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redbullcateringfiction · 10 months

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New multi chapter Toto Wolff fanfic -

Cantata

Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Read the 1st chapter below the cut or on AO3

Hello Reader,

I wanted to let you know that I am in no way speculating on Susie Wolff's sexuality. I simply wanted to write a happy fic with no affairs and no messy divorces. Susie is lovely. Susie is baby girl. She deserves nothing but the best. I simply want this fic to focus on Toto and an original female character's relationship with no underlying narratives.

Thanks,

A.E.

chapter 1 - solo

My father has a habit. He will always play classical music. In the car, in the living room, in the kitchen, as he read us bedtime stories. Always. There was never a moment in my childhood home that wasn’t covered with classical music. He also has a deep appreciation for Formula racing. The television was always on something related to F1, and if we dared to change the channel, we best change it back before he got back home. Eventually, we all gave up on changing it at all.

I noticed on one of those particular Sunday mornings the way the cars and the classical music moved together in one beautiful melody. I watched as the cars turned the corners delicately, coming nearly to a halt, before speeding ahead. I loved watching as the grid took off. How they all came around the corners slowly. My father’s favorite driver when I was a child was Ayrton Senna. His passing hit my home like a tornado. The classical music never stopped, until that day.

There were no races in my home for an entire year. My father refused to watch a race without Senna. March 10th, 1996, the television turned on again. So did the music. I watched as my father sat down, and suddenly I became just as entranced as him. The first race of that season, and the grid was just as delicate as a dance as I had remembered.

"You misspelled my name," Toto mumbled, leaning over me. He rolled his eyes, and laughed about it as he rapidly pressed backspace. For the first time in our long relationship, I had found myself mindlessly savoring the scent of his expensive cologne. It lingered in the way a cologne does when it's noticed and not announced.

"Torger, not Torfer," he smiled. "You don't know this by now?" It froze me in my tracks. My typical sassy response failed to come to my mouth like it usually would. I was so caught up in actually, for the first time, properly noticing Toto Wolff.

"I'm joking, lighten up," he said, finally backing away. He must've noticed the way I had locked my jaw and could barely focus.

"Oh, sorry. I just got a little lost in thought," I responded.

"I can tell. You did misspell my name after all," he said, sitting on the edge of my desk. I swatted my hand in his direction. I hate bent papers and he was dangerously close to my pile of documents. He lifted himself up just long enough for me to grab the pile, and he sat firmly on the edge again.

"How are things going?" he asked.

"It's been hard to schedule the team strategy meetings, and between interviews and engagements, the schedule is relatively heavy for the next few weeks."

"Ah well that's interesting but I meant how are things going with you?"

Despite having worked with Toto for several years, I was never prepared for that question. It wasn't exceptionally rare or anything, it just seemed to be that he always asked during a busy period. A kind thing to do, but busy periods such as this were always excessively intense for Toto and I. The kind of busy where I yelled at him for being 5 minutes over in his meeting because it meant we were twenty minutes late for the next. So, I always assume it's a work question.

"Things are good...Yes, good."

"Are you excited?"

"For?"

"The Grand Prix? Is your family flying in? Your sister had a baby, right?"

My family. Right. I shouldn't have forgotten. This is one of three Grand Prix’s my family will attend. Bahrain, Abu Dhabi, and the Dutch Grand Prix. It's only really that my family lives in the Netherlands. Am I Dutch, though? I prefer the term "vaguely European" to describe myself. My family comprises of Moroccan immigrants. I don't have the height, nor the blonde hair and blue eyes. I don't, however, have the Moroccan culture present in my life. My family are immigrants. As part of our citizenship, our culture slowly faded away 2 generations ago. It's always a small bit of my life that I've resented. Feeling so lost in the classroom, in the professional world, in...well every aspect of my life. Maybe it isn't so small. Either way, deliberately destroying the traces of your culture also deliberately destroys your family dynamic. There is no glue to hold us together. Just blood and irritation. I can dislike my father's rigid way of thinking, but I can't reason it away with "it's where we're from." It isn't. You've ridded yourself and us of it. Instead, all I can do is take a job where I am constantly galloping across the world with a swank apartment in London. Then, you can stop by at one of 3 races. The first, the middle, and the last. They happen to speak your language that you forced me not to speak inat the first and the last, and in the middle one I get to feel uncomfortable as everyone is excited for my “home” race. Yay.

“She did have a baby. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her though,” I brushed the conversation away. He gave me a notably flat face in response.

“You have to make time for family. Even I do,” He crossed his arms.

Frankly, I don’t want to. This also isn’t a fight I want to take with Toto “Twice Divorced” Wolff. If he can be best friends with both of his ex-wives, who am I to complain about a little bit of immigrant family drama? More so, his relationship with Susie couldn’t be more sickeningly sweet. When she came out as a lesbian, he was the first one to support her in every way. There was not a single moment of hardship between them. And I, therefore, cannot for a moment consider complaining about my mommy and daddy issues.

“You’re right,” I mumbled, going back to typing my email.

“You don’t genuinely think I’m right. You never do,” He chuckled.

“So, maybe I was lying,” I winked.

“Well, I’ll stop bothering you, Arabella,” he sighed and stood up.

“Not so fast, Torger, ” I nearly hissed. “We have to leave in 5 minutes for a meeting. If you’re tempted to forget with who, I’ll kindly remind you that we have a sponsor function this evening.”

“I hadn’t forgotten. I was simply off to pack my bag.”

“I doubt that,” I chuckled. I know very well the role I serve here. I’m the executive assistant. That means I don’t just run the schedule, but rather in a way, I run him. At some point during the day, I leave the office or paddock and head to a plane, hotel, or home. But for the other 80% of the day, I am the best micromanager this side of the Atlantic. It’s something I enjoy, and that’s the most important part of Formula 1. For the drivers, it’s an enjoyment and a true passion to race. For the team principal, there is an enjoyment and true passion to lead a magnificent crew into victory. For me, I know these things require an obsession. I have to be 5 feet ahead of everyone else, and 6 feet behind Toto.

I quickly sent off my email making sure not a single typo said “Torfer,” and packed my own bag. I opened the padfolio and placed the important materials into it and prepared to debrief. I picked up my cell phone and texted the driver to ensure he was waiting outside. I just know I’m the most annoying person in Brackley.

Toto finally wandered out of his office with just enough time for us to get down the elevator and out the door. “You just love running down the clock,” I mumbled.

“We may be a racing company but not everything has to be a race,” He answered as we walked towards the elevator.

“Do you look at your schedule? At all?”

“If I did, what would I pay you for?” He chuckled. I knew that was a bold-faced lie. If he wants to rearrange his entire week, he might require a bit of help, but most of the appointments seamlessly find a new spot. We speed walked to the car and hopped in the back, and I quickly opened the padfolio.

“UBS London, correct?” The driver, Reggie, asked.

“Yes,” I answered. I passed the padfolio to Toto, and he took his glasses off his shirt collar and looked at the papers.

“First, you’ll be meeting with the investment team. It should be a 45-minute meeting where you’ll run through the projections for the upcoming season. The data is on the next sheet, and after that you’ll find the design for the investors showcase tonight. It’ll consist of UBS staff. The car is on its way to London, and will be in the center of the ballroom, and next to it will be a race suit. Just spend a nice amount of time pointing out the UBS logo on the clothing and you should be fine,” I explained.

“And the scheduling?”

“The meeting is at 1pm. You’ll head to the hotel, and you’ll find the clothing for tonight in the wardrobe. There are some options there. At 6pm, you’ll head to the hotel ballroom, give a quick speech with a UBS representative, and head back up for bed at 11pm. Or later if you prefer, it’s up to how much sleep you’d like. At 8am, we fly to Sakhir and get ready for testing the day after.”

“I don’t know why they’re so desperate to be this close to the first race,” Toto sighed. “Will you be there the whole evening?”

“I’ll head out at about 7, after the speeches,” I nodded. “I’ll get to the airport about an hour before you.”

“Lewis and Valtteri, what about them?” Toto asked.

“What about them? I don’t dare to touch their schedules. Their assistants have razor sharp teeth and bite.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“They’ll be in that night prior to testing. Let them get a good rest in. If you want to bother them then, feel free.”

“So, is your family flying in?” Toto asked.

“Anyway, the hotel in Sakhir is the same as last. Everyone loved the bathrooms. Quite fancy even for F1 standards.”

“The hotel I presume your family will be staying in?” Toto smirked. I turned to see he was holding his reading glasses, while staring at me expectantly. I clearly was not getting out of this.

“I booked them two rooms, yes. And they’ll fly in right before the race,” I nodded.

“Are you meeting with them? That should be nice.”

“I had no plans to. Far too busy. They’re really on here for the race, not for me.”

“Paddock passes then. You can give them a nice tour.”

“I don’t have time to do a tour.”

“I’ll make sure you have time to do a tour!” Toto answered.

I stared rather blankly at him. Pick your battles, pick them wisely. Is this a fight I want to win? Ever since I’ve started here, Toto has encouraged me to give the free tickets to my family. I, then, get to spend a shocking amount of time and money ordering them their flights and arranging them like a herder. Then, I get to smile and wave from just outside the paddock and strategically avoid them with nothing more than a quick apology. Sorry! I got caught up. I’m sure you can imagine how busy it is. I’ll see you guys during the holiday break! And then, once a year, I sit surrounded in chaos at my parents’ home, practically watching dishes fly to the dinner table. I then completely dissociate from my body, someone has very nice conversations with them pretending to be me, and I then reenter my body. I fly back to London and have a good 2 weeks of Tinder dates. Ah. Right. Tinder.

I can absolutely use that to move on from this conversation. I open my phone and begin the swiping adventure without a second thought. I could sense Toto staring at me waiting for a response.

“Sure. I’m sure they’d love paddock passes. My dad is a big Hamilton fan,” I nodded.

“Great! I’ll get it done,” Toto answered before getting on his own phone, presumably to provide my father with his dream of meeting Lewis Hamilton. Well, I expect this season will be very similar to the last 9.

#fanfic #toto wolff #f1 2023 #toto wolff x oc #oc of color #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff fanfic #formula 1 rpf #f1 fandom #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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redbullcateringfiction · 9 months

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Chapter 2 -

Cantata

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Second chapter below the cut or click here for AO3

Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters

(Total: 7270 words thus far)

“How long have you been with Mercedes?” Mr. Wolff asked me.

“2 years at this point,” I nodded.

“And prior to that?”

“I was a personal assistant for an acting agent at United Agents,” I answered. “Prior to that, I received a Level 5 executive assistant diploma and project management diploma at Souters in the Netherlands.”

“What languages are you fluent in?”

“German, Dutch, Arabic, English, and French,” I explained.

“Arabic…that’s helpful,” he nodded.

“Yes. There was a continuous call for an executive assistant in the marketing department who spoke Arabic when I first applied here. I thought I’d be a good fit.”

“You only have 5 years’ experience at this point, and only 2 in Formula 1. Would you be prepared to take on the level of responsibility that this comes with?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wolff, I’ve made it through 5 rounds of interviews and 4 exams. I have yet to fail a single one. This might just be what I was made for.”

Mr. Wolff looked up from his note pad and smirked. He seemed to think for just a moment, and then looked me in my eyes. “I agree. Can you start next week?”

“There’s a 90-day trial period when you first begin. If we decide to proceed, you’ll sign a formal employment contract for this role. If we don’t, returning to your role in Marketing will still be an option. If this role re-opens, you can re-apply in a year. Do you understand?” The HR manager asked me.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Do you mind if I say something…off the record so to speak?” He asked.

“No, no problem. Go ahead,” I nodded.

“This will be very hard. And you’re quite young. What, 25? You’ve been here for 2 seasons. We’ve only really been this team, like this at least, for 3 seasons. This will only continue to get harder. With Haug gone, we’ve got this new guy. You’re not just his assistant, you’re going to act like his curator with everyone else. You’re going to be the one really driving this connection. Afterall, you’re the one who plans every step of the day. If you leave during those 90 days, you get to take home 50% of your salary to keep you from going to another team. If you leave after 6 months, you get to take home 100% of the salary for a whole year. I’m just saying, you won’t struggle if you get tired of this.”

I thought for a moment. Was he telling me to leave or was he telling me I could? Was this a warning or a recommendation?

“Thanks,” I answered. I picked up my new badge off the desk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s the end of the 90 days, Ms. Lazaar,” Mr. Wolff said, sitting me down at his desk. “Let’s have a talk.”

I could feel my forehead dripping beads of sweat. I hadn’t been perfect. Not at all. But I’d been pretty darn close. I have no clue what the threshold is for failure. That’s not something I was entirely used to. Executive assistants frequently find themselves doing this for years. If this didn’t work out, I don’t know if I would want to go back to marketing. I had spent the past 3 months in different countries, watching races from the pit practically. I experienced Formula 1 at a level I never imagined. Going back to sitting at a desk answering phone calls wouldn’t cut it anymore. This felt like it. And there’s only so many teams. There are only so many jobs just like this with my skillset. If this didn’t work out…well…I’d probably be at a bank by next year.

“How do you think you’ve done?” He asked. I hated questions like these. What was the point? You already know how I’ve done.

“I think I’ve done well. I haven’t been perfect. The first two weeks were hard, but after that settling in was easy,” I explained, with a small white lie about the ease. Nothing about this was easy.

“Easy?”

“I may have been bluffing,” I quickly gave up. He chuckled in response. Suddenly the air felt much lighter. My nerves suddenly subsided. I blotted my forehead with a tissue.

“Do you feel close to burning out at all?”

Yes. “No.”

“Was that a bluff?”

Okay, maybe I had been a bit emphatic with that no. And perhaps a bit dramatic with my thinking. “A little. This isn’t easy. This is hard. This is tiring. But I like it. I think I might even love it. I enjoy it. Sacrificing a few hours of sleep makes this worth it,” I answered.

“Well, I can tell you enjoy it. I think you’ve done a great job. I’m excited to see what you do with the rest of your tenure here at Mercedes,” He smiled, passing me an official hiring contract. I signed it with no second thoughts.

I looked down at my Tinder profile. In several of the pictures, I had put forth an effort to show off my long and dark curly hair. My favorite picture, was of course, first. It helped to showcase the kind of lifestyle you lead to ensure you only get matches you actually like. That picture was of me, on a yacht in Monaco with Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas. What else screams “are you good enough for me?” quite like that? I need a new one though. This was getting a bit old.

“Ten years, yes?” Toto suddenly asked.

“Huh?” I lilted, looking up from my phone.

“Ten years at Mercedes for you. Coming up, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Has it been 10 years? Oh…well yes. I guess it has. I think in April.”

“April 18 th , to be exact,” He nodded.

“Cool,” I sighed, going back to my phone. I felt a hand come over and my phone had suddenly disappeared out of my view. I turned and Toto had it in his hand. This was the stuff of nightmares. There is no way in hell my boss can know I’m on Tinder. My heart jumped out of my chest as I suddenly went to reach over for it, I saw the screen had darkened. He at least had done me the favor of pressing the power button.

“Give it back,” I groaned.

“You’re so glued to your phone,” He mockingly groaned back.

“It’s literally my job to be.”

“Ah, then what are you so busy with at this moment that you can’t tell me what you’d like for your 10 th anniversary at the company?”

“None of your business,” I frowned.

“Then answer what it is that you’d like.”

“I don’t know, a pen or something? Can I have my phone back now?”

“A pen? A fucking pen? For a decade at a company, you want a pen? ”

“Yes. I’d love a pen. Now give me back my phone.”

He disappointingly handed over my phone. I continued swiping away until I noticed him take out his own phone. I looked up and scoffed, and he chuckled knowing exactly why. I looked back down and saw a profile that stood out. A super like.

Jeffrey, 40

I’m the nice guy your mom told you to settle down with, but with slightly less hair and more traveling.

Yeah, I’ve read worse. I swiped right and messaged him. As I patiently waited for a response, I looked back at Toto. I watched as he looked through the padfolio, seemingly memorizing every word on the page. I had, for a long time, deliberately put my head in the sand when it came to him. This morning though had seemed to shock me, and suddenly I found myself lingering on him. His hands turning the pages, his glasses slipping off his nose, and the way his dark eyes traced the pages I had written. In many ways, he is incredibly-Ah, my phone vibrated.

Jeffrey: Hey! Nice to meet you, Arabella. You’re a secretary?

I sighed and typed out my reply. Not a secretary. An executive assistant. “Fucking men,” I mumbled. Toto looked over with an eyebrow raised. I awkwardly smiled and went back to my phone.

Jeffrey: Oh, sorry! So, you know Hamilton?

If I were the type to cackle evilly, I would at this moment.

Me: I work with him.

Now, to let that fester a little bit. I looked down into my bag and pulled out my schedule and began making the necessary calls for tonight. It’s important to verify everything. First, the hotel, immediately followed by the driving company. I had nearly forgotten and phoned down UBS to ensure that the investors have their meeting scheduled for the correct time. I placed the necessary checkmarks in my schedule that represented ‘Yes, I’ve called them. Now it’s their fault if anything has gone wrong.’

And of course, to top it off, Bombardier. “Yes, we have the jet chartered for tomorrow morning at 8am,” Our private contact, Leanna, answered.

“Oh, perfect. And could you make sure that breakfast is ready for everyone?”

“Yes, absolutely. The usual for everyone?” She asked.

“Yes, and make sure Mr. Wolff’s pumpernickel snaps like a cookie. I think I recall it being a little too lightly toasted last time. Oh, and next week, we have that flight scheduled, too? Right?”

“Yes. I’ll send you an email too to verify all the rest of the flights for the year. But for you, Arabella! I don’t have your breakfast here.”

“Oh, I’m going to cook for myself in the morning. I’m a sucker for an English breakfast.”

“You sure?” She insisted.

“Really, Leanna. They are my bread and butter. Literally.”

She gave me a nice pity chuckle. “Okay, well, Francis will meet you at Heathrow.”

“Thank you, Leanna. Speak with you next week.”

“Obviously!” She laughed, hanging up the phone. I placed my checkmark next to the flight. I looked over at my phone and saw the new response.

Jeffrey: Oh, you work at Brackley?

You could say that.

Me: Yes.

Jeffrey: Well, I’d love to meet with you tonight and talk more about ourselves. What time are you free?

I gave it a little thought. It’s so easy to plan for everyone else.

Me: Does 9pm work for you?

Jeffrey: Perfect, how about Angler?

I’m impressed. And its close! Oh, God. Does he work for UBS? Am I over thinking this? I’m overthinking this. Why would 9pm be okay if he worked for UBS? He would certainly be at this event.

Me: Perfect-er.

Jeffrey: See you then.

I took my last glance at my phone before looking up at the driver’s GPS. 45 minutes left to go. I checked my email and did the slightest bit more work but otherwise enjoyed the little break I was getting. Every so often, I would peek my head up at Toto and watched him do little of much alike me. It doesn’t take long to read the documents I prepare, by design. I watched briefly for a moment as he Facetimed his children and watched his face beam with pride and joy. I tried not to watch for long, pretending instead that I wasn’t listening. Slowly, but surely, 45 minutes turned to 30, and then to 5. Then all of a sudden we were on the move. I grabbed the suitcases out of the trunk as Toto managed the other bags. We headed in through the large omniscient glass doors after crossing the courtyard, and I phoned down to the UBS executive assistant.

“Hello, this is Marie.”

“Hi, Marie. It’s Arabella and Mr. Wolff. We’re in the lobby,” I spoke quietly.

“Excellent, I’ll come down and meet you. Mr. Fischer will be about 5 minutes late for the meeting, but Mr. Wolff is welcome to start.”

“I’ll let him know. Thank you, Marie,” I said, right before hanging up.

“Okay, Toto. Bobby Fischer is going to be about 5 minutes late, but you’re welcome to start. Please actually do start. Don’t linger,” I explained.

“Will do, Arabella,” He sighed. He handed me my crossbody and I slinged it over my shoulder. “Ah there she is.”

I looked across the lobby and saw Marie walking towards us. The world of executive assistants is small, and we’ve truly all begun to know each other. Not all of the driver’s have assistants but Marie was Lewis Hamilton’s ex-assistant. Leaving your boss in this line of work is truly a bit like a break up, and this must feel like running into your ex’s parents a bit. I still get uncomfortable walking past the Marketing department. However, Marie was just like most of us current or ex F1 assistants. She was a hard ass. Much more controlling than you’d expect out of your typical assistant, and if I’m considered demanding, Marie is 10-fold. I don’t know if that management style worked for Lewis, but it's what a field like banking demands at times, so I imagine the crossover wasn’t as odd as it must seem.

“Wonderful to see you again, Arabella. And you too, Toto. Arabella, meet us on the 38th floor at approximately 1:30. I can have coffee made for you at arrival. Black coffee right?” It sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

“Absolutely. See you then,” I nodded. She ceremoniously walked towards the elevator with Toto, almost like a passing of the torch. I headed outside and brought up the directions to the hotel. Just around the corner really, but I can be a bit silly and somehow get all turned around. Truly why F1 driving was never for me.

I wandered into the hotel and saw the clear signs for the Angler restaurant. I knew it was close to the hotel, but it hadn’t processed it was in the hotel. I walked up to the check in counter while sending off the quickest message to my Tinder date. Have you made reservations?

“Hello, yes, I need to check in for Torger Wolff,” I explained.

“Ahh, for the Mercedes F1 team staying here tonight?” She asked.

“Yep,” I nodded.

“Can I see some ID?”

I handed over my ID and my phone quickly buzzed.

Jeffrey: Yes! Wouldn’t dare not to.

Oh, perfect. Great. Couldn’t get any better.

Me: Oh! Perfect! Great, couldn’t get any better! See you there.

I looked back up at her while she studied my ID.

“Are you with the Mercedes F1 team?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“What is it that you do?” She asked, almost snidely.

“I’m an assistant.”

“To whom?”

“Who do you think? Lewis Hamilton? Or the guy who’s bags I’m trying to drop off?” I smiled.

“Well, I don’t see you have a room booked here. How am I to know if you’re not just a groupie or something?”

“A groupie? In a suit?” I questioned, before shaking my head. I was trying to shake off what I really wanted to say in this instance. “Check the notes. It’s very clear that I’m authorized to enter his room and to check in.”

“I see no notes,” She smiled.

“Then call your supervisor,” I smiled back. I saw her roll her eyes as she picked up the phone. Soon enough, a young gentleman walked behind the counter. He had to be younger than me.

“Yes?” He asked.

“She is attempting to check in for the Mercedes F1 Team Principal. I see nothing on here about her checking him in,” She explained. Her manager took a glance at the computer screen, then over at me. He looked me up and down, before going back to the computer screen.

“Is this your ID?” He asked.

“Yes,” I groaned.

“Please, don’t catch an attitude. We’re simply trying to ensure the safety of our guests,” He smiled. An attitude? “I see you have no room booked tonight under the block of rooms for Mercedes-Petronas. Am I to believe that you simply are here to enter his room and then leave?”

“Yes, you absolutely are. Especially considering I have shown you my ID,” I explained.

“Then why aren’t you staying here if you’re with the team?”

“I live in London. In Chelsea?” I nodded.

“That’s a long way from here,” He sighed.

“Is it? It’s like half an hour,” I insisted. “No, nevermind that. I am here to check in for Toto-Torger Wolff. I am his executive assistant. I have a badge for Brackley that I will happily show you. I have no intention of staying at your hotel today because I would like to sleep in my own bed before heading to a whole other country for testing. I would like to simply drop off his bags in his room and ensure everything is up to snuff because that is my job . Nothing else, nothing more.”

“How about you just give us the bags and we’ll drop them off in his room?” He tried to appeal to my growing frustration.

“How about I take the bags up so I can do the other half of my job?”

He simply shook his head. I handed him my Brackley ID and he looked it over.

“Could these be faked?” He another hotel staff member who came over due to the commotion

“Fur sure they cud’ be,” he answered in a thick scottish accent. “My mukker’s git one for McLaren.”

“We won’t accept this,” He smiled at me again. The smiles were beginning to look faker and faker by the moment. This is the primary issue I find myself in being a Black woman working for what are essentially, sports celebrities. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned around and asked Lewis to leave.

“Here,” I gave up. I took out a business card for Bono. “Has he checked in yet? Give him a call and let him verify me.”

They took the card and dialed the number. They hung up after a few moments.

“He didn’t pick up,” They shrugged.

“Fine, do me the favor of at least taking the bags then? Up to the room?” I babbled. Words seemed to be lost on me at this moment.

“I think we’ll actually not. We can’t be sure what the content of those bags are,” the manager nodded.

Please. For fuck’s sake. “I’ll see you back at 2:00pm,” I tried to smile.

I took the bags back over to the UBS offices, and took the elevator up to the 38th floor and walked towards Marie’s desk. There she was sitting scrolling through her phone.

“Oh, Arabella,” she mumbled looking up. She looked at the clock, and then at her phone, and then up at my face. She stood up and looked down at my hands. “You’re early…and you still have the bags. Was the room not ready?”

“They refused to let me in,” I sighed.

“Again?” She questioned. I raised an eyebrow up at her. She was a pale skin tone, and had medium brunette hair that brushed her shoulders.

“I’m black, Marie. Yes, again,” I stated as I sat on the chairs by the office entrance.

She frowned. “Let me go get your coffee, love.” It was truly the lightest voice, and kindest voice, Marie had ever offered me. She usually gives me no type of affection, even though were in the same career. I think it’s a bit cutthroat and she got used to turning everyone away. I wasn’t used to this type of response from her. She soon returned and handed me the cup of coffee, sitting down next to me.

“Well, I’m sorry about that. I know, beyond all else, I can’t understand this type of situation as deeply and as well as you. Nonetheless, I know you’re good at your job, and that this simply isn’t fair for someone of your caliber.”

I stared into the cup of coffee for a moment, really letting her response process. I looked up at her and her flat expression. A signal of care for her.

“Thanks, Marie,” I offered a slight smile as I sipped my coffee.

“No need to fake a smile. I would call, but they’d probably pretend they don’t know who I am either,” She acknowledged.

“Don’t worry. His bags have to get in somehow.”

“So, what have you been up to you? Outside of this?”

“Nothing really. This is all I’ve been up to.”

“Listen, I don’t miss that life at all,” She mumbled. “There’s nothing quite like getting to work at 9 in the morning, and leaving at 5 in the evening. This is consistency. There’s no jetting across the world. I mean, I can actually have a relationship. I’m getting married, for Christ’s sake. That’s not possible in F1.”

“I want none of those things.”

“Is that why your phone just went off with a Tinder notification?” She chuckled. I looked down and Jeffrey had sent a message. I think I just passed you in Broadgate Circle! You must be there for the Mercedes event tonight at UBS, right?

I quickly responded. Yes, actually! Sorry, I didn’t notice you.

“That’s for hookups,” Not for boyfriends.

“Ah, nothing more, huh?” She answered.

“No.”

Jeffrey: Oh! Did you want to push our dinner to another day? Or did you want to meet at the event? I’m a lawyer for UBS so I didn’t see much of the point of going, but I’d be happy to.

Fuck.

Me: No, no! I’m completely fine with meeting at 9. I’m leaving the event early.

Jeffrey: Okay, great! Sorry if there was any confusion. See you at Angler.

I wasn’t overthinking! Isn’t this the best? Your anxiety being right always prevents it from going too far the next time. Obviously. Totally. For sure.

“I’ll leave you to your work now,” Marie smirked, standing up. “But I highly recommend leaving F1. What’s the plan? To be 60 and still galavanting around?”

“Presuming Toto Wolff still is, yes,” I grinned falsely. She rolled her eyes and walked behind her desk. I looked over my notes for the hotel. Everyone knew I was supposed to be checking in, and yet, nothing changed. These kinds of things seem to somehow never change. But, my checkmark reassured me. You did everything right. Now it’s their fault if anything goes wrong. That’s what it means, and it's a serious thing.

Soon enough, Toto left the meeting.

“Have a good afternoon, everyone! See you tonight,” He smiled, shutting the door. He looked over and saw me with the bags, and gently pinched the bridge of his nose. “Again, Arabella?”

“Again.”

“Once every few years, huh,” He said, grabbing the bags and immediately walking towards the elevator. I jumped up and followed him. As the years had gone on, Toto had gradually become more keenly aware of two things: He is a celebrity, and I am Black. As a result of his growing celebritas, and my very unchanging Blackness, these types of occurrences had become more frequent.

“So what was the reason now?” He asked.

“I look like a groupie,” I shrugged.

“A groupie? In a suit?”

“That’s what I said.”

Toto rolled his eyes and moved his glasses to his shirt collar.

“How was the meeting?” I offered.

“The usual. Numbers this, offers that. Etcetera, etcetera,” He waved his hand almost at the suggestion we could have a normal conversation at this moment. I took that as my sign to quiet down, and just follow him. So I did. The second we arrived to the hotel I watched as the original front desk employee scurried to the back, and the supervisor made a return. He smiled far too brightly for this moment.

“Arabella, introduce yourself,” Toto gestured to the supervisor as we walked up.

“No introduction necessary. The employee who just ran to the back introduced originally,” I smiled, even more brightly than the supervisor. I watched as his look turned a bit sour.

“Ah, well go grab her too. Was anyone else involved in this?” Toto asked me.

“A Scottish man but he didn’t really have much to say,” I shrugged.

“Oh, never mind who did and didn’t say anything. The point remains. Go grab the other two individuals she’s referring to,” He ordered the supervisor. We watched as he scurried about the backroom and nearly dragged the two out by their necks. As they approached the desk, he hid behind them like a scared puppy.

“I saw that your name tag said front desk manager, you can’t hide behind these two,” Toto complained. The man stepped from around the two employees. “Go ahead, tell me what happened.”

“What happened with what? I’m sorry, can we check you in Mr. Wolff? I’m not sure what’s going on,” The young lady suddenly piped up.

“You seem awfully scared to not know. Let me have an explanation, please,” Toto nodded.

“Well-” She began to speak again but was quickly interrupted by her boss.

“We asked her to show ID, and the produced ID appeared to be fake. So we did not allow her into the room,” The manager stated, suddenly piping up.

“So, did she provide any other identification?” Toto asked.

“No,” The manager replied.

“Arabella, don’t you usually have a lanyard with your Brackley ID on it?” Toto asked, turning to me.

“Oh, yeah, they have it. I never grabbed it back. Nor my ID for that matter, which they didn’t mention being potentially fraudulent when I came up here,” I sighed.

Toto put his hand out, and they handed over my identification. A Danish passport and the Brackley ID.

“And Bono’s card,” I gestured. The manager reached into the trash and took out Peter Bonnington’s business card, and handed it to me.

“So, did you call Bono?” Toto asked them.

“We did yes, but he didn’t pick up,” The manager replied.

“Oh okay, let me verify right quick,” Toto nodded, taking out his own phone and dialing Bono. “Bono, hello, you’re on speaker phone. Did you get a call from the hotel earlier?”

“No…was I supposed to?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Toto said immediately before hanging up. He just simply stared at them for a moment.

“Here’s your room key, Mr. Wolff,” The front desk woman said, handing the key to Toto.

“One for me, too,” I smiled. She produced another and handed it to me, with huge screaming eyes that said ‘save me.’ No, I don’t think I will.

“And at this moment, right now, place a note on the account saying Arabella Lazaar is my assistant and any needs she may have related to my reservation should be addressed,” Toto ordered them.

“Actually, could you tell me who made the block for the rooms?” I asked.

“That would be uh…” The manager said, scrambling around the computer. “Um…you Ms. Lazaar.”

“Is this incompetency or is this bigotry? I’m not sure which, but whichever, I recommend the three of you have new jobs lined up in the morning. And when they ask ‘Oh how did you get fired?’ Don’t put anyone from my team’s name in your mouth, including my own,” Toto grumbled. They nodded, and he turned on his heel and walked towards the elevator.

“Oh, Mr. Wolff!” The front desk lady nearly screamed at the top of her lungs. “We’ve upgraded your room to the presidential suite.”

He threw his hand up dismissively as we got into the elevator, as if to say both ‘thank you’ and ‘just stop.’ As we got in he turned to me and took a deep breath.

“They were quite the group of idiots weren’t they? I’ll call the company behind this place and get it sorted out.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Nothing to appreciate really, these things shouldn’t go this way. You provided everything they needed, and yet they decided to still treat you wrong. That’s on them, and they should’ve known there would be consequences for their actions,” He explained. “We have our own security. It helps when the front desk at hotels also pays attention to possible situations, but at the end of the day, they’re not supposed to go beyond their liability. They took it much too far, and who’s to know if you were the first, or if they’d be worse next time?”

“I understand that, but,” I hesitated. “They still need their jobs, and I don’t want my boss turning around and using his fame to protect me.”

Toto looked up at me, and smiled. “Arabella, we have responsibilities to one another. You handle nearly every moment of my life. In turn, yes, I pay you, but I also make sure that while under my employment, you’re well treated. That would be the same if this were Formula 1 or if it were just another company.”

I thought for a moment, and while I knew he was right, I don’t know how comfortable I felt having anyone take responsibility for me. But…I suppose…everyone needs things addressed that they can’t handle themselves. There isn’t really anyone else for me to rely on. That’s kind of frightening. Suddenly, Marie’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. I almost thought I would get dizzy. I’m 35 now. I love my life, but am I wasting it? Should I be settling down?

I looked over at Toto who seemed to be patiently awaiting my response.

“Yes. You’re right,” I stated, a little too shakily.

“Are you nervous?” He asked as we exited the elevator.

“No, just stressed, really.”

“You have vacation days. You should take one,” Toto shrugged, pressing the key to the door and swinging it open.

“I only use them during the holiday break. We’re far from that.”

“If you think of the week between testing and the first race as a holiday, then it’s right around the corner,” He winked, as he opened the door for me.

“Absolutely not,” I chuckled, setting his suitcase on the bed. I took a quick look around the room and then texted security to let them know Toto was inside the hotel room.

“Looks good, Toto. I’ll head out,” I said with a quick head nod.

“There’s a whole separate room attached here. If you want to change here, you’re welcome to,” He spoke without looking up from his phone.

I could feel my cheeks get hot, so without thinking I just ran out of the room, trying to pretend I didn’t hear him. I immediately pressed my hand to my forehead. That was stupid. It was a relatively normal offer. There was nothing weird about that and yet I reacted like he asked me to jump off of the London eye. Shit. I made it weird didn’t I? Or did he make it weird? Was it weird at all? No, no it wasn’t. God, Arabella. Stop overthinking for once. I headed for the elevator and went down. As I was leaving, I couldn’t resist making a little bit of eye contact with reception.

Ha.

Tags: @daddyslittlevillain

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