Chapter Text
It’s never a good sign when Reuben Fitch and Mickey Garcia are both at a meeting. Bradley settles into a chair across from his agents, nerves churning in his gut.
It’s two days after the final race of a frustrating season. Bradley placed fifth when he should have been on the World Cup podium if not for several races mid season where power unit trouble had forced him to retire the car. Wrapping up the second year of his current three year deal with Red Bull on a fifth place finish doesn’t put him in the negotiating position he’d like to be in as they start the off season.
He loves this team and he’d like to renew for another three years but only if they’re willing to invest in making him champion. The mid-season break signing of hotshot newcomer Jake Seresin to the team raises questions about Red Bull’s commitment to Bradley, especially if the rumors about how much Seresin will earn for the upcoming year are true.
“They haven’t made an offer yet,” Reuben says, breaking the silence. “They may want to wait until mid-season which could strengthen your position if you race well.”
Bradley nods. It could also fuck him over if he has another season like the one that just finished. “Have we had offers from anyone else?”
He doesn’t want to leave Red Bull but he’ll drive for whoever will put him on the track if it comes down to it. He’s twenty-five, he may not be a twenty-one year old phenom like Seresin whose first season had wrapped up with Williams’ first top ten finish in a decade and garnered a ton of attention, but he’s got four years of experience driving Formula 1 for Red Bull and a lot of good years left.
Mickey shifts uncomfortably.
Reuben glares at his partner and then says, “Not yet, but the season hasn’t started. Most teams won’t decide they have room in their roster until closer to mid-season. You know how it works.”
Bradley nods again, feeling like a dashboard bobble head. “So how do we sweeten the pot?”
“Well,” Mickey speaks up for the first time, “we did get an unusual offer that might improve negotiations with Red Bull, but it also could alienate the other teams.”
“What’s the offer?” Bradley asks, genuinely curious what kind of offer might only work for Red Bull.
“How would you feel about coming out and sharing your romantic relationship with Jake Seresin with the world?”
Bradley blinks once, hard. “What? I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than a dozen words with Seresin in the last year.”
Reuben glares at Mickey. “What Mick here means to say was, how would you feel about being part of the first openly LGBTQIA+ couple in Formula 1, and signing a joint sponsorship deal with your new teammate that ties your careers together for at least the next year.”
Suddenly the comment that only Red Bull would benefit from the arrangement makes a lot of sense. “Is this seriously our best option?”
“It’s unconventional and, I won’t lie, it’s a risk.”
“But?”
“Ferrari just signed Natasha Trace to their open driver position.”
“The Formula 2 Driver’s Champion?”
“And the first female driver Ferrari has ever signed, as well as the first woman on the circuit since the 90s.”
“Fuck. Bates isn’t going to like that.” Bradley can picture the furrows in the Red Bull Team Principal’s forehead deepening at the thought of Ferrari scooping all the pre-season press excitement.
“Which is why they’ll be looking for a splashier headline to make sure attention stays on their team where it belongs. Ferrari cares about winning and very little else. Red Bull—“
“Is mostly here to sell an energy drink. I know.” He’s lost track of the number of times he’s heard that over the four years he’s spent with the team. It might be demoralizing for some drivers, but Bradley likes to know where he stands.
“So Jake and I come out and they have the only openly queer drivers in decades. Why do we need to pretend we like each other?” Bradley ponders aloud. There’s definitely something he’s missing here.
“Cyclone,” Reuben says, sliding a thick folder across the table.
“The athleisure company?” Bradley pulls the folder in front of him but doesn’t open it.
“Yes,” Reuben confirms, “they’ve gone all in on the performative support of the ‘Community,’ but they have a very specific image they want to promote.”
Bradley sighs. It’s not uncommon for brands to have very specific ‘brand authentic’ demands about how a driver conducts their life, but that doesn’t make it okay. “They want a stable, monogamous ‘good gay’ and the teammate angle just sweetens the deal for everyone?”
“Correct. And hey, if this doesn’t work out I think you’d do great in my line of work. It took Mick twice as long to put those pieces together.”
Mickey flips Reuben off.
“I’ll do it,” Bradley says with a decisive nod. It’s a risk, but it’s also an opportunity that feels too good to pass up. Red Bull is the team that signed him to his first F1 seat, but he’s been dealing with various PR people since he was eleven years old and placing in the Karting World Championships.
His bisexuality has always been swept under the rug or treated like an inconvenience best not talked about. Various PR teams and agents before he signed with Fitch and Garcia six years ago always encouraged him to publicly date women and then offered to set up ‘discreet encounters’ on the side if he dared remind them he actually likes people of all genders.
If his team is going to endorse his coming out as bisexual, he can absolutely handle pretending to date Jake Seresin. He’s sick of going on dates with women chosen for him by a group of PR people or his well meaning agents anyway. At least if he’s presumed to be in a serious, committed relationship he can stop pretending to like the vapid B-list actresses and models he keeps getting roped into taking out.
“What?” Mickey sounds completely shocked.
“Really?” Ruben gives him an assessing lock.
“Yes,” judging by their shock, he decides he can probably get away with trying to sway the deal in his favor, “on one condition: we announce a minimum two year extension of my contract with Red Bull before we release any of this.”
“That might be a tall order,” Mickey says, shooting a worried look at Reuben.
“You’re my agents, make it happen.”
Ruben nods. “We’ll do our best.”
🏎 🏎
Jake has known Javy Machado since they were six year olds racing go karts. When Javy dropped out of racing and decided to become an agent, Jake was his first (and for many years only) client. He trusts him implicitly. Even when Javy proposes completely insane plans like faking a romantic relationship to satisfy the frankly offensive ‘good gay’ image requirements of Beau Simpson, the CEO of Cyclone Athletics.
He walks into Javy’s office expecting this meeting to be short and to the point. There’s no way that Bradley Bradshaw will agree to any of this. Unlike Jake who just found out his rookie season Kellogg sponsorship won’t be renewed for the upcoming season because the cereal company chose to go in a ‘different direction’ (that direction being Ferrari’s bespectacled, baby-faced Bob Floyd), Bradshaw has enough sponsors on his own to out spend the lower funded teams in Formula 1. Chief among Bradshaw’s backers is the coolant giant Kazansky Enterprises who allegedly pay him several million a year in addition to the three year sixty million dollar deal Bradshaw made with Red Bull when he signed his second contract with them two years ago.
The only chink in Bradshaw’s armor is the unlucky fifth place finish last season. Jake may have finished eighth, but he was driving for Williams, not Red Bull. Going into the last year of his contract Jake’s sure that fifth place is burning digits off Bradshaw’s prospects and making him even hungrier than ever to regain a spot on the World Championship podium.
He takes a seat across from Javy and accepts the coffee Javy’s assistant passes him before stepping out and closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
Javy grins at him. “Bradshaw said yes.”
Jake inhales the sip of coffee he was trying to take and spends a good minute coughing. When he can speak he looks at Javy and asks, “Why?”
To his credit, Javy manages not to laugh at Jake, despite the coffee that’s dribbled down his chin and left a stain on his white shirt. “It’s what we wanted. I didn’t ask for an explanation,” he replies in a professional tone.
Jake lets it go, though he’s dying to know. He’s been preparing for a “No” and then the humiliation of walking into Red Bull with his teammate knowing he needed a fake boyfriend in order to land a sponsor piled on top the embarrassment of not being able to pull in a sponsor despite his improbably strong performance last season. Eighth may be far from the podium, but considering the team and car he was working with, Jake and Red Bull both considered it a phenomenal success.
He hadn’t prepared himself for Bradshaw saying yes to the insane proposition that they fake a serious relationship for the duration of the Cyclone contract. Somehow he’d relied on Bradshaw to extricate them both by being the sane, established racer. So much for Bradshaw’s lauded tactical brilliance. If he can’t see that Jake is a terrible person to tie himself to, it’s no wonder he landed fifth on the table last season.
They’re going to do this. Jake is so incredibly screwed.
Motorsport is not one of the places in sports where gay athletes have started to come out and get recognition. Jake’s only aware of one openly gay Formula 1 driver, Mike Beuttler who raced in the 1970s. In the fifty years since Beuttler, if there have been gay drivers, they’ve stayed in their closets. Jake is no exception to that.
It’s made dating impossible. Jake wants to win the Formula 1 World Championship. If that means his experience with sex has been limited to discreet encounters with other closeted gay men under strict NDAs and the occasional hook up in a dark bar, he can live with that. He only has a few years, maybe a decade or two if he’s lucky, to achieve his dreams. He can figure out the dating and relationships piece then.
Of course, that was before Javy decided that Jake’s best competitive advantage when seeking sponsors was the prospect of being the first gay driver in the circuit. The smug bastard will be completely insufferable if this works out like it seems it might.
“You alright?” Javy asks, agent voice replaced by very real concern that brings Jake back to the days when they were just uncomplicatedly friends.
“What the fuck are we doing, Javy?”
“You’re making history, and we’re getting paid.”
“I’ve never been in a relationship, you know that.”
Javy shrugs.
“How am I supposed to fake something I’ve never done?”
“You’re overthinking this, Jake. There’s no exam. They’ll want some pictures of you, maybe some paparazzi snaps of you holding hands. Everyone will expect you to genuinely celebrate each other’s victories. But no one wants real details.”
Jake nods. Of course. He’s being an idiot. It’s just…
“Not exactly how you thought you’d come out, is it?”
Jake gives a helpless little laugh. “About a decade early.”
“You’ll be fine. Bradshaw has done the fake date dance for the last few years. Just follow his lead and you’ll be fine.”
“He has?”
“You don’t think he actually gave a fuck about that model they paraded around with him last year, do you?”
Jake shrugs, feeling stupid. From the few photos he’d seen and the way she was alway plastered against Bradshaw in the paddock after a race, he’d assumed they were at least fucking. Even if Bradley did always look a bit like a deer in the headlights.
Javy chuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
The first time Jake officially meets Bradley Bradshaw is on Bradshaw’s turf. It’s not ideal, but unlike Jake who hasn’t gotten around to upgrading his apartment in Oxford to something more befitting his salary, Bradley owns a detached house ten minutes from HQ in Milton Keynes. So he gets to host their first ‘strategy session.’
Jake picks Javy up in his Aston Martin Vanquish and they drive together so Javy can update Jake on the latest news from Cyclone Athletics, who are thrilled at the prospect of Jake revealing a year old relationship as part of his coming out (even if the who of his partner hasn’t been shared yet). Assuming today’s meeting is successful, the next step will be to tell Red Bull and let the team have input on the initial press release, if not the whole pre-season PR strategy. Bradshaw will need to speak with his sponsors so they can time supportive press releases too.
Jake can already feel a headache building in his temples when he parks in front of Bradley’s house.
A few minutes later the five of them, both drivers and the trio of agents, are all sitting around Bradley’s dining room table arguing over how Jake and Bradley’s imaginary relationship began.
“They’ve known each other since they were kids,” is immediately rejected by Bradley who points out that their age gap means they never crossed paths in their go kart days. The Formula 1 season that just finished was the first where they’d both raced the entire season in the same championship.
“Jake came to a meet and greet and they hit it off,” Mickey suggests.
“I’m not some fawning fanboy!” Jake protests at the same time as Bradley asks incredulously, “And make every person who’s ever tried to date a driver think fan event hookups are a possibility?”
Mickey raises both hands in surrender. “Okay, not a fan event. What about the big Mercedes victory party last season?“
Bradley stands abruptly. “Can you three go do the agent thing in my office? I want to have a chat with Jake.”
Jake would rather be anywhere other than alone with Bradshaw right now, but he tilts his head in assent when Javy looks to him for permission.
When the agents have disappeared up the stairs to where Jake assumes Bradley keeps his office, Bradley sits back down. “Look, we all have something to gain here. But we’re not going to get anywhere if you keep acting like a child.”
Jake bristles. Yes, he has strenuously rejected suggestions that make him sound like a pre-teen girl with a celebrity crush, but Bradley has shot down just as many ideas as he has at this point. “Whereas the pompous, I’m older so I know everything routine is very productive.”
Bradley glares at him.
Jake glares back as best he can while massaging both temples in an attempt to banish the headache that has settled into both sides of his head after an hour of bickering with a bunch of grown men.
“Let’s start simple,” Bradley suggests. “How did we meet?”
“Your agent had one good idea - I didn’t take anyone home from the end of season party last year,” Jake admits, “and I haven’t been with anyone who would talk or even think there was something to say since.” It’s been a long dry spell. The first year in Formula 1 took all his concentration and energy.
Bradley nods, looking thoughtful. “The party could work. How do we explain Sara?”
“The red head?” Jake can immediately picture her squished up against Bradley, gazing at him adoringly.
Bradley nods.
“Family friend doing you a favor? Unless you fucked her.“ He gives Bradley a penetrating look, wondering how close Javy’s guess had been.
“We never hooked up.”
“Will she fight the story?” That really is the part that matters. They could have been fucking like rabbits, but as long as she goes along with their story no one would ever know. Except Jake, and he’s not planning to think too closely about why he’s happy to learn they weren’t.
“I guess I have to talk to her. I’m sure if we can make her look good she’ll go for it.” He makes a note on the legal pad in front of him and then turns his eyes back to Jake. He raises an eyebrow.
Jake takes the eyebrow as the hint it is. “Okay, you saw me at the party and couldn’t resist my…” Jake gestures to his whole body, “and I couldn’t resist banging the driver who came third in the World Cup…?”
Bradley rolls his eyes. “I suddenly see why your agent suggested this.”
Jake narrows his eyes at the thinly veiled insult. “Alright let’s hear the wholesome Bradshaw version.”
“We met at the party. We talked about racing, exchanged numbers. If pressed we admit to a first kiss and then redirect immediately to liking each other but not wanting to impact either of our teams,” Bradley sounds like he’s reading a pre-prepared statement, flat and bored. “When they inevitably try to blame my bad season on distraction we say that hiding our relationship from the public was a challenge but we never let it impact race weekends. Thankfully we didn’t have any dirty passes or fuck ups they can try to paint as something more so those ideas should die quickly.”
It’s boring, but perfect. Jake has always had something of a kink for tactical brilliance, but there’s no way he’s just rolling over and letting Bradshaw win. He lets his body slump even deeper into his chair and says, “Boring, PR spin. You do remember we’re trying to generate press, right?”
“Positive press,” Bradley sounds annoyed, “not speculations that paint Red Bull or either of us in a negative light. We tell my version and the story will be ‘F1 supports first gay couple’ and they’ll write some nauseating copy about a romantic year of secrecy. The critics will focus on the potential drama of a couple racing each other in the same car. It’ll keep eyes on Red Bull and us but all we’ll have to do to make everyone happy is hold hands, smile, and win races.”
Jake grudgingly nods his assent. “Alright, we’ll go the boring way, but if TMZ or whoever asks if I put out on a first date, I’m not going to lie.”
Bradley’s cheeks flush, in anger or embarrassment Jake can’t tell. “If you want your brand to be ‘guy who sucks cock in a bathroom stall’ and not ‘F1 top-10 driver who happens to be gay’, that’s your funeral”
Jake can’t hide a smirk. “I just said I put out, if you want to picture me choking on your cock in a public bathroom, that’s your little fantasy Bradshaw.”
The red in Bradley’s face intensifies.
Jake has a sudden vivid image of Bradley as he’d been at that party, flush with victory and champagne, his dark jeans tight over his ass and thighs, dark shirt with four buttons undone, revealing a teasing slice of toned, tan chest. He can easily imagine pinning that version of Bradley back against the bathroom door and dropping to his knees. He swallows and forces his attention back to the very buttoned up, sober, and visibly irritated Bradley sitting across from him.
Bradley clears his throat, breaking the tense silence. “We’re agreed?”
“Met at a party, chastely smooched goodnight, kept everything entirely professional…” he fakes a yawn. “That basically it?”
“But now we’re coming out with the support of our sponsors and our team because we are committed to making the relationship work and we thank the press for their support.”
Jake smirks again. “Nice touch. Press love being told what their reaction is going to be.”
Bradley shrugs nonchalantly. It’s unfairly hot like most things he’s done so far today. “Some of them will get pissy, but they’ve all been publishing no substance thought pieces like ‘why are there no gay F1 drivers?’ so I think most of them will want to pounce on the ‘I told you so opportunity.’”
“Which works in our favor because the only thing any of the cowards committed to was that there were likely gay drivers who just hadn’t come out,” Jake finishes.
“Exactly.”
Jake gives Bradley a considering look. This is the thoughtful, strategic man Bradshaw has always come across as in press and rumor. So why the hell is he going along with this? “What’s in this for you?”
“Can’t let you steal the rainbow spotlight,” Bradley says, not quite meeting Jake’s eyes.
“One upping my coming out?” Jake asks incredulously. “Even you can’t be that competitive.”
“Never underestimate how competitive I can be, Seresin,” Bradley says with a mild tone that belies the almost threatening words.
It’s definitely not the whole story, but Jake lets it go for now. They’re going to be spending a lot of time together, he’ll find out the real reason eventually. “Well, I plan to give you something to compete against this season, fake boyfriend or not.”
“You fucking better.”
Their eyes lock and Jake’s mouth goes dry. The intensity in Bradley’s eyes, the slight flush still lingering in his cheeks. He’s fucking gorgeous.
“Before we let the vultures back in,” Jake says, mostly to break the tension, “boundaries?”
“Racing comes first.”
“Obviously.” Jake refrains from rolling his eyes, barely. “I mean when we’re performing this routine for the press and sponsors. Hand holding? Getting caught making out? How far are we taking this?”
“I’m sure Callie will have an entire flow chart she expects us to follow once the team knows.”
“You usually let the team PR director make decisions about where your dates can touch you, Bradshaw?”
“As long as you’re not planning to grab my cock at a press conference or in the paddock, I think we can figure it out as we go.”
“Only ass grabs in public, got it,” Jake says in his most serious tone.
Bradley glares at him and then asks, “You’ve never dated in public before have you?”
Jake resists the urge to snarl. Bradley may be sexy as fuck, but he’s also the kind of asshole who has to take dates his agent set up. “I’ll study your game tape,” his tone is mocking. “We don’t all have a string of beards on call.”
“I’m bisexual you know,” Bradley clarifies.
Jake did not know, actually. He’s still not sure what agent magic Javy used to find out Bradley liked men at all. Clearly Jake’s gaydar has died from neglect. “So you’re telling me you actually dated some of those actress-slash-models?”
“Does it matter?”
Yes, Jake thinks, though he couldn’t say why. It’s not like what they’re doing is actually dating either. “Call it curiosity,” he says instead.
“It’s just easier to let Reuben and Mickey arrange dates when I need them,” Bradley says instead of just answering the simple yes or no question. “Sometimes they work out for a couple months, but this life isn’t easy on a relationship.”
“Guess this whole arrangement solves that problem for a year.”
Bradley shrugs like he doesn’t care one way or another which sets Jake’s teeth on edge. “Suppose so.”
Jake wants to press further, feeling unaccountably annoyed at Bradley’s apparent disinterest.
“You two call a cease fire yet?” Javy asks from the doorway, cutting off any further questions from Jake.
“We got the basics down,” Bradley answers.
“Perfect.” Reuben follows Javy into the room. “Now let’s talk strategy. Do we approach Red Bull now, or wait for the paperwork from Cyclone Athletics to be finalized?”
Jake settles back into his chair and prepares for a long afternoon.
A week later, Jake finds himself sitting across from Bradley Bradshaw once again, only this time they’re in a meeting room at Red Bull. The team Public Relations Manager, Callie Bassett, and Team Principal Bates are talking in hushed tones at the head of the table while Javy confers with Bradley’s agents at its foot. Bradshaw is just staring silently at him like Jake is a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. It’s incredibly unsettling.
And more than a little hot.
Jake meets and holds Bradley’s gaze, green eyes on brown. He doesn’t blink and does his best to keep his face neutral.
A muscle in Bradley’s cheek twitches.
Jake raises one eyebrow slightly.
Bradley’s mustache really is an unfair advantage in this staring contest. Jake is pretty sure the eyebrow raise earned him a tiny smile, but it’s hard to tell under the ‘stache.
Before he can do anything else to try and win their satisfyingly childish staring content, Bates turns to face them and starts to speak.
It’s exactly the kind of speech Jake expects Bates will give to the press when they make the announcement. Red Bull is honored to support them both, but of course this will not change the expectations on the track. What they do in private is entirely their business, but come race day he expects excellence. Red Bull should be on the World Championship podium for drivers as well as the Constructors’ Championship and if not, there will be changes to the lineup regardless of any personal feelings on the matter. But, of course, if there’s anything the team can do to show their support for Jake and Bradley, they will.
When Bates is done he turns things over to Bassett who has a frankly terrifyingly detailed plan she seems to have come up with in the twenty minutes they’ve been in the room. Jake is grateful that Javy and Bradley’s agents are all taking notes because his hearing becomes white static by the time she starts describing the proposed schedule.
He turns his eyes back to Bradley who is looking directly at him, face completely blank. They stare at each other for a few seconds and then Bradley turns and fixes his focus back on Callie. Jake continues to stare at that unfairly attractive profile, and tries not to fidget.
🏎 🏎
Seresin looks like a deer in headlights. It’s a far cry from the cocksure smirk he sported through their last meeting and in nearly every interview Bradley’s ever seen. It would be endearing in another context. In a meeting where they’re tying their professional lives to their mutual ability to sell a total lie, it’s a problem.
He meets Jake’s eyes for a long moment, trying to convey calm. It doesn’t work. If anything, Seresin seems more nervous with Bradley’s gaze on him.
He turns his eyes front while his mind spins. Jake shifts his weight in discomfort and Bradley decides abruptly that enough is enough. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jake's agent sets his mostly full cup back on the table and then makes his move.
Keeping his face blank and his eyes on Callie, Bradley extends one leg and runs his foot up the inside of Jake’s calf.
Jake, predictably, jumps about six inches at the unexpected contact, rattling the table and spilling his agent’s coffee on the table but also all down his own front.
Callie stops talking mid-word and everyone’s eyes fix on Jake.
Bradley reaches across the table, rights the toppled cup and tosses a pair of napkins into the worst puddle. “Maybe we can take a ten minute break?” He asks in his blandest tone, not bothering to wait for anyone to agree before getting to his feet. He circles the table and has a hand on Jake’s bicep before anyone else has really moved.
Jake’s agent finally jumps into action, wiping up the rest of the mess with more napkins and checking the papers that were passed around to make sure nothing has been ruined.
Bradley doesn’t pause, just pulls a surprisingly unresisting Jake behind him down the hall and around a corner before shoving him into the bathroom.
“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Jake growls, turning on him as soon as the door closes behind them. His green eyes are flashing dangerously.
Bradley flips the lock on the door and then leans back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “You looked stressed,” he says.
“So you thought you’d give me a heart attack?”
“You’re not a good actor,” Bradley says bluntly.
Jake glares at him.
“You do remember why we’re here, right?” He can hear the condescension dripping from his voice but it’s hard to rein it in when Jake is bleeding unexpected insecurity all over the room.
“You’re my first, okay? It’s going to take me a minute to get used to all,” he gestures broadly, “that.”
“Fake relationships aren’t really that different from real ones,” Bradley explains, letting his arms drop. “Just with clearer expectations, fewer messy feelings, and no sex.”
Jake looks so uncomfortable that Bradley briefly wonders if he’d meant this was his first relationship. He dismisses that thought immediately. Jake is gorgeous, all fluffy blond hair you want to tangle your fingers in, cocky smirk just begging to be nipped at, and the cut muscular physique all the drivers share. Bradley has seen the cute, dimply Jake in Kellogg commercials and the sultry, bedroom eyed Jake selling CK briefs. There’s no way he’s inexperienced romantically, even if he did have to hide it before.
“I guess you’ve never been public, even when it’s real,” he says the thought aloud, feeling stupid for not thinking of this before today.
“Just getting the coming out as gay part now, Bradshaw? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius.”
Bradley refrains from rolling his eyes and instead steps forward, closing the distance between them. He stops shy of touching him, but he’s close enough he can feel warmth radiating off Jake’s body.
Jake has to tilt his head just the tiniest bit up to meet Bradley's eyes. He holds his gaze, green eyes bright with curiosity.
“If we’re going to pull this off, you need to loosen up.”
“Are you planning to loosen me up?” Jake’s tone and expression morph from curious to suggestive in an instant. His eyes drift down Bradley’s body and Bradley can feel a blush rising in his cheeks.
“Not what I meant,” he half growls through gritted teeth.
Jake peers up at him through his eyelashes, lips curved in a smirk. “Oh,” he says, voice dripping with false innocence, “my mistake. Most men who drag me into a restroom and lock the door have something specific in mind.”
Bradley draws in a calming breath through his nose. A mistake as his senses are immediately flooded with the spicy sweet scent of Jake’s cologne. He counts to ten, focusing on anything but the enticing man standing in front of him and then says, managing to sound casual and not like he’s a second from snapping, “You looked like a frightened rabbit out there. You’ll get away with a little anxiety in these walls because the team knows your Williams press training was sub-par, but—“
“The fuck does that mean?” Suggestive Jake is replaced by annoyed, defensive Jake so quickly it makes Bradley’s head spin.
Jake steps back, only managing to put a foot or so of space between them before bumping back against the sink.
“I’m not trying to insult your old team,” Bradley says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Red Bull has more resources, more staff, and almost as many people in communications and PR as Williams has in its entire organization. You’re new to this version of the game and we can use that.” He doesn’t say ‘if you would just shut up and be an adult for five minutes’ but he’s pretty sure he got the message across anyway.
Jake scowls. “You think you know everything, why don’t you just tell me what you want from me, instead of whatever the hell this was?”
“Stop giving everything away with your face. Just stick with that cocky little smirk until the situation calls for something else. Whatever they expect you to do, do that unless it serves your purposes to do something else.”
“You told me I’m a terrible actor and your advice is to act?”
“Yes.” Bradley runs both hands over his face and up through his hair. “It’s the only way I know how to do this.”
Jake’s anger seems to deflate as quickly as it rose. “Alright. What do they expect me to feel in that room?”
“Bored, if they’re paying attention.”
Jake laughs.
The sudden bright sound zings across his skin like ASMR, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “We should…” get back before he gives in and does something stupid. He gestures towards the door.
Jake shrugs and brushes past him, pausing as their shoulders touch to say softly, “You know, my way would have been more fun.”
He lets the door close behind Jake, taking a minute to suck in a deep calming breath before turning and following him back into the conference room.
The rest of the meeting passes quickly. Jake stops looking terrified and instead spends most of the meeting staring blatantly at Bradley, the end of his pen slipping in and out of his mouth. At least he doesn’t look like a deer in the headlights, but Bradley isn’t sure he heard a word out of Callie’s mouth after their impromptu break. At least Reuben always takes good notes.