Gridlocked Hearts

IX

Claude stood in front of the floor-length mirror, his fingers nervously tugging at the fabric of his new tailored suit. His reflection was barely recognisable to his usual scruffy demeanour as a frowning stranger stared back at him. The hair stylist had gone to town on his wild curls, smoothing them into submission with copious amounts of gel and his olive skin glowed under the bright lights, making his deep brown eyes seem even more intense. If it wasn't for the uncomfortable expression on his face, he could almost pass for someone who knew what they were doing. But he didn't. Claude's nerves had been building all day, and he had almost backed out of attending the stupid sponsor dinner altogether. It was only the pressure of sponsorship deals and pleasing the team that prevented that.

He took a deep breath, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He had been to enough dinners to know what to expect, but the nerves never seemed to go away. It was all part of the job, he reminded himself. He had to schmooze with the sponsors, make small talk, and pretend to care about their companies. It would be over soon, and then he could change back into his sweatpants and concentrate on Australia, the next race in the calendar. Bahrain had been a disaster, no doubt about that, but at least he'd won in Jeddah AND beaten Noah, wiping that irritating smirk off the Brit's face.

He fiddled with his Ferrari cufflinks, taking in his appearance again and sighed.

"Ça va, Claude? [how are you, Claude?]" Charlotte startled him, appearing in the mirror from behind. The driver gasped and narrowed his eyes at her innocent smile. She looked stunning in her black dress and messy ponytail, a far cry from her usual Ferrari shirt and cap. Claude was gay, but it was just as easy for him to acknowledge how beautiful she looked.

"Oui, Ça va, [Yes, I'm fine]" Claude answered the question and offered a small smile in return, but his PR manager raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him.

Claude sighed. "It's just... I hate these dinners. They're so stuffy and formal, and I have to pretend to like people and I'm awful at that,"

He went to run a hand through his hair before mentally scolding himself. His hair stylist would kill him if he messed up their masterpiece.

"So the nerves aren't anything to do with Noah coming?" Claude snorted at the mention of his teammate. Despite his win a week ago in Jeddah, the incident in Bahrain hung in his mind, constantly making him feel uneasy.

"Blanchett's presence doesn't exactly make me feel any better if that's what you're asking," He admitted.

Charlotte sighed and tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine. If it gets too much you can always find an excuse. You do it every other time,"

———

As Claude entered the grand ballroom, the clink of champagne flutes and the hum of classical music filled his ears. Men in sharp suits and ladies in flowing ballgowns chatted away, and Claude already felt out of place. He downed a glass of champagne before venturing further into the room, hoping it would help settle his nerves.

Claude had been brought up in a world of high society events, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of galas and dinners from a young age, thanks to his dad's illustrious career, but he still hated them. The forced laughter, the awkward small talk, and the pretentiousness of it all, made him feel uneasy. As he looked around the ballroom, he saw a sea of designer bags, wallets, dresses, with diamond jewellery that could rival the night-sky. Billionaires swayed through the crowds, champagne glasses in hand, and social climbers lurked around like predators seeking their next prey.

"Ah! Beaufort! Just the man we were looking for! We were beginning to think you weren't coming!" As soon as Claude heard the voice, he knew he was in trouble. He turned to find his teammate, Noah, grinning from ear to ear as he stood next to Adrian Fernando, an obnoxious tech billionaire, known for his overbearing presence. The Brit signalled for him to come over and Claude groaned inwardly, realising that Noah was trying to dump the sponsor on him. That sneaky bastard.