All these years of hard work and dedication. All these years of begging my dad to give me a break because I was tired. Every single minute of that struggle was fucking worth it.
In about three days, I will be able to stand in front of those incompetent blood sucking reporters—the same ones who once told me that I would be nothing —and tell them that I’m a fucking Formula One driver. Not only that, but I also have a seat in the best Formula One team in the world.
It will be the biggest “fuck you” of my life. I can’t help but smile at the thought.
“Why would I be shitting you when I have this?” She reaches into a folder laying on the table and holds up a piece of paper. Waving it dauntingly in front of my face before playfully stepping back.
“Nomames,” I say in a whisper as I look at the contract she’s holding.
But there is one more thing left to do.
Revise it.
The thing I hate more than anything in this world is revising a legal document. Hours and hours of sitting next to your lawyer, publicist, and manager to go over it word for word. Discussing every single detail that you, as an athlete, would be agreeing to. As a driver, you are an athlete. While others let their manager take care of it, I don’t. I like to be hands on, especially after hearing all those horror stories.
At the end of every year, whether you’re going to resign or stay, you have to revise your contract. It’s a matter of your integrity and the respect that is given to you. Money has a big part in all of it, but it’s not like I need it. My family is the biggest drug cartel in all of Mexico, and some would even argue all of North and South America. I could sponsor the team for however long I want with the money I have in my bank account.
I know I’m an expensive asset. I know my worth and my capability. I can boost their social media numbers up to millions. The story would be covered not only in every sports tabloid, but also on every local news channel.
I can imagine it now“First ever female F1 driver has been signed with hopes of changing the sport forever.”I can do that. And they need it. They need me.
If they even offer me a low-ball number or anything remotely insulting to what I have to offer, there will be only one word coming out of my mouth.
No.
I know myself too well. If another team on the lower ranks of the grid offered me a spot in F1, I probably wouldn’t take the position. Formula One fans are passionate, a little too passionate at times. They expect a rookie driver to deliver results for a team that not only doesn’t have the budget required to make a championship-winning car, but doesn’t have the engineers needed either.
The best teams are lined up in the top three and I am going to be a driver for one of those organizations.
“Lauren, I can’t believe this.” I’m still in shock from the news.
“I can. You carried yourself perfectly at that press conference. You showed confidence and drive. Your words were concise and you showed who you were up there. Not to mention, you’re a fucking amazing driver.” I beam up at her before she continues. “This contract was sent via fax ten minutes after you finished your winners’ press conference. Sent personally from Luca Donatello himself.”
“We have to get my lawyer immediately,” I tell her.
“Anastasia is waiting for us back at headquarters in Mexico City. Could you ask your brother for a lift on all our behalf? I know he chartered his jet to come here.”
Five minutes later, I see León leaning against the door of his classic black escalade, or as I like to call it the “narco car.” It’s a trademark in Mexico. Every head of any cartel owns one. They remind me too much of home.
I would never be ashamed of my family in any literal sense. I love them. But what they do is completely different from who they are. When I was fifteen years old, I told my father that if the family business had anything to do with sex trafficking, I would disown myself.
They swore to me that day that it didn’t. Drugs, I can handle. Money laundering, I can handle. But selling another human being against their will to be used every single day like a scrap of dirt, hell no.
I know what feeling helpless is like and I would never, and I mean never, let anyone else feel that way again.
He looks up as I walk toward him. “What did your publicist say, princesa?” He raises his eyebrow.
“Something kind of came up.”
“¿Que paso?”he says in a worrying tone.
“Te juró que si él está en contacto contigo de nuevo, voy a cortarle su pinché verga de su cuerpo.”He says, through gritted teeth.
“What? No! No. It’s actually really good news.” I set my hand on his shoulder trying to calm him down. Finally, he does.
“About twenty minutes ago, Lauren got a fax from Luca Donatello. They sent an offer for me to join Elektra next season. I need to fly back to Mexico City with you. But I need to ask you a big favor. I need you to let Lauren and Lucia come with us. Anastasia, my lawyer, is waiting for us at headquarters already, and we need to get there to rebut his offer,” I finish, looking down at my feet hoping for a yes. I gasp, as my feet are no longer on the ground but in the air.
“¡Alejandra no mames. Es en serio?I am so happy! My baby sister is going to be an F1 driver.” I try to stop him before he gets too excited.