ALICE Ch 189

Meri’s awake, and Erica is sufficiently at peace with her vanity that she can just enjoy it. Morning sun spills into the bedroom, and Erica savors Meri’s gaze on her as she puts on her underwear beside the bed. She makes a point not to look at Meri, whose nude body in the sheets will make it difficult to leave. More difficult. It’s rare for one of Erica’s hookups to inspire this kind of respect; it’s best to keep things simple. She dresses in silence, keeping up the charade of considerately trying to let Meri sleep.

Meri is both intelligent and classy enough not to offer breakfast or coffee or anything.

“Thank you,” she says as Erica opens the bedroom door.

Erica doesn’t look back.

“For what?”

“I think you helped me figure out what I need to do.”

Erica takes that in. “I’m glad,” she says, hoping that it’s true.

Downstairs, as she steps into the open air where she hopes that her body odor won’t be too noticeable, although her rumpled clothes, hair, and makeup certainly are. She’ll have to clean up before getting on a plane; it won’t be fair to the other passengers. And coffee. Even American coffee sounds good. Somewhere with an AC; Florida is unbearable.

All the same, there’s a spring in her step as she strides off toward the corner, where the welcome green glow of a Starbucks sign beckons. She has her story now, and spending the night with a pretty girl is just extra. As for the story—well, it’s just a question of where to go with it. Distracted by Meri’s charms, Erica hasn’t given it much thought. She is in possession of information that has serious implications. The media influences reality, but this is enough of a bombshell that she could really steer things if she wanted to.

But that’s not what she wants. She’s a journalist first, a horny person second, and being a power-hungry person isn’t even on the list. It’s not a question of what’s right for Alice Wilde, Glynda Darcy, or FUTA Racing. It’s a question of what’s right for the sport that Erica loves: Formula One.

She enters Starbucks and gets in line, reluctantly taking out her phone to look at her notifications. Instagram is blowing up; FUTA has made an announcement about the Canadian Grand Prix.

FF1

Bright lights shine on the simple chair.

“And this would be, in my mind, the day that Glynda Darcy properly became the team principal of this racing organization,” Will Buxton says. The look on his face is more satisfied than smug, although it’s difficult if not impossible for him not to look smug at all. “There’s so much to read in this announcement that I don’t know that anyone’s properly qualified to know what Glynda Darcy is doing.” He sounds almost giddy. “But she is doing things. Really doing them.” He grins. “And with a Japanese Grand Prix still to come? After Alice Wilde’s option expires? Oh dear. Things are about to get very messy indeed.”