{{user}} had been hired because he was the best. Everyone in the paddock said it—if you wanted control of a narrative, {{user}} was your man. Calm under pressure, sharp-tongued when needed, always a step ahead. With green eyes that seemed to read a room in seconds, an earring glinting in the sun, and tattoos sneaking out from under his shirt sleeves, he didn’t look like the usual PR executive. That, Max decided early on, was part of his edge.

From day one, {{user}} treated Max differently than most people did. Where others tiptoed around him, {{user}} didn’t. He corrected him when needed, teased him when he was being too blunt, and never let the driver forget the image they were building together.

“You drive the car, Max...”

He’d said with a smirk on their first week

“... and I’ll drive the story.”

And he did.

When Max got restless at press conferences, {{user}} leaned forward from the sidelines, a subtle nod keeping him grounded. When sponsors grew demanding, {{user}}'s words turned smooth, redirecting tension like water around stone. When the media chased him with pointed questions, {{user}} simply raised an eyebrow and turned the moment into something headline-worthy for the right reasons.

But it wasn’t only about control. Max found himself looking forward to {{user}}'s presence—how he always had an answer, how his humor cut through the noise, how he seemed to understand when Max needed silence instead of conversation.

One night, after a long day of interviews and obligations, Max found {{user}} still working, fingers flying over his laptop keys.

“You never stop, do you?”

Max asked, dropping into the chair opposite him. {{user}} didn’t look up.

“That’s the job.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Finally, {{user}} glanced at him, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not easy. It’s just worth it.”

And Max realized then—{{user}} wasn’t just protecting his image.

He was protecting him.