Collided: Dirty Air (Book 2)(37)

Liam stands in a nearby hall with his agent and Peter McCoy. Peter sneers at Liam, his bald head gleaming under the overhead lighting while his face barely contains his rage.

My body plasters itself against a wall, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Liam looks unfairly sexy in his white race suit. Muscles press against the flameproof fabric, emphasizing a nice ass and strong legs. Most of his sweaty blonde hair sticks to his forehead while a few strands stand up in multiple directions. His lean frame towers over the two men, his spine straight and his jaw ticking under pressure.

“You’re not performing to our expectations. I question if you’re worth a fifteen-million-dollar contract. Crashes like that beg to differ. It’s something we’d expect from a young racer instead of a World Champion.” Peter’s baritone voice reverberates through the hall.

“I wonder if Bandini told Noah and Santiago the same thing when they crashed into each other in Shanghai. Can you imagine, the great Noah Slade, crashing into a teammate? He’s still considered worthy of his contract, and we stand on the same podiums at almost every Prix.” Liam’s words match his agitated glare.

I don’t blame him for being defensive because Peter seems like a total ass. My dad used to tell me how Peter yells at his racers after press conferences, and how he treats the pit crew like shit despite their help. His poor reputation precedes him.

“The thing you don’t get is that Noah Slade has won more titles than you, not to mention he doesn’t fuck around with James Mitchell’s family. His performance makes him a Champion and you a runner-up.” Peter sneers at Liam.

“Let’s not react based on strong emotions.” Rick attempts to diffuse the situation.

Liam’s nostrils flare. “I’d rather be an F1 runner-up than a piece of shit who sits in an office all day acting like a dick instead of using it.”

I suck in a breath. Holy shit, Liam’s really pissed.

Peter offers a sinister smile. “At least I don’t stick my dick where it doesn’t belong.”

My stomach churns at how crass Peter is when referencing his niece. Does he have any standards?

Liam’s agent gets involved. “I’m sure there’s a better way to get our feelings out. Peter, you don’t want to say things you don’t mean when you’re angry.” Rick pats Peter on the back.

I don’t like the way Rick acts around both of them, making me wary of Liam’s agent. Managers like him remind me of used car salesmen who want to make a quick buck. They act slick and thoughtful, but their sharp eyes give away how deep their insincerity runs.

“I think you need to re-examine your driving techniques and your attitude. You’re clearly too aggressive on and off the track lately.” Peter stabs a thick finger at Liam’s chest.

That can’t be farther from the truth. I hold back a laugh at the idea of Liam being hostile because he tends to be the safest driver out there. Peter holds an obvious grudge against Liam, dangling poor choices in front of him anytime he messes up.

“I’ll be sure to do just that.” Liam gives him a mock salute before walking away.

Liam’s tightly wound body walks in my direction, nearly barreling into me when he turns the corner. His body tenses as his stormy eyes land on me. Busted. I give him a pathetic wave and a small smile which he returns with a grimace, not amused by my presence.

“Liam—”

“Not here.” His clipped tone shuts me up.

He grabs onto the crook of my elbow and pulls us in a different direction from the entrance. My short legs struggle to keep up with Liam’s long strides. McCoy’s gray and white color palette lacks the warmth of the Bandini motorhome, cold silver accents gleaming under the bright lights, matching the personality of some of the staff here. We pass the dining room and bar before entering the private suite area. Liam doesn’t stop to talk to anyone, ignoring the few people who call his name.

He remains silent until we walk into his suite and he closes the door. I step toward the shelf housing his different helmets and gear, wanting to keep my hands busy with something. The small room becomes charged with energy as I remain turned away from Liam.

“How much of that did you hear?” His sharp voice is unlike his usual self.

“I showed up when Peter mentioned contract agreements.” My finger drags across the multiple helmets lined up on the shelf. Shiny plastic coating glistens, showing off Liam’s number and the German flag.

“Lovely. So basically everything.” Liam strolls up to my side.

I pick up one of his electric-blue helmets, the headgear weighing more than I imagined, making my arm drop with it. Liam’s hand covers mine, warming my skin at his touch. Rough calluses rub against the smooth skin of my knuckles. He looks down at our joined hands like he questions how they got in this position.

Liam lifts his head. I stare into his eyes, the swirling color entrancing me. His eyes lower to my lips before his eyebrows furrow. He puts the helmet back on the shelf while I step away from him, craving space and fresh air.

I fill the silence and palpable tension. “Peter’s an asshole. My dad never talks to his guys that way, no matter what they do. I doubt Bandini’s owner does either. That guy never gets involved because he’s too busy yachting near Greece.”

Liam’s eyebrows rise at my confession. I’d hardly count my admission as a Bandini secret because everyone knows how my dad takes care of his team.