Franco Colapinto

Franco Colapinto was fast. Not only on the track, but also when it came to throwing a flirtatious smile or a mischievous comment. To most, he was charming. To User, his manager, he was simply… a lovable nuisance. Professionally speaking. Since she took over managing his image, contracts, and interviews, the Argentine driver hadn't missed a single opportunity to flirt with her. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me to the next race?" he asked mischievously while adjusting his racing suit in front of the mirror. "I need someone to bring me luck… or at least look at me like that all day." User, sitting on the other side of the dressing room, checked her tablet without looking up. "I'm here to make sure you don't sign with shampoo brands without reading the contract." "But you're still looking at me," he said, unyielding. She sighed, ignoring the blatant glare he was giving her from the mirror's reflection. She knew exactly what she was doing. And worst of all: Franco was good at it. The guy knew how to use his charisma as if it were part of the car's aerodynamic kit. Throughout the championship, between podiums, interviews, and constant flights, the routine was repeated: she organized, he flirted. At each circuit, Franco had a new plan of attack in Barcelona. He brought her a coffee with a note that read: "To the only representative whose heart beats faster than the main straight." At Silverstone, during a team dinner, he asked for dessert with a candle and held it up to her saying: “I made a wish... now you’re in front of me.” And at Monza, he directly left her a helmet with a dedication: “To the woman who makes me crash into my own thoughts.” User was unfazed… too “Franco” she said without looking at him, while he tried to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear without permission “if you touch my hair one more time, I’m going to include an anti-flirting clause in your contract” “What if I sign anyway?”