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Liam
Sophie’s dad didn’t throw a grenade at me yesterday. He dropped a motherfucking IED and hoped I knew what to do with it. Lukas plotted with me because Sophie taught me plans lead to effectiveness. I privately spoke with different teams, surpassing an agent because fuck Rick the dick very much.
One of the last items on my list is to confront the sly motherfucker and his goon of a sidekick.
Cameras face me as reporters ask questions about the final Prix and my runner-up standing. I’m proud as hell of my performance this year because despite the stacked odds and snakes in the McCoy pit, I placed second against many talented racers.
“Liam, care to comment on the recent article about you and Miss Mitchell?”
“Since you’re bringing that up, I’d like to announce some important news. My relationship with Sophie Mitchell will be just that. My relationship. I’m tired of you asking me questions about my personal life, or about her. She’s off-limits—to you, to paparazzi, and to any other straight male within a one-hundred-mile radius of her. She’s mine, the end. I’m a lucky bastard who she for some reason fell in love with. That means I’m not allowing my relationship to go to shit because of vultures who want to tear us down. This is my first and last warning regarding the subject. The next person who brings her up in any way besides complimenting her gets blacklisted from the interview schedule. You guys love to comment how damn replaceable we all are here, so let’s turn the tables, shall we?”
Noah’s head snaps toward me, his lips fighting a smile. “Damn. I didn’t think you had that level of assholery in you. I’m impressed.”
Microphones don’t pick up on my voice. “I’ve been watching you be a dick for years. Learned from the best.”
I bide my time, aware one of these reporters will ask exactly what I need. They can’t help it.
“Liam, have you decided what team you’ll be driving for?”
Predictable fuckers. “It’s funny you ask. Here’s some more breaking news.” Camera bulbs flash and reporters seem to scoot in closer, waiting for me to speak. “I will not be competing with McCoy next year. My ex-agent Rick is a con who manipulated me because he wanted me to sign with the team again. Richard Johnson is a fraud and anyone who’s hired him should seek new representation. For months, he lied to me and told me how only two other teams besides McCoy were interested in signing me. He wanted to receive a bigger pay cut from McCoy instead of letting me choose between different offers.” I toss my McCoy ball cap toward the side of the stage.
“And where do you plan on going next year?”
“To be determined. But let it be known, whether I come back or not, I drive F1 cars for the love of it. Not for the drama and sure as hell not for dicks in suits telling me what to do.”
Noah and Santiago clap at my speech. Jax whistles from the sidelines, standing next to Elena, who stares at me with wonder and shock. Sorry, dear, no PR rep can fix this.
I spent the whole season trying to make up for my mistakes with Peter and the team. In the end, my idiocy has no bounds, with me concentrating my energy on a team that didn’t matter instead of on people who did.
As far as me competing next year, of course I am. But I can’t announce anything until I get the girl. Without her, there’s no point.
Jax pulls me aside once the press conference wraps up. “I’ll miss you. Now I really have a chance at winning another Championship.”
“I’m joining a different team, not dying. Better luck in about seven years when I retire.” I pound his fist.
“Nah. It’ll be sooner than that once you start popping out little blonde-haired babies with your future wife.”
I pull him in for a hug.
“As much as I hate to interrupt this powwow, a little warning would have been nice.” Elena’s melodic voice greets us.
I turn around, ready to set the record straight.
She interrupts me before my mouth opens. “I could have helped you devise a better way to say all of that. I’m disappointed you didn’t drop an F-bomb to really drive the point home.”
Jax needs to pick my jaw up off the floor because I didn’t expect her reaction.
I grin at her. “Can I keep you on retainer? I’m bound to fuck up at least once or twice.”
“I’ll give you my card. Looks like McCoy and I will have our hands full with this one—” Elena points at Jax “—but I can handle multiple projects at once.” She passes me a matte business card.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jax snaps her. I don’t know what shocks me more—the way he acts around her, or how she remains professional and ignores him.
She squints her eyes. “Have you picked up a magazine lately? You’ve got more issues than Vogue.”
I drop my head back and laugh for the first time in a while. “You have your work cut out for you. Just a tip, he works best after a nap.”
Jax stares at Elena with a clenched jaw and crossed arms, a gleam in his eye present for the first time in a long while. If I didn’t have any plans, I’d push him for more, wondering what about Elena sets him off. Instead, I say my goodbyes before walking away because I have places to go and people to wreck.
