Pierre hadn't slept well that night. He was restless, felt bad for not asking for her name. For listening to her talking, for having a conversation for hours but not learning anything about her. It's not like he wanted to see her again because he felt the need to end up in bed with her, he just wondered.

It was Pyry who had woken him up by opening the curtains. An annoyed look on his face as Pierre turned around to look at him but the expression of the performance coach changed as he realised the Frenchman was alone in his bed. Even after the cryptic call last night, he hadn't thought his friend would go to bed alone.

"Good morning sunshine," Pyry said sarcastically, which caused Pierre to groan, but he was fast to sit up despite his tiredness. His eyes flickered to his phone. For once in his life, he wished for posts and articles about him, but more importantly her. He needed her name, even better her Instagram, so he could reach out to her.

"Have they figured out who she is?" Pierre asked slowly, which caused his performance coach to look at him, his head tiddled.

"Why again do you wanna find her? Was she such a nice playmate?" He asked slyly, causing Pierre to give him a look. He didn't want Pyry to talk about her like that. She was nothing like the girls he usually spent his time with. She was different and he hated himself for how hooked she had him.

"We didn't fuck. Only had dinner." Pierre said while reaching for his phone.

He opened Instagram and instantly looked at himself with her. They entered the hotel together. His hand tightly held hers with her still a few steps behind and a second one. On this one she had caught up with him, her right arm slung around his upper arm while he pulled her along with him through the lobby of the hotel.

Looking at the picture again, he had to admit they looked good together. Her long golden hair shone in the late evening sun, her green eyes looking at the camera as if she was the predator and not the prey. Pierre really liked her eyes he realised. They were so real, full of life. Not many of these Instagram models and influencers had that once he met them. She did. She might have not been his normal go-to, not a girl with endlessly long legs and fake boobs, but she was still petit and sporty. Thinking about it, the sweater she was wearing, he is pretty sure she didn't hide fake boobs underneath all the fabric, but he also wasn't sure what else she had been hiding underneath there. Jesus, she was a mystery and he didn't want her to be one. Not for him.

"Sure." Pyry had muttered while Pierre was hanging after his own thoughts. He saw another picture of them in the paddock, his hand holding her before he lead her over to the passenger side of his car.

"It's the truth. She lost her booklet. I want to give it back." Pierre muttered. That was the official reason. That he wanted to see her again to ask her for her name wasn't important. No one had to know that.

"Whatever that means, I don't wanna know." His performance couch let him know causing Pierre to look up at him, his eyebrow raised.

"It means I want to give back her lost booklet," Pierre said again, pointing over to where the little notebook was laying, which caused Pyry to walk over to it, only to pick it up and turn it over, looking at it.

"What's her name? I'm sure I can find her. Or she might come back for it." He told Pierre, before throwing it over to land on the bed right next to the Frenchman.

"I don't know her name," Pierre muttered as he picked up the booklet before opening it. There was an elastic strap separating the pages of the book in about the middle. It was meant to close the booklet firmly, but she seemed to use it to separate two sections.

The section which was freely accessible was meant for the signatures of the drivers. The signature he didn't give her. She hadn't asked again. He felt bad, he should have asked her if she still wanted it. Maybe, when he figures out who she is, he could send her some autograph cards from at least all Red Bull drivers. They surely would do it for him.

The other section was something completely different. At first, he had thought it was a diary, but the notes weren't overly personal but dry, not like a journal but more like a notebook. Poetic written paragraphs and little sketches made with pencil and heartfelt. He knew nothing about her, not even her name, but now he had her booklet, the one with what looked like her most secret thoughts.

Pierre felt bad reading it, but he tried to find a hint. The first piece of the puzzle her identity was. There was a space at the beginning of the booklet which demanded a name and an address, but the page was plank. Just a weird sign at the end of the page.

Her handwriting was neat and tiny Pierre found. He quite liked it. Her way to say things to describe them, he nearly forgot that Pyry was still there, but his voice pulled him back to reality.

"Wait. You don't know her name, you didn't fuck her, but you still wanna find her?" The performance coach pressed causing Pierre to nod. Silence rested itself over them for a short moment.

"It's just the last time you were interested in someone..." Pyry started but Pierre was fast to stop him with a half-hearted 'I know' thrown his way.

"But this is different. I just want to give that back and maybe learn her name." Pierre said causing Pyry to nod before he promised that he would try to see what he can do and call the PR department to get someone into contact with the press, so they would let them know once they know who she is. All they now had to do was wait for the press or the fans to figure out who she was and then Pierre only had to reach out and hand the booklet back over. Nothing else, nothing more. After asking for her names and getting her some more signatures.

Thinking about the signatures while he was standing in the shower, a thought suddenly struck Pierre. He might night have asked for her names but maybe Zhou or George did. They had signed the little booklet, so he rinsed out his hair before fastly reaching for a towel and climbing out of the shower.

Nearly stumbling over the corner of his bed, he got his phone that was charging on the bedside table only to call George first. He normally flirted with every female he saw, so the chances that he had asked for her name aren't that slim. After a few short rings, the Brit answered the phone, while water dropped down Pierre's hair.

"Hey, mate. Saw you all over the media today already. Had a good night?" The Brit asked while snickering. George wasn't one to be serious when he also could make fun of people.

"That's why I'm calling. You remember her, right?" Pierre asked while playing with his fingers, the booklet was laying open on the other end of the bed. He had seen the Brits signature, he must remember her.

"Mate, I'm a busy man and I have a lot of fans," George said arrogantly. "But I remember her. She was the one, who told me I didn't need to bother signing her stuff because Zhou already did."

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Pierre muttered to himself, even though a voice inside of him told him that he had no idea what she was like.

"Do you have her name?" He asked George, nevertheless.

"Don't you have her name?" George wanted to know, a sufficient grin on his lips. Pierre could hear it and he hated George for it. He never understood why the Brit couldn't simply be helpful.

"I take that as a no." The Frenchman muttered while biting his lips.

"Yeah, no. I don't know her name. She spoke with Zhou longer thought." The Mercedes driver informed him, causing Pierre to thank him, even though he knew that much, had seen the signature of the Chinese driver, but George's ego needed to be stroked or he would be a pain in the ass for everyone.

Leaning back on his bed. Pierre knew that he couldn't waste his day laying around and waiting for her to be found only to return the booklet. He was sure she would show up if it was as important to her as he believed it to be. But with every moment he waited he grew more impatient. He had called Zhou, but his fellow driver let him know that the girl never said her name, only that she was beautifully bright and that he was happy for Pierre.

"We have to leave. I don't think she will come back." Pyry told Pierre after another hour of sitting and waiting in which Pierre switched between browsing the web in the search for her and reading her notes. Both seemed to rob him of peace.

"How hard can it be to find a woman?" Pierre asked in frustration before throwing his phone onto his bed. Pyry gave his friend a worried look. He was never so bothered by a woman before. She must be something special. If whatever she was good or bad for Pierre he wasn't so sure yet.

"I have another idea," Pyry said before sitting down next to Pierre. "We could ask wtf1 to post a story if anyone knows the girl and see what comes of it." The performance coach said which caused Pierre to nod slowly.

That way it didn't look like he was searching for her, no idea what her name was, where she was from or what she was doing for a living. He was such a fool. A superficial idiot.

Well, he knew a few things about her but nothing that would help to find her. She knew her way around F1, had superior dinner manners and wasn't afraid to call him out on his bullshit. Calling him a manwhore to his face. He quite liked her.

"Will they ask for anything in return?" Pierre wanted to know but Pyry told him that he didn't know just yet. They would have to wait and see, and they would have to go through all the comments in a desperate try to find the one woman under all these women who claimed to be here, but Pierre told Pyry not to worry about it, she would never be one of the women who would speak up and claim they are her.

Disappointed about how slim the chances were of them ever finding her, Pierre suddenly realised something. She had shown him pictures of himself. There was no blue button on the left after his bio. She was following him on Instagram. She was one of his followers. Turning over to look at Pyry his performance coach looked at him confused.

"What?" The performance coach wanted to know while Pierre got up to get his phone again.

"She follows me on Instagram." He said excitedly before unlocking his phone and moving to Instagram.

"How would you know that when you don't even know her name?" He wanted to know causing Pierre to turn over to him.

"It's a long story, but basically she called me a manwhore and I asked her to explain to me why I am one and she showed me my Instagram," Pierre explained which caused his friend to snort.

"I already like her. She is funny and seems to be direct too." He told the Frenchman, who had taken a seat next to Pyry again, scrolling through the list of followers in the hope to recognise her on one of the tiny pictures.

"But how do we find her now? How many followers do you have by now?" Pyry wanted to know while looking over Pierre's shoulder at the screen of his phone.

"3.4 million," Pierre answered, causing Pyry to huff. It was like finding the needle in the hay, but for Pierre, it narrowed the search down already, as long as she didn't unfollow him. 3.4 million was better than nearly 8 billion. He was never happier that he didn't have more followers.

"Jesus, I hope she has friends who will snitch," Pyry said causing Pierre to look at his performance coach. It's not like she had done anything wrong. It's not like she's going o be sent to the principal's office. All she did was knock his ego down a notch and have dinner with him. That wasn't forbidden.

How hard can it be to find someone nowadays?