“All done! I just have to set your hair so that you look as good as possible on that red carpet tonight,” my hairstylist Erica says from behind me. I nod when she starts applying hairspray on my now slick straight hair, making all the flyaways flatten.
I wanted to go for a powerful look since this isn’t an event to be fucking around at. A line of black is smoked out on my water line and it leads up to my eyelid. I opted for a black smokey eye as well as a bit of white in the inner corners of my eyes. The fake eyelashes cover the majority of my eyelid, and the look is complemented by a bare lip.
My makeup is accompanied by a custom gown sent to me by none other than Mr. Donatello’s ex-wife’s atelier.
Adèle fashion house.
They reached out to me to see if I wanted to wear a custom gown of theirs as PR. I had to think about it for a while, but I ended up saying yes after I saw the gown. Crystals encompass the bodice, and the low sleeves give it a bit of an edge. The leg slit has dangling crystals all the way down my leg.
It’s stunning.
Having someone help me put it on, I look in the mirror, running my hands over the fabric. Grabbing my boob tape, I shove my babies up and apply the tape swiftly. Putting the straps on again, I give it another look.Perfect.
I grab my shoes and put the stunning black 6-inch Adèle heels on slowly. I love how they make me look, but as some say, ‘beauty is pain’. My feet throb against the hard platform that conforms to my feet. Despite being the death traps that they are, they make me look damn good. Picking up my clutch, I take a deep breath before walking out the door.
Going down to the lobby, I hop into the black car waiting for me. I open Instagram and see that Xavier is already at the party, looking dapper. While browsing, I notice that the event extends from the lobby of the Hôtel de Paris all the way to the restaurant, which is a little further inside. Monaco is known for its eccentric regency vibes. Despite being a small country, the government is loaded, or should I say, the Royal Family is. The Hôtel De Paris is the gem of Monte-Carlo and has been seen in dozens of films. The lobby is beautiful on its own, but the restaurant is even prettier. The ceiling is adorned with gold leaf details. The whole place just screams money.
Making it to the entrance of the hotel, I see the carpet, the blazing red color prevalent in the whole ambiance of the moment. It’s not a long carpet by any means, but the F1 logo is splattered all over the black background, and you can occasionally see investors’ logos. Eventually, two white men, who I assume have hefty wallets, walk off, and the security guard opens the rope for me to walk past. Posing for a few pictures, I walk away, waving and thanking the photographers.
The gala is in full swing as I walk up the stairs. Team principals talk with investors at every corner, while drivers talk to other drivers. Laughter can be heard as the chatter spreads. Champagne glasses sit on small white tables and are also in most people’s hands. The colossal chandelier in the middle of the room shines on the dozens of people. I stand over them and observe for a moment until Xavier catches my attention. He is currently talking to Mr. Donatello. Xavier is facing me while Mr. Donatello’s back is turned. He looks up in my direction with his eyes raised. I’m guessing Mr. Donatello must have realized his attention shifted off the conversation because he looks in my direction in curiosity.
We lock eyes.
Fuck, why does his gaze seem different this time? It might be shocking, but I feel small under his stare. I look away from what might have been the cause of me embarrassing myself in front of investors. Xavier standing behind Mr. Donatello looks at me in approval. Xavier holds his hand up in a perfection symbol, winking at me. He nods in approval and enthusiasm. I laugh at him.
Walking down the stairs, I meet them in the middle of the restaurant turned ballroom.
“Ale, you look stunning,” Xavier says, coming to hug me.
“Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself.” He adjusts his bowtie and winks in my direction, giving me his wide smile.
“Okay, enough with the flirting. Miss Castillo, I am going to need you to talk to the investor over there.” Mr. Donatello points at an old guy sipping champagne near the bar. He has a little scruff but is extremely well put together.
“He’s a huge part of Elektra’s funding, but he was a bit wary of you coming onto the team. His name is Edward Schultz. He owns Schultz Energy Drinks.”
“Why was he wary of me coming to the team?” Mr. Donatello looks reluctant to tell me for a second.
“Because you were a rookie coming into a high placing seat.” I nod, understanding his point of view. I mean, anyone would be worried, but for the most part, Elektra is at the top of Constructors’, and I’m currently residing in fourth in the drivers’ championship. He has nothing to worry about.
“Okay, I can be very convincing.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that, Miss Castillo,” Mr. Donatello says. As I walk off, I give him a glare before beelining toward Edward Schultz.
I make my way to the bar, and I try to keep it casual by asking the bartender for a drink.
“A whiskey on the rocks, please.” He nods and starts making the drink. I hear Mr. Shultz to my right.
“Maria Alejandra Castillo,” he says in a knowing tone. I turn around trying to seem startled. I acknowledge him.
“Ah, Mr. Schultz, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“You know who I am?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I know the name of one of our primary investors?”
Liar. I found out who you were about three minutes ago.
The only way to charm a man is by stroking his ego. It’s basic old men in power 101.