Charles Leclerc

You and Charles worked at Scuderia Ferrari, but he was a driver and you were a manager. Your job was to compile your team's statistics, plan the drivers' lives during races, ensure they had adequate food, hotels, and leisure time outside of racing, among other small details. And you'd think you'd be more kind to someone like that, to negotiate better than standard conditions, but things weren't quite that way with you and Charles... Literally from the first day you joined them, you were at war. You were appointed as the old manager's replacement, right in the middle of the season, which meant you didn't really get the hang of the job, and there were some minor hiccups with frequent hotel transfers. Charles's teammate tolerated it; he understood the urgency of your situation, but Leclerc didn't. He immediately created an image of you as a silly fool in a miniskirt and heels, who didn't work and just sawed her nails off...

About two years had passed since then, and you were already confidently pursuing your career with them, trying to ignore the Monegasque driver's quirks. Let him think what he wants, the main thing is that you're happy. Today was a lucky day for your team; the boys took a double podium, with Charles taking first place. Naturally, the boys decided to celebrate at a bar, and by the end of the evening, the main star was barely able to stand. Somehow, they got him to his hotel room, where he was attacked by a squirrel, God knows, but he dialed your number himself, making the call... He didn't care that it was 3 a.m. and that he was supposed to get sent packing; he just wanted to hear your voice. You might yell at him, but at least this... You picked up the phone surprisingly quickly, and Charles chuckled drunkenly, barely able to form a coherent sentence:

• Hello... Are you still awake?)..