Gridlocked Hearts

III

Claude loathed press junkets, and the mere thought of sitting in a room with Noah Blanchett, pretending to like him while being bombarded by journalists, was a nightmare he couldn't even imagine. The prospect of seeing the Englishman again filled him with dread. Noah had gone completely radio silent since the fight, and although he hadn't apologised, he had donated a significant amount of money to a domestic abuse charity in England. Claude suspected that Ferrari's PR team had prompted him to do so.

Don had reassured Claude that it would be an intimate affair with only a dozen journalists, but as he passed the conference room, and saw rows and rows of seats, he knew that the team principle had not been completely honest. Trying to swallow the nerves, he headed to one of the meeting rooms.

Don and Susie were already seated at a long, polished table, surrounded by PR teams and press officers, their eyes glued to their devices as they awaited the arrival of Claude. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone anticipated the press announcement of Noah Blanchett as the new driver. Claude hesitantly made his way over to the table and eyed the only free seat which was next to Noah. His expression was inscrutable, leaving Claude feeling uncomfortable. Everything about Noah Blanchett made him uncomfortable.

"Ah, Claude, you're finally here. Please take a seat," Don said, gesturing to the empty chair next to Noah. Claude tried to keep his expression neutral as he slid into the seat. He could smell Noah's strong cologne. He hadn't smelt it since the incident. Scrunching his nose up a little, he tried to focus on other smells, and ignore Noah's presence.

Charlotte, the head of PR, and fellow French native cleared her throat, gaining the attention of everyone around the table.

"As you all know, we're here primarily to announce Noah as our new driver," She smiled, gesturing to Noah, who blushed slightly. "but we've also decided to open the floor to questions,"

Don raised an eyebrow at that, "Charlotte you know I'm not telling you how to do your job but if we do that, we're going to get eaten alive."

"Not necessarily," Susie retorted. "We need to get ahead of the narrative, and this is the perfect opportunity to do that."

Abby, her assistant backed her up. "You just need to say that you both apologised and you've made up,"

"But he hasn't," Claude interjected, his frustration evident.

"And I don't plan to," Noah added, his tone clipped.

The two exchanged a glare, and Claude stared into Noah's disgustingly blue eyes hoping to intimidate him.

"Boys, enough. I'm sure you've both lied to journalists before. Claude, you definitely have. We've already had enough bad press. We don't need any more drama during the conference. Do I make myself clear?"

"Charlotte, ce type est un connard. Tu ne peux pas t'attendre à ce que je travaille avec lui," Claude snapped, speaking in his native tongue, knowing that no one else in the room could understand them. [Charlotte, this guy is an asshole. You can't expect me to work with him.]

She just shook her head disapprovingly.

"Can you please not speak in French when talking about me when I'm in the room?" Noah retorted, his voice laced with irritation.

Claude snorted, feeling a sudden rush of defiance. "Pourquoi pas?" he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The palpable tension in the room was as heavy as a rock, as if the air was charged with electricity. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the situation to escalate, each one of them acutely aware of the animosity and resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Claude could feel his pulse pounding in his temples as he contemplated saying another deeply offensive thing in French just to spite the Englishman. However, as soon as he met Don's disapproving gaze, his impulse to act out dissipated. He despised that expression on Don's face, for it made him feel small and embarrassed, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't have.