Page 66 of Drive Me Crazy
Ella
WRITING a biography on your boyfriend is a lot harder than writing a biography on some historical figure. I hardly think George Washington’s biographer had mind-blowing shower sex with him and then ate Michelin-star sushi in his bed. Not that I’m complaining about either of those things.
I spend the day before the Belgian Grand Prix camped out in an empty conference room—my new unofficial office—rewriting a chapter about Blake’s first World Championship win. I’ve attempted to write in Blake’s suite before, but I never get much done when he’s around. He’s the most handsy person I’ve ever dated and the minute we’re alone and away from prying eyes, it’s like white on rice. It’s four o’clock when I finally feel satisfied with my work and send George an email, letting him know it’s ready for him to read. Fingers crossed he doesn’t have too many edits.
As I walk through the lobby of the hotel, ready for a mental break, my phone vibrates with a call from Jack. Time zones and work schedules haven’t made finding time to catch up easy and we’ve been playing phone tag all week. I immediately pick up and greet him with a loud, “Jack!”
“Ella!”he says back with equal enthusiasm. His raspy voice brings a smile to my face. “I’m glad I caught you because I haveveryexciting news.”
“You’re pregnant,” I guess as I wait for the elevator. “You found out Jennifer Aniston is your long-lost mom. Your neighbor is actually a—”
“Before you get all crime and cult-y on me, I’m going to stop you.” He laughs. “You know Peter? That guy I’m dating?”
It’s hard to keep track of who Jack’s dating because he has a never-ending roster of guys, but he’s been with Peter for two months. That’s essentially marriage in Jack’s world.
“The audio engineer at Big Town, right?”
Big Town is one of the podcast networks included in my non-compete agreement. I’m an idiot for signing it, but I didn’t think I’d have any reason to leave PlayMedia at the time. That backfired.
“Mm-hmm.”
Stepping into the elevator, I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and hit floor thirty-seven. “What about him?”
“He told me that Big Town is developing a new podcast series. ThinkESPN Dailymeets Barstool’sSpittin’ Chiclets. They’ve already locked in Alex Sutherland, but they’re still looking to fill the other host position. So … I sort of told Peter to suggest you.”
I really wish he had told me his creepy neighbor was the ringleader of a satanic cult instead.
“Did you start smoking crack?” I whisper-yell, trying to keep my voice down. “Why would you do that?”
The older woman who pressed floor forty-four peers in my direction, but I ignore her glare. Societal niceties—like abstaining from loud personal calls in elevators—don’t apply when someone drops a bombshell like this.
“Because you’d be a great fit,” he says. I can picture him tugging his right ear in anticipation. Never his left ear, only hisright. Five years of friendship make you notice these kinds of things.
The elevator stops at my floor and I quickly step off so Jack can understand me loud and clear. “I legally can’t work there, Jack.”
And even if I could, I don’t know if I’d want to.
“Your non-compete ends soon,” he says confidently. “And this is a great opportunity.”
I rub my hands over my face. For someone so smart, Jack can be really dumb sometimes. He means well, but this isn’t a decision he, or anyone, can make for me. If I podcast again, it’ll be on my own terms and becauseIwant to.
I take a deep breath and count to three. “I’ve had a long day and really can’t think about this right now, Jack.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologizes as I near my room. “I just … I want you to be happy, El. I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t be mad.”
I reassure him that I’m fine, promise to call him back later this week for a real catch-up, and end the call. Sliding the smooth plastic card into the slot beneath the door handle, I glide into the cocoon of my suite, the hum of the air conditioner greeting me.Home sweet hotel.
“Baby?” Blake’s deep voice calls out. His head pops out of the bedroom a moment later. “Hi, love.”
The tension in my shoulders relaxes at the sight of his smile. It’s different from the one printed in magazines and displayed all over the McAllister motorhome and garage. This smile is relaxed and playful and just for me. I push away all thoughts of my phone call with Jack.
That only lasts about an hour.
For the rest of the week, Jack’s confession plays on a loop in my mind.Do I want to work for a network again?I’d be rich if I knew the answer to that million-dollar question.
ON THE PLANE ride to the Japanese Grand Prix, while Blake sleeps soundly next to me, I make a pro-con list in the note app on my phone. Throughout the race weekend, I randomly add items to it as they come to me.Pro: steady salary. Con: potentially toxic work culture/boys’ club like PlayMedia.I don’t know if this will help me come to a decision, but it feels like a step in the right direction.
I go back to the hotel after watching qualifying rounds at the circuit on Saturday and sink into the overstuffed, patterned couch in the suite Blake and I are sharing. Grabbing my computer off the side table, I start editing a chapter about race strategy. George suggested I add some detail to the section about Blake’s pre-race walks around the circuit. I was supposed to work on this earlier today but got sidetracked when Josie insisted I listen to an episode of her favorite podcast,Dating and Dildos. With a name like that, I was obviously intrigued and ended up neglecting my work to binge three episodes.
