two weeks notice || MV1
summary: She’s given him her all, keeping his life on schedule without complaint, but now it’s her turn to shake things up. She's leaving him in just two weeks.
content warnings: max being not a great boss
word count: 2.5k
pairing: max verstappen x assistant!reader
SERIES: my dear assistant || may be confusing if read as a standalone one-shot!
a/n: ITS HEREEEE! nawr because i had so much fun writing this like im ACTUALLY so stupid super excited for this series
Max, I love you. I’m your biggest fan, please send me—
You sighed, dragging the email into the trash. “Seriously, he needs to take his business email out of his Instagram bio,” you muttered under your breath.
Mornings always looked the same. Blue light glasses perched on your nose, emotional support blanket wrapped around your shoulders, laptop balanced on your knees. Max’s inbox was the most consistent thing in your life. You’d learned early on that it was faster to just keep it bookmarked—front and center—ready for whatever chaos awaited overnight.
Your fingers tapped next again and again, skimming the latest flood of messages that had piled up while you were asleep. Most of them weren’t worth your time, fan mail begging for signed driver cards, free merch, or worse, his phone number.
Filtering through that mess was easily your least favorite part of the job. Max was perfectly capable of checking his own emails, eventually. But every morning, before he even woke up, it was your job to make sure his inbox looked spotless.
Your phone alarm blared suddenly, cutting through the quiet. You glanced at the clock: 7 a.m. sharp. Another sigh. You closed the laptop, tucked it under your arm, and pushed the blanket off your legs before heading to the door.
Your studio apartment in Monaco wasn’t exactly the dream. Max had requested—more like insisted—that you move closer six months into the job. And when Max requested something, there was rarely an option to say no.
Keys in hand, you slipped downstairs and slid into your car. You turned on the seat warmer, for the passenger side, of course, stopped by the convenience store for a Red Bull, and headed toward Max’s luxurious penthouse to pick him up for the gym.
Just like you did every day.
You pulled up to the curb and picked up your phone. The Here. text was practically muscle memory by now. Short, simple, and the same every morning. Max, your mom, and your best friend back home were the only pinned chats at the top of your messages.
You reached across the passenger seat to test the warmth of the cushion. Warm, but not too warm. You quickly shut off the heater, he always complained if it got left on too long. You switched your music over to light instrumentals, low enough to fade into the background while you drove him between commitments.
Everything you did ran like clockwork now, fine-tuned around his habits. You knew what he liked, what he couldn’t stand, and every tiny detail in between. It wasn’t efficiency so much as self-preservation—every well-timed adjustment kept you safe from one of his early-morning lectures.
It didn’t take long before he appeared at your car door, opening it with practiced ease and sliding into the passenger seat. You reached for the Red Bull waiting in the cupholder, popped it open with one hand, and passed it to him. He took it without looking, as usual.
“What’s planned for today after the gym?” he asked, taking a sip before setting it down, halfway on the console, halfway in the cupholder like he owned the car himself.
“You’ve got two video shoots—one for ORB, one for Ford—lunch with your dad, social shoots for ORB, dinner with investors, then you’re free for the night.”
“What about paddle?”
“What about paddle?” you echoed, glancing over at him.
“Lando and I made plans to play before lunch.”
“Max, did you tell anyone about these plans?”
“No, but you know I don’t like my schedule so tight.”
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing for the rest of the day. “Max, those things have been on the calendar for months. You can’t keep making plans during work hours.”
You eased the car to a stop in front of the gym.
He pointed to the clock on your dashboard before stepping out. “Looks like you have an hour to fix it. Don’t cancel on Lando or Dad.”
The door shut harder than necessary, and you winced.
You muttered a few quiet expletives, then let out a breathy laugh. “Unbelievable. I don’t even make his schedule.”
Pulling out your phone, you dialed the Red Bull comms manager.
“No, no, I understand. Thank you anyway, he’ll be there for sure.”
You hung up and leaned your head against the headrest, groaning at the clock. 15 minutes left to fix this.
“I was on such a good streak of him not yelling at me,” you said to yourself, scrolling through your contacts. There was one more person you could try.
You tapped on Lando Norris. You’d only gotten his number because you’d once needed help getting a very drunk Max into his apartment. Still, it was worth a shot.
To your surprise, he answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Lando? This is Max’s—”
“Right-hand man, yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Just checking, are you supposed to be playing paddle with Max before lunch?”
“Yes? Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering if there’s any chance you could move it to later in the day? He’s got back-to-back shoots, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Just texted him. Will eight o’clock work, you think?”
You blinked. Honestly, speechless over how easy that was. “Uh, yeah. That’s perfect, actually. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I know how he can be,” he said before hanging up.
By the time the clock hit 8, Max walked out of the gym, hair damp, phone in hand, same as he did every day.
“You got lucky,” he said, sliding into the seat. “Lando texted me and said he needed to move paddle.”
You only nodded, keeping your eyes on the road.
“Don’t let them schedule things that close together again,” he added.
You wanted to remind him that you didn’t handle his scheduling. You wanted to remind him how out of the many things you did quietly manage for him every single day, that was the one thing you did not have to worry about.
But you didn’t. You never did.
“I’ll make a note of that,” you said, instead, shifting the car into gear and pulling out toward his first commitment of the day.
Despite Max being a royal pain in your ass, he was never that to anyone else. Always polite, always charming, always perfectly composed. He smiled for the cameras, thanked every crew member, and acted like he hadn’t just handed you a scheduling disaster two hours ago.
The first shoot ran over, naturally. You stood just off set, answering texts and calls from PR and the comms team while keeping one eye on him. He looked like he was born for this. For all of the bright lights, cameras, the constant hum of attention. You, on the other hand, were apparently born for crisis control.
“His outfit for the Ford shoot hasn’t arrived yet, he told us to tell you. That you would fix it” the stylist whispered urgently, rushing over to you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.”
Five minutes later, you were sprinting across the parking lot, car keys in hand, off to pick up the missing garment yourself. When you returned, slightly winded, Max didn’t even blink before reaching for the clothes as if they’d been there all along.
Between shoots, you handed him a towel, a protein bar, a fresh Red Bull, all without a word. He didn’t thank you, but he took them like he always did.
By the time you both got back in the car, your phone was buzzing nonstop. PR wanted confirmation on his post-shoot interview slot, his dad’s assistant was trying to move lunch, and the Red Bull team wanted to push up his next event by fifteen minutes. You were juggling it all while merging into Monaco traffic.
“You know,” Max said casually from the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, “they should really hire someone to handle my scheduling.”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him before refocusing on the road. “Yeah. Imagine that.”
He didn’t even look up, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
After the investors' dinner, you barely had time to breathe before heading to the paddle courts. The sun was dipping just enough to turn the sky gold, the city still buzzing around you. Max adjusted his sunglasses, scrolling through his texts.
“Lando’s already there,” he said. “Don’t make me late.”
When you pulled into the lot, you spotted Lando immediately, leaning against the fence, grinning and giving you both an excited wave.
“Made it on time?” Lando called out as Max stepped out of the car, looking down at his watch. “That’s a first.”
You stayed in the car while the boys talked to each other, your phone in hand, already drafting an email about tomorrow’s rescheduled shoot, hoping to get around an ‘overloaded’ schedule early.
Max grabbed his paddle bag from your backseat and tossed you a look. “You’re staying, right?”
You raised an eyebrow without looking up from your phone. “In case you forget how to hold a paddle?”
He rolled his eyes. “In case I need something.” You sighed and turned the car off. Because of course you were going to stay. You always did.
You followed the boys onto the courts, taking up space on the bench you always sat on when you stayed at the courts.
“I’m going to change,” Max said, disappearing into the changing rooms.
Lando’s eyes flicked to you. “You know, I don’t know how you manage him all day. Honestly. You’re like, superhero-level organized.”
You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “It’s mostly endurance and Red Bull,” you said dryly.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d pay double whatever he pays you to work for me. Two million a year?”
You physically coughed at the number out of pure surprise. Two million a year. That was way more than double what Max paid you. That was more than enough to finally get at least a one-bedroom apartment and not a studio. Your first instinct was to say yes, right here, right now. But before the words could escape, the changing room door swung open.
“Ready?!” Max called from inside.
You blinked. He always seemed to have perfect timing. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. Of course he had to come out right now.
Max strutted onto the court, towel over his shoulders, still scrolling on his phone. Lando picked up a paddle, grinning at him. “Ready to lose?”
“You’re on,” Max shot back, smirking.
By the time the match ended, Max had disappeared to the bathroom once again to change. Lando turned to you, leaning on the fence. “So, you’re thinking about my offer, right? I was being serious.”
You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yes, I will take your offer.”
“Wait—think about it for a few days,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll give Max two weeks. Enough time to find someone else, train them, make sure he doesn’t completely implode on them.”
Lando laughed, shaking his head. “That’s actually impressive. Most people would just bolt. You’re solid.”
“I’m loyal,” you said lightly. “And apparently crazy.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Well, still think it over anyway. You never know.”
You shook your head. “Nope. I’ve thought it through. Two weeks, then the new job starts.”
And just like that, the decision was made, but you knew the next two weeks promised to be very interesting.
When Max reemerged, you instinctively packed up his gear while him and Lando continued to talk and tease each other. By the time you both slid back into the car, the sky had deepened into a dark navy, and streetlights stretched across the Monaco streets. Max leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms, and within minutes, his head lolled slightly to the side. He had always had a habit of dozing off if you were driving at night.
You drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space, enjoying the rare moments of calm after a day of chaos. Your phone buzzed on your lap. Your mom. You hadn’t spoken to her in a few days. Max’s packed schedule had left barely a moment for your own life.
You hesitated, glancing at the sleeping figure beside you. Then, carefully, you answered. “Hi, Mom,” you whispered, keeping your voice low.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay? How’s everything?” Her voice was warm and familiar.
You smiled faintly, pressing the phone closer. “I’m fine, just, busy,” you said quietly, glancing at Max, who stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
“Of course, I just—”
Before you could finish, Max’s head lifted, blinking sleepily, irritation creeping into his voice. “You couldn’t wait until I’m back home?”
You muttered an apology to your mom before quickly hitting the end call button. Something inside you snapped. The two years of constant juggling and reworking his schedules, waiting on him hand and foot, managing his quirks, keeping every moving part in line, it all suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
“I’m leaving, Max! I’m actually leaving this job!” you said, louder than you intended, voice carrying in the quiet car.
Max froze, eyes wide with shock. “What do you mean? You can’t do that?” he said slowly, his voice catching in disbelief.
“Yes, I can,” you said, forcing calm into your voice, but letting a hint of frustration bleed through. “Look, I’m giving you two weeks. Two weeks to help you find someone else, train them, and hopefully make sure you don’t completely scare them off.”
He went quiet. You could feel the tension in the car surge. It was so thick you swore you could physically feel it. For a moment, it was just the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat.
You tried to gauge his reaction, and for the first time all day, or maybe for as long as you had known him, you couldn’t. There was no playful smirk, no teasing remark, no nostrils flaring, no raised eyebrow, no eye roll. Just quiet.
“I—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head, sighing further into the seat.
You softened slightly, leaning back in your seat, too. “Max, I’ve thought about this for a long time. I like keeping things running smoothly for you, I like knowing everything is under control, but I need to look out for myself, too. And yes, the timing isn’t perfect, but I’m going to try my best to make this transition easier for you.”
He finally exhaled, running a hand over his face, and the silence stretched again. The weight of your words hung between you.
You finally pulled up in front of his penthouse, engine idling. Max didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at you. He opened his door and stepped out, shoulders stiff. You watched him go inside without another word.
You sat there for a second, staring at the blinking streetlight outside of his apartment that he always commented on. Two weeks. That’s all he had before the world you’d kept running for him would start to shift, before he’d have to face just how indispensable you really were.
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. Two weeks. Enough time to help him adjust, but not enough to undo the decision you had already made.
