Page 18 of Tipping Point

I stand upright, toss the curls over my shoulder, and take a moment to think it through.

“I don’t know, but we accessed Rheese’s in-car footage that day. The teams make it available to us and I was going over the footage of the foul.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said something like, ‘Fuck, he’s driving like he used to.’”

“What does that mean?”

I deposit a little mountain of mousse into my palm and smack my hands together. Little foam puffs splash on to the mirror. I come away with two hands coated in mousse and start scrunching it into the ends of my curls.

“I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.”

4

Chapter 4

CAMILLE

We’re cruising at thirty-five thousand feet, and we are fifteen minutes in on an eight-hour flight.

I need to sleep.

Bahrain passes in a blur. I have my first video conference call with Dixon and the team at WebFlix Max and bring them up to speed on our footage thus far and our filming schedule for the month ahead. They ask me to send them some footage, but I ask for an extension. If we film this right, we can only start putting together episodes after more filming.

“I want each episode to encapsulate the racing season for each team.” I’m on a roll, passionate. “If we show the same year, but from ten different perspectives, I think it’s going to provide such a big contrast. It’s the best way to showcase the differences and what sets each team apart.”

“That means we won’t get full episodes until filming wraps up.” It’s Mr. High Up, Dixon’s boss, and he doesn’t sound happy about the idea. “By the time it airs, the new season will have started. We won’t know if this investment will pay off.”

Shit.

“Not necessarily.” I’m grasping at straws. This project is Dixon’s baby. If I fuck it up, he’ll be so disappointed. “I think we can use the footage every week to make short and sweet videos for our social media channels and start building an audience with it.”

He mulls it over.

“Film Shanghai, and send the footage over. We’ll take it from there.”

Now here I am, sitting on an aeroplane, wedged between a window and a middle-aged woman who has literally taken off her shoes. She’s just kicked them off.

I have my laptop out, my earphones in, and I’m drawing up call sheets for the race this weekend.

The crew is really growing on me. We got all dressed up and went out as a group. Jay and Evan had also dressed for the occasion. Casey spent the evening between Evan and the sound slash lighting tech, who took turns buying her drinks. I was worried, but it proved a waste of time. By the time we were all drunk and tired, Casey was just getting started and she ditched us for a new group she met at the bar. After our disastrous red eye from Australia, I had her do our bookings two weeks in advance and I had to sign off on them. She’s doing a lot between being the production assistant and the makeup artist, but she isn’t into details. The lady next to me gives a polite laugh, and I look up from my laptop screen.

It’s Irish.

He’s standing with one arm casually draped over the headrest of the lady’s chair, and he’s leaning in and speaking softly.

I whip out my earphones.

“Can I help you?”

I hear Jay snigger in the row of seats behind me.

“No,” Irish says. “But she can.” He nods at the lady, who is busy putting her shoes back on.

As he’s leaning over her, thick strands of dark hair tumble loose and fall over his forehead. His dark brown eyes are all soft and chocolate as he looks at her, like she’s the only person in the world.

Oh, he’s good.