summary: not even nepotism can stop someone from being down-right lazy
content warnings: max being not a great boss
word count: 3k
pairing: max verstappen x assistant!reader
SERIES: my dear assistant || may be confusing if read as a standalone one-shot!
a/n: ngl idk how i feel about putting mv3 in the title :0
The plane ride back to Nice on Sunday night went exactly as you had expected it to: cold and stagnant.
You and Max sat across from each other in separate rows, mirroring the way you’d flown out, but this time it felt like fifty miles stretched between you instead of a few feet of carpeted aisle. There was no shared glance, no quiet comment traded over the hum of the engines. Just two people occupying the same space without either one really touching it.
The car ride back to Max’s penthouse was worse, though.
Normally, the silence would’ve been filled with his low complaints about being tired, about wanting his own bed, about how long it had been since he’d seen his cats. None of that came on this drive. The car was heavy with quietness, broken only by the steady hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shift of the leather seats beneath you.
He didn’t speak., but you didn’t try to either.
When the car finally stopped in front of his building, there was no pause. No lingering moment. No absentminded reminder about the next day’s schedule tossed your way. He had simply opened the passenger door, duffelbag already gripped tightly in his hand, and stepped out of the passenger seat without even a glance back.
Then door slammed shut. And that was it.
You watched him walk toward the entrance with his head tipped down, shoulders tight, disappearing inside without so much as a small look over his shoulder.
And yet later, hours later, you were still staring at that same door.
You’d gone home. You’d showered. You’d put on music you didn’t really hear. You’d crawled into bed and slept, if what you’d done could even be called sleep. And still, when your eyes opened again, your mind was right back there again.
You stared at the door with the same unmoving, unsettled focus, waiting for it to open.
Max emerged from the building ten minutes later.
You didn’t know what you’d been expecting, an apology, maybe, or at least some acknowledgment that last night had been weird for him too, but whatever hope you’d half-formed evaporated the second you saw his face.
It was still just as blank as it had been the night before. Not angry. Not distant in the sharp, defensive way you’d learned to recognize. Just empty, like someone had pressed pause on him and forgotten to hit play again.
He stopped beside you, adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and waited. You unlocked the car without saying anything.
The drive to the gym followed the same script as every weekday morning had for years: the same route, the same turns, the same radio station playing quietly in the background. Normally, this was when Max would complain about his legs feeling heavy, about how whoever scheduled morning gym sessions should be arrested, about how you were cruel for not letting him sleep another twenty minutes.
Today, he stared out the window with his arms crossed, jaw set, eyes unfocused. You still didn’t push, just like you had been doing all weekend.
You pulled into the familiar parking space and got out along with Max, making your way towards the entrance of the gym, and waiting near the entrance was the applicant.
His name was Oliver Van Daalen.
If the name sounded important, it’s because he was. You knew it well at this point because his father’s name had appeared in your inbox no less than six times the week before, each email politely phrased but heavy with expectation. His father was the CEO of one of Max’s longtime sponsors. They were important, generous, and clearly persistent.
You’d agreed to a trial run under the same conditions as everyone else, with no guarantees and no favoritism promised. His father had agreed immediately, far too quickly, like he’d assumed the outcome was already decided.
Oliver straightened when he saw Max, offering an easy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey,” he said, casual to the point it seemed almost lazy. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Max nodded. “Yeah.”
Oliver wore gym clothes that looked more aesthetic than functional, with clean sneakers, untouched leather gloves clipped to his bag, and an oversized sweatshirt that had a luxury brand plastered over the front of it.
Inside, as Max warmed up, Oliver leaned against a pillar and watched with visible disinterest.
“So,” he said after a minute, glancing between you and Max, “does he always do this much gym?”
“Yes.”
Oliver hummed. “Seems excessive.”
You kept your voice neutral. “It’s part of his training.”
“But like,” Oliver continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “does it actually make that much of a difference? I mean, he’s already good, right?”
Max’s grip tightened around the bar. You noticed, you always did.
“He trains because he wants to stay good,” you said evenly.
Oliver shrugged. “Couldn’t be me. I hate the gym.”
That earned a brief glance back from Max, not overly bothered, not amused, just like he was assessing him. But then he went back to his set without a word.
The rest of the session followed the same rhythm. Oliver dragging his feet following Max to every machine, asking both of you questions that sounded more like complaints, checking his phone at every chance he got.
By the time you were back in the car, heading to the next scheduled stop, your patience was already thinning. You begun to run through the day aloud, mostly out of habit, but really as a way to somewhat calm your nerves. “After shoot we’ve got a late lunch, then emails, then the engineering brief–”
Oliver groaned loudly, cutting you off. “That sounds like a lot.”
You paused. “Uh yeah, today is actually kind of a light day, though.”
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “No offense, but I don’t think I could do that every day.”
You glanced instinctively toward Max, waiting for something like a comment, a look, a sign that he was hearing this too. He wasn’t. He stared out the window, jaw tight, arms still crossed like he was having to physically hold himself together.
The parking lot for the next appointment was cramped. Cars packed too tightly together, mirrors nearly kissing. You slowed, scanning for a space, then chose one farther out near the edge. You didn’t want to risk a scratch on your car, much less did you want to pay to have one fixed.
“Let’s just park here,” you said. “It’s safer.”
Oliver leaned forward in his seat. “That’s a really far walk to the door.”
“It’s a nice day,” you said lightly. “A short walk won’t hurt us.”
“I don’t really feel like walking,” he complained. “Can’t you just pull closer?”
You opened your mouth to respond, to explain, to mediate, to smooth things over like you always did, but before you could get anything out, Max interjected.
“Just park closer,” Max said.
The words weren’t sharp, and they weren’t loud, but they still landed like a slap to your face. You looked at him, surprised. He didn’t meet your eyes. Your hands tightened on the steering wheel before you nodded and pulled into a tighter, closer spot, heart sinking as the car slid neatly between two others. You noticed how Oliver smiled, satisfied.
As you turned off the engine, you realized something cold and heavy had settled in your chest. Max hadn’t defended you. He hadn’t corrected Oliver. He hadn’t even disagreed on his own accord.
He was still there in the car with you physically, but it was clear that he wasn’t with you anymore. And for the first time, you wondered if he was already beginning on letting go in his own quiet, devastating way.
By the time you reached the doors of the photoshoot location, your patience was completely out. Oliver followed closely behind you as Max went ahead to get ready.
“So,” he said, dragging the word out, “what’s next after this? Lunch?”
“Like I said in the car, there’s this shoot,” you said evenly. “Then a late, short lunch, then a briefing call with the engineers at four.”
Oliver winced as if you’d just told him he had to run a marathon barefoot. “Yeah, and like I said in the car, that’s a lot.”
You glanced at Max instinctively as they were moving him into place, hoping that maybe he had somehow heard him, looking for some sign of shared disbelief. A raised eyebrow, a scoff, anything. But Max stared straight ahead, arms still crossed, jaw still tight, eyes still unfocused as if he was still somewhere else entirely.
You handed Oliver a single sheet of paper. One singular page, neatly formatted, with nothing bullet points and time slots lining the page. It was nothing intimidating. It was a simple availability form for Max for later in the week. It was a simple, standard procedure that you had to do multiple times a week. It was at the very least, the bare minimum of work.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Max’s availability for the rest of the day,” you replied. “Just fill it out and give it back when you’re done.”
Oliver scanned it once, honestly barely even that, before snorting softly and pushing it back into your hands.
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t really do writing.”
You froze. “I’m sorry?” you asked, genuinely unsure you’d heard him correctly.
“I just mean,” he continued, shrugging, already looking bored, “I’m more of a hands-on guy. Paperwork isn’t really my thing.”
For a moment, your brain went completely blank.
This had to be it. This had to be the reason his father had called personally. The reason strings had been pulled. The reason he wanted him to be pushed into the process without so much as a résume.
You forced a polite smile onto your face, one you’d perfected years ago. “It’s one page.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but still.”
You took back the page to fill out yourself as the photoshoot dragged on.
Oliver spent most of it leaning against walls, checking his phone without a thought if someone was looking, asking if you were “almost done yet” after every wardrobe change. You found yourself stepping in more than once, from adjusting small things, answering questions he should’ve known the answer to, and smoothing over his lack of engagement with practiced professionalism.
By the time you finally shepherded everyone back into the car, your head had begun to throb.
Oliver gave directions to his family’s apartment with lazy confidence, drumming his fingers against the door as if the entire day had been a mild inconvenience done to him.
The second he shut the door behind him and disappeared into the building, you exhaled sharply.
“Oh my god,” you said, gripping the steering wheel. “I cannot believe that just happened.”
Max buckled his seatbelt back in silence.
“He doesn’t do writing?” you continued, incredulous now that there was no one else around. “Max, he shoved paperwork back at me. He complained about walking. He complained about the gym. He complained about the schedule. He complained about—”
“Hire him.”
The words cut through you so cleanly you almost missed them.
You turned toward him, stunned. “What?”
“I said hire him,” Max repeated, finally looking at you.
Your mouth opened, then closed again. “You cannot be serious.”
“He was fine,” Max said flatly.
“Fine?” you echoed. “He has zero work ethic. He barely paid attention. He treated me like I was his personal inconvenience.”
Max’s jaw flexed. “I liked him.”
Something in his tone snapped the last thread of your composure.
“You liked him,” you said slowly, disbelief bleeding into frustration. “You didn’t even interact with him. You ignored him all day. You ignored me all day.”
Max’s head snapped toward you. “That’s not fair,” he said sharply.
You couldn’t say anything else as the silence slammed down between you.
Then Max sighed, long and sharp, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just hire him.”
You stared at him for a moment longer, then looked back at the windshield. Your hands tightened around the wheel until your knuckles went white.
“Fine,” you said quietly. “I’ll hire him.”
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
When you pulled up outside his apartment, Max didn’t linger. He grabbed his bag, opened the door, and stepped out without looking back. You drove off faster than you had ever before, more than eager to be home and forget this day.
When Max was safely inside the entryway of his apartment building, he finally looked back.
The curb was empty. Your car was already gone, the space where it had been only moments ago now just another anonymous stretch of concrete under flickering lights. He stood there longer than necessary, duffel still slung over his shoulder, as if you might reappear if he waited long enough. You didn’t.
He turned away and headed for the stairs, passing the elevator without a second glance. Normally, he’d take it without thinking, efficiency over effort, always, but tonight he didn’t feel like he’d earned the simplicity of being carried upward. Each step echoed too loudly in the narrow stairwell, the sound following him like a reminder he couldn’t forget.
By the time he reached his own door, his legs burned faintly, though it wasn’t the climb that had worn him down.
Inside his apartment, the quiet hit immediately, thick, familiar, and wrong. He dropped his bag near the door and set his keys on the counter, the clink sharper than it should’ve been in the stillness.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He froze for a second before pulling it out, as if bracing himself for whatever waited on the screen. Instead, a childhood photo filled it, him and his mom, sunburned and smiling, arms thrown around each other in a way that belonged to a simpler version of his life.
A small smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. He swiped to answer.
“Hey,” he said, voice quieter than usual, like he didn’t want to disturb the apartment. Still, for the first time all day, something in him loosened.
“Hi, liefje,” his mother said, warm and bright, like she always was. “Did you land okay last night?”
He leaned back against the wall of his entryway, letting the cool wall seep through his shirt. “Yeah. It was a nice flight back.”
“How was the race?” she asked, even though she already knew. Even though she had watched it, probably yelling at the television like she always did.
“Fine,” he said. “Car was good.”
There was a pause on the other end. Not a long one, but just long enough.
“You sound tired,” she said gently.
“I’m fine,” he answered immediately.
She hummed, unconvinced, but she let it go, for now. “Well. I’m excited to see you in a few weeks. And to see them,” she added. “I told your grandmother they are practically part of the family at this point.”
His jaw tightened and the silence stretched.
“Max?” she said. “Did the call drop?”
“No,” he said, voice low. “You won’t be seeing them.”
Another pause, this one longer.
“What do you mean?” she asked carefully. “Are they going home for the week?”
He closed his eyes. “They’re leaving.”
Her confusion came through instantly. “Leaving for a holiday?”
“No.”
“Another job?” she guessed, already piecing things together. “Oh! I saw the posting for the palace museum a few weeks ago. I thought of them right away! They would be perfect there, Max. They love that sort of thing—”
“She’s going to work for Lando.”
The words landed heavy, like the silence that followed them. His mother didn’t speak for several seconds, and in that quiet, something twisted in his chest. He pressed the heel of his hand into his sternum like it might help.
“They haven’t really told me yet,” he added, almost defensively. “I just overheard it.”
When his mother finally spoke, her voice was slower. Measured. “That doesn’t sound like them.”
“It’s true,” he said. “they just hasn’t figured out how to say it yet I guess.”
“And you know this?” she asked. “They know that you know?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“So,” his mother said gently, “you’re fighting for them to stay, right?”
Max stared at the floor. He said nothing. The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t shrouded in confusion. It was understanding.
“Oh, Max,” she sighed. “Are you trying to push them away.”
He swallowed. “No.”
“You are,” she said softly. “You think it will hurt less if you make them go first. If you let go first.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
“I know you,” his mother continued. “I know what they mean to you. I’ve known since the first time you mentioned their name like it was the only one that mattered.”
“You don’t get to pretend this doesn’t affect you,” she said. “Not with them, not after all the year you two have been a team.”
He sank down onto the couch finally, suddenly exhausted. “I already messed it up.”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I bet you have.”
He huffed a weak, humorless breath. “Thanks, Mom.”
“But it doesn’t sound like you’re out of time,” she added. “At least not yet.”
Max stared at the opposite wall, the weight of the past few days crashing down on him all at once. Every cold shoulder he had given you, every sharp word he snapped at you, every moment he’d chosen distance over simple honesty.
He hadn’t been protecting himself, he’d been sabotaging himself.
“I should’ve fought sooner,” he murmured.
“Yes,” his mother said simply. “You should have.”
He closed his eyes. For the first time since the race weekend ended, something finally, painfully, undeniably clicked into place. He didn’t want you to leave.
At least not like this. Not without a fight.
He didn’t know how he was going to fix what he’d broken. He didn’t know how to undo the damage he’d done over the last few days. But he knew one thing with terrifying clarity: He was done pretending that you meant nothing to him. And he would do whatever it took to get back in your good graces.
Trading your captain like that and bragging about how you don’t need to talk to him makes you shit.
Quinn, at least I know you look good in green. Don’t know shit about the team though, if someone wants to educate me. Just know glasses guy and that one of them is friends with Jack.
Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.
A series that follows you-the assistant who’s spent years surviving Max Verstappen’s impossible demands-and what happens when you quit, forcing the two of you to navigate new applicants and your feelings towards one another.
ongoing!!
⛲️ - popular (500+! notes!) 🪼 - my favorites! 🧿 - MDNI! 18+!
I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon. I will get a new and better job soon.
I forgive myself for what I did to survive.
Even if it was messy.
Even if it looked like self-destruction.
Even if I don’t recognize the person I was.
I forgive her.
She got me here.
Lol I just had my best friend tell me that what bothers them isn't my problem, but when I have something that bothers me they insist I tell them immediately otherwise they're upset with me.
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