Page 36 of Spin Control

There’s also the matter of what to do about Elizabeth.

There’s no way around it: I was a Grade-A asshole. After the post-race interviews, I was so pissed off that Camden all but forced me up to the roof to box. But I couldn’t focus—was refusing to focus—so Camden gave up.

I was at my worst that night. My plan was to grab my stuff in the motorhome before heading to my apartment, taking a sleeping pill, and passing the fuck out. But then I heard someone typing away in that conference room and I knew what I wanted: Elizabeth Jacobs, eviscerating me.

But when she looked at me with understanding—with motherfucking compassion—I started to spiral. Because that wasn’t what I wanted. So I set out to force her hand. I figured the fastest way to do it was to cross so far over a line that she’d want to ruin me. Still, she didn’t crack.

I need to make amends. But with her, I have little idea how to do it.

After brainstorming the kind of grand gesture a crisis specialist with a brilliant mind, dry wit, and inability to be impressed might appreciate, I call the concierge at Elizabeth’s hotel and give it my best shot. Then I finally get up and around. Our meetings today are virtual since the motorhome is in the midst of being dismantled and transported to Barcelona, and I doubt the team wants to chat with me shirtless.

My phone buzzes as I’m pulling a T-shirt over my head, and I steel myself for all the tough love this day will bring. The last thing I expect is a message of support.

BEAUMONT

It was good to see you, Wes. Keep your head up—and know that there are lots of people on your side. Please don’t be a stranger. If you need anything, I’m here.

Well, damn.

After letting him know how much I appreciate it, my agent calls to discuss the consequences of my actions this weekend. I expect Adrien to say every brand I work with has canceled our contract, but instead he assures me he’s smoothing everything over—and that if anyone does decide to drop me, he has others lined up to take their place. I honestly don’t know how he does it, but the man is worth his weight in gold.

The call with Elizabeth and David is not nearly as upbeat. Sitting next to each other in a hotel conference room, they go over all the ways I’ve hurt the team reputationally and show me the chart with the sharp spike in articles about the organized crime scandal.

I absorb the information rather than react to it. They both assure me this is manageable—but that I need to lay low and, ideally, shut people up by racing well. I’m about to tell them that’s precisely what will be happening since we’re rolling out my upgrade package in Barcelona, but think better of it when David and Elizabeth look at each other for a weighted moment before turning back to the camera.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Elizabeth says. Unsurprisingly, she’s been all business. The shitty things I said last night probably slid right off of her Teflon exterior. “Speculation about the nature of your relationship with Stas is circulating more widely.”

I think back to Miami, to that alley, to confirming those rumors, and nearly laugh.

“My relationship?” I ask, playing along.

David takes a big drink of water, and Elizabeth nods. “I’m sure you’re aware of the rumors.”

“Oh, those rumors,” I say, working hard to keep my face neutral. The fact that she does it so easily is truly impressive.

“After your outburst last night, people who subscribe to the idea that you and Stas are more than friends felt very encouraged in their beliefs.”

“I see.”

But Elizabeth isn’t finished yet. “A woman publicly posted a detailed account about how the two of you have been more than friends in the past.”

My eyebrows shoot up. My heart rate accelerates. My stomach sinks. “Oh?”

“She told a rather provocative story,” Elizabeth says, obviously picking her words carefully. “People are divided over its veracity, though. Some are certain it’s true while others think it’s erotic fan fiction being passed off as the truth. But, she alleges that she met you and Stas at a casino in Macau four years ago, that you invited her back to a hotel suite, and that the three of you engaged in a variety of sexual acts.”

I cough. I remember that night. But what I say is, “So this week is going to be an even bigger media shit show.”

“Possibly,” David says. “Rumors about affairs have certainly happened before, but they usually never make into the actual sports reporting. But given the shifts in the media landscape as well as the audience appetite for interpersonal drama in F1—”

“I need to be prepared for someone to ask if Stas dicks me down regularly.”

David’s face turns the color of a tomato and Elizabeth looks like she’s about to laugh—but she recovers quickly. “In addition,” she says. “I think we need to be prepared for this to fuel even more stories about the scandal. I’ve been keeping my eye on a few conspiracy theories, and if this all picks up, I could see them going viral even though they’re outlandish.”

“Like what?” I ask, curious.

Elizabeth gives me a pointed look and is clearly going to refuse. But then David says, “I’d like to know, too.”

A small smile plays on her lips. “The one I think is most likely to gain traction is that Stas works for the Kremlin as an intelligence asset.”