Snap Happy (A Daniel Ricciardo story)

13. A matter of time

EMILY

I sprinted for the circuit, hair flying, jacket flying, a bead of sweat trickling down my back, and camera bag crashing painfully against my hip at every stride. I blame late nights.

I blame the Aussie. 

Even that fleeting thought of him was enough to send my temperature skyrocketing further, something I really did not need as as I panted towards the media centre, makeup and perspiration streaming down my face, mingling with the spots of rain in the air. 

"The article is 'Best of British' - it's a sit-down joint interview with Lewis, Max, and Jenson ahead of the Grand Prix, and then there's gonna be a follow up post-race on Sunday afternoon. Obviously the main Silverstone features have already been done to get them into this months magazine, but this will accompany the race report in next month's edition, and we need the photos to go with it. Oh, and it's first thing Saturday morning before final practice. Don't be late."

With those ominous final words ringing in my ears, I crashed through the doors, arms flailing as I tried to control the excess momentum, nearly cannoning headlong into an immaculate white polo shirt. Jenson stretched out a long arm from where he had been reclining casually against the wall, steadying me gently as I came to a stop, blushing furiously. 

"You're early" He remarked, "nobody else is here yet"

Early???

"Boss said 8:30...it's my first shoot...thought I was late" I gasped for breath, my pulse still racing.

"Typical rookie tactics" Jenson chuckled "we don't start for another 20mins, I just headed straight over once I'd finished my run"

Run??? The guy looked like he'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine, not a hair out of place.

"I need a coffee"

"You need a mirror" he corrected with amusement. He gestured at the coffee machine in the conference room behind him "how about I sort one and you sort the other?"

"Deal" I assented gratefully, heading down the corridor in search of a bathroom. 

When I returned looking slightly more presentable, Jenson was holding out a steaming styrofoam cup of cappuccino. 

"Better!" He nodded in approval.

"Thanks" I smiled weakly back at him, straightening up as Darren entered the room with Nick, one of the senior journalists, followed by Lewis Hamilton and Max Chilton.  

"Ah good you're here" Darren acknowledged me with a smile and I heard Jenson smother a chuckle behind my back. "I'll let you handle the in-interview stuff while I set up a couple of lights so we can get a few shots afterwards. We've got about..." he looked at his watch "15 minutes with the lads, that's all so every second counts. Lets get to it"

The other four sat down and Nick placed his recorder on the table between them, starting up the conversation with the ease that comes with years of experience. I envied his composure as I circled nervously, attempting to balance the ambient light with a little of my own fill-in flash, all the while trying not to disrupt the interview. 

As the drivers rose and shook hands once more I saw Darren gesturing wildly at me with a reflector, and I hurried over to him, attempting to position both it, and myself where he instructed to bounce the light back into shot. In no time at all Jenson, Max, and Lewis were skillfully guided into a visual representation of British camaraderie and competitiveness, and then with a final wave they were gone. I checked my watch: 15 minutes DEAD. I caught Darren's eye and mopped my brow with exaggerated movements.