Salina Stoddarrt-Wolff, the daughter of a known Formula 1 team principal. Toto Wolff and his wife, Susie, has given everything to their only daughter for her to be a successful businesswoman and recently offered her to be a part-time owner of their...
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(Salina's Version)
FOR SOME REASON, I can't seem to focus at all today during some of my meetings. Too many things are just happening all at once and to add to that—the whole thing with Lewis last night. I was interrupted earlier with a call from Nicolette. She's informed me of some surprising news and man was I surprised.
Apparently there's new rumors going around after a single photograph was captured of Lewis and I at the airport last night. I excused myself to use the bathroom just to get more insight on whatever Nicolette has informed me about. There's a whole page of multiple articles about this single photo.
Honestly, there's no big deal to this. This is nothing. The two of us are nothing. I don't even have a clue on why people would think of such thing between Lewis and I. One embrace and all of a sudden people go straight into the topic of either dating or being married. This is stupid.
I sigh to myself, opening the glass door back into the meeting room. Everyone looks up from the board, watching me take a seat. I meet eyes with a few of the other workers and it seems that they've also found out about the airport photograph. This is just great.
"Good, you're finally back." Philipp states when he catches me back sitting on my chair. "I need you to do me a favor and go over some packets. I'll send you an email with an attachment later."
"Yeah, sure thing." I nod my head.
I hear whispers from my left, grabbing my attention as Philipp continues to speak about more business and deals with the company. Two women—sitting on the other side of the long table—talk to each other quietly, eyeing me out. My stomach grows hollow as I assume why they're looking at me like that.
I have a feeling these last couple of hours of this meeting isn't going to be the finest.
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THE SOULS OF MY HEELS make a sound every time I take a step closer to the Mercedes motor home. I'm back in Miami—exhausted from my flight. I haven't slept well this past twenty-four hours. The amount of coffee I ordered on the plane right back to the States is something no one wants to know.
