffee.

Mark leaned in, dropping his voice. "Come on, Anya, you were literally there. The girl in the video... Tell me it was you. Did you get us VIP passes for next year?"

I let out a dry little laugh and looked him straight in the eye. "If it were me, Mark, I’d have negotiated a lifetime of VIP passes and a massive corporate sponsorship for our firm. Sorry to disappoint. I was in bed by midnight."

"Yeah, true. You're way too smart to get mixed up with some driver," he joked, waving a hand as he walked back to his desk.

The second he turned around, I let out a long breath. Nobody recognized me. The video was blurry, the lighting was garbage, and to everyone else, I was just some random "mystery woman." I was safe. My quiet, regular life was fine.

The only real issue was my work badge, which had vanished. I’d already asked HR for a replacement, lying that I dropped it at the airport.

By lunchtime, curiosity got the better of me. I opened my laptop, hesitated for a second, and typed Mateo Alvarez into the search bar.

It was a mess. The Canadian Grand Prix was starting, and the press was relentless. I clicked a clip from the official press conference. There he was, sitting on stage under the bright lights. He looked exhausted, all his normal energy totally gone, replaced by this tense, awkward silence. I felt a brief, stupid pang of sympathy for him, but I shut it down fast. He brought this on himself.

Then some woman stepped up to the mic—the team’s PR head.

I watched, my eyes going wide as she delivered a massive, shameless lie to a room full of reporters.

"The woman in the video isn't a romantic partner. She is Mateo's newly appointed personal assistant... You will see her in the paddock at the next race in Austria."

I stared at the screen, a cynical laugh escaping me.

"An assistant?" I muttered, closing the browser tab. "Good luck with that one, Alvarez."

They were desperate, which was kind of pathetic, but it wasn't my problem. They didn't know my name, they didn't know where I lived, and Austria was thousands of miles away from my desk. I logged out and went back to calculating risk premiums.

The rest of the week went by fast. By 5:00 PM on Tuesday, the office was clearing out. I packed my bag, said bye to a few people, and walked out the glass doors of the building. The evening air felt great after sitting under fluorescent lights all day.

"See you tomorrow, Anya!" Mark called out, heading toward the subway.

"See you," I waved back.

I walked toward the curb, checking both ways before stepping off to head to the bus stop. But as I glanced across the street, I froze.

Leaning against a dark rental car parked by the curb was a guy who made zero sense in this part of town. He was wearing a plain dark hoodie with his hands shoved in his pockets. His messy hair caught the sun, and despite trying to look low-key, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Mateo Alvarez.

He was looking right at me. When our eyes met, this massive look of relief washed over his face, and he took a step forward.

My stomach did a violent flip. I quickly checked behind me to make sure Mark was gone, then marched straight across the street. I stopped a few feet away, crossed my arms, and kept my voice low and dangerous.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mateo?"

He didn't give me that fake, smooth athlete smile. He just looked genuinely apologetic, his green eyes wide like he was waiting to get yelled at. Slowly, he pulled a hand out of his hoodie pocket and held up a black lanyard.

"I found your badge," he said softly. He swallowed hard, looking straight at me. "And... I really need to talk to you. Please?"