Goodwood isn't that bad, all things considered. Security on site knows what they're doing, and even surrounded by a sea of people all clamoring for Lando, Steve feels like things are pretty much under control. Lando spends the event shuffled from one location to another, draped under the arms of other famous men, turning and flashing that easy, charming smile for one camera after another. Steve has been around long enough now to know that the crash is coming.
Family day is almost a day off for Steve, Lando securely tucked away from fans or media obligations. Steve is on call, but he doesn't hear from Lando. He watches the dot of his shared location move around the property, drive off for tea, come back. Lando texts him before he leaves for the night amd again when he gets home. Steve is almost asleep when his phone pings a third time.
He rolls over, squinting against the brightness of the screen.
Lando: Can we set up a golf outing tomorrow?
Steve stares at the phone. Lando is more than capable of setting up his own golf schedule, so that's not what he's asking. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, flips on the bedside lamp and calls Lando.
"I didn't want to wake you," Lando says by way of greeting.
"I wasn't asleep yet," Steve assures him, rubbing at his eyes. "Who do you want at this golf outing?" He uses Lando's phrase carefully.
"Whoever." Steve can picture the shrug, Lando toying with a seam somewhere on his clothes. "Just don't want to spend the day alone."
"Max is busy," Lando interjects. "I already." He stops. "I know it's late notice," he says. "I know this stuff stresses you out."
"The stress is my job," Steve reminds him. "Not yours." He appreciates the consideration, knows, from experience, that Lando can take a "no" well enough when he gets one. But he can hear it Lando's voice, the comedown. Shame Fewtrell isn't available.
"Don't worry," Steve says. "I'll get it sorted."
"Thank you," Lando says, and Steve can hear the relief in his voice.
Getting it sorted is a bit of a nightmare, really, given the hour, but everyone involved knows rich people and a fair few of them know Lando. The invitation - discrete, succinct, auto-deleting - doesn't go out to the short list of approved recipients until Steve confirms the back nine are reserved for a private party the following afternoon. An eye-watering amount of money is transferred, though still well under Steve's discretionary cap for ad hoc things like this.
Steve gets about three hours of sleep, in the end. By the time he wakes up, there are two RSVPs. Lando would be disappointed with two. Steve thinks again about the argument over how small he'd made the list. He'd won out, in the end, but he'd promised Lando they could add to it when he was able to vet the others more thoroughly.
He's debating widening the circle when another RSVP drops. Steve smiles when he sees the name. It'll be a good afternoon for Lando.
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