Chapter Text
“It’s Just Good Business.”
Bahrain- February 19, 2026
Max Verstappen hated George Russell.
With his stupid perfected PR smile, his robot responses, and his Mercedes golden boy complex.
It was the start of the 2026 season; the final day of the second Bahrain testing. Everyone was already tired of the new cars by the first testing; nobody knew how many of the other teams were sandbagging, and Russell was being particularly annoying. What did Laurent and Toto think was going to happen?
That's how he ended up in a room with Laurent, Toto, both Max and Russell’s PR supervisors, and none other than the golden boy himself.
Nobody was too happy about the situation.
“Both of you,” Toto had begun the meeting, exasperated, “are absolute PR nightmares.”
Max thought that he was probably worse than Russell, but who was he to complain?
Then Toto had passed the spotlight onto Anna and Cara, Max and Russell’s PR supervisors. For the past twenty minutes, the two of them had been going back and forth on how horrible and dire a situation Max and Russell had caused for the teams, all while pointing at some picture on a projector.
Max knew that this would just be another PR meeting, they would talk about some stupid issues that were thought into too much, then some sort of solution would be made-a statement or PR videos or something he’d be forced to do- and everything would go back to normal again.
Gods, was he wrong.
“The vast majority of interaction and engagement over the last few days is incredibly negative,” Anna went on, “Nearly all speak of how unprofessional and immature both of you are acting towards one another.”
Whenever he said something a bit too blunt, a bit too honest, something that PR didn’t like, they’d go crazy over controlling every aspect of his life. Was Max planning to pick up his own prescription near his own house? No, that wasn’t an option; it was “too risky” for his image, so someone else would have to do it. They’d bitch and moan about how they didn’t like Max’s tone in an interview, to watch how he sounded next time. It made it excruciating for Max to live.
“This, after your little squabble back in Qatar, is going to be difficult for us, and for both,” she pointed her finger and waved it between the two drivers, “Of you.”
George Russell was a man who had a certain talent for being able to stay controlled in every situation, always so composed and calm. He went through conversations smooth and flawlessly, displaying and dressing himself in such a seamless manner; George Russell was perfect in every definition of the word. He had no problems; He made no mistakes. He may have been ‘perfect’ but his perfection was just so monotonous; he was robotic; and practically everything Max hated in a person.
As much as he presented himself as flawless and composed, Max prided himself and being able to break that strongly-held patience.
Like how now, where he was immensely taking enjoyment from how pissed off Russell looked at the prospect of getting told off, like a petulant little child; his body stiff and rigid and his perfected PR face in a deep, clearly dissatisfied frown.
“Last time,” Cara cut in, “We tried to get you both to act like friends, which at least made you act civilized for the better half of the season, and the media forgot about it rather quickly.”
She shared a glance with Anna before she spoke: “So, we've decided that the best course of action is for the two of you to enter an exclusive relationship.”
“Relationship?” Russell said confusedly, “Like….dating?”
Oh, fuck no
“A faux relationship for strategic purposes, yes,” Anna replied.
Fuck that.
“Absolutely not.” Russell said, his voice firm, just as Max remarked with a much more accurate: “Fuck no.”
Cara sighed, “Last time when you were friendly to each other, negative engagement dropped significantly.”
“Yeah, and half of the media knew that you had forced us into it.” Max pointed out
“Which is exactly why we need you both to have a partnership surprising enough for people to believe it,” Laurent told them slowly.
Yeah, Fuck that. Max thought, grimacing at the idea of having to fake date Russell of all people. Being near him? Holding hands with him?
Ick. Max would rather die.
“It wouldn't work,” Russell stated. “We don’t enjoy being near each other.” Well, that was an understatement, but what would Max even expect from the robotic asshole?
“It worked last time.” Cara argued.
“And the whole media knew." Max argued back.
“Which is why we need to do it better and more believable this time.” Toto said.
Silence hung in the air, heavy.
“The plan is simple.” Laurent began, breaking the silence, “You two will tell the media that you are dating, then, when the media blows over, you can have a nice, peaceful ‘break up’, then your lives will continue as usual.”
“Well, it doesn't really matter what the plan is since we’ve already decided that this isn't going to happen.” Max said.
Laurent ignored him and continued. “You’ll stay in the same hotels during race weekends and do interviews together,” he paused to take a breath, “It’s also essential that you are seen together outside of race weekends, so you’ll go for outings together occasionally. Other than that, your lives will be normal.”
“That does not sound like normal life to me.” Russell said, and Max could definitely agree with that.
“Only for as long as it takes for the media to blow over.” Laurent sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe them.
“Just think about it,” said Anna, “Last year the media laid off both of you, even when they knew that you had been forced to be friendly. Imagine how they’ll react when caught off guard.”
Max hated to admit that she was kind of right. Because it would be a quick way to get his team to start acting normally.
He thinks Russell thinks something similar because he’s gone quiet.
Toto gave a small, smug smile, pulling out a few papers, “Here is the contract. We’ll give each of you a copy, then we can come back tomorrow to sign it. Does 6am work?”
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
Bahrain- February 19, 2026
Max didn’t know what the fuck to think of this.
Fake dating George Russell. The public would genuinely think Max liked the pretentious bastard in that way. The thought made him cringe…just…ew.
He guessed that it was worth it as long as the media ignored him and life went back to normal again. Just like Anna had said, it had worked last time in a matter of weeks.
At least this would only last a few weeks.
He scanned the contract over a can of Red Bull when he woke up in the morning.
It was pretty straightforward: They couldn’t tell anyone that the relationship was a hoax, They’d had to go to dinner every few weeks together, They’d always have 2-room hotels, When the relationship was no longer needed, they’d post statements that they had broken up, and some other points Max didn’t have the patience to read through.
A bit too much spending time with Russell. But it was for strategic purposes. Other than that, there was nothing that stood out; it would only be a few weeks of suffering.
He got dressed in his usual Red Bull kit, cracked open another Red Bull, tried not to think too much about spending time with a certain British driver, and went downstairs where a car was waiting for him.
He walked into the meeting room at 6 on the dot, Red Bull in hand, Everyone already sitting inside; Russell with his typical blank, content expression.
He sat down in the empty chair, next to that same damned British driver, Toto started, clearing his voice to speak: “Well, is there anything either of you would like to change about the contract?”
Max didn’t think anyone could hear his “Nope.” Over Russell’s “Uhm, yes, actually.”
“Firstly, I want us to be able to make the decision on when we go out in public, not just dinners every few weeks. Secondly, I want to be able to tell people close to me that the relationship isn’t real. Thirdly—“
Max didn't care to listen to the dozens of tweaks Russell made. So he sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting; While Russell changed the contract so it was just right, absolutely perfect for him.
After nearly thirty minutes, Russell had finished reading who knows how many newly-printed contracts, and this time he didn’t have another thing to change, or delete, or add, thank God.
Finally, a contract is placed on the space in front of him, along with a pen.
“Sign at the bottom line,” Toto said
Shit, so he was really doing this.
He clicked his pen and scrawled his signature, pushing the paper to Laurent, who was signing as well.
“Well,” Cara said happily, clapping her hands together, "I'm excited to see how this will go.”
Only a few weeks, Max told himself, only a few weeks.
Max is walking out of the meeting room to his car when Russell comes walking right beside him, carrying a cream tote bag over his shoulder.
“We should talk about how we want to tell the media about the partnership.” He said
Max ignored him, stopping at his car and opening the passenger door, choosing not to spare Russell even a glance. He wasn't worth it.
“I’m sure you have loads of ideas.” He answered shortly before sitting in the seat and shutting the car door
George Russell. Max was going to die before this was over.