Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(12)
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m up to only good, remember?” I shoot him a goofy smile.
He grins at my cute stupidity and tugs me in for a hug, constricting my air supply.
“I love you. You know that, right?” His chest vibrates while he speaks.
I return his hug with a squeeze. “Of course. I love you too. Now let’s go party!”
The swanky event, in fact, surpasses my original idea of a sponsor party. I picture old men rubbing elbows and chatting about their stocks. But it’s all so much more. We walk into a ballroom decorated to the nines with crystals and flowers hanging from the ceiling, waiters walking around with food, and dripping champagne towers on several tables. I grab a couple of fancy-looking appetizers while I walk around the room.
Lots of bigwigs visit to shake hands with the elite of racing. But the scene includes unlimited alcohol, a decent DJ, and silk dancers spiraling from the ceiling. It resembles more of an overdone wedding than a gala for race car drivers. F1 is pretty hip, not going to lie.
Santiago reluctantly leaves me to my own devices after being called over by his agent. He gives me a warning look before walking away, but I brush off his worries with a flick of my hand. I follow his rule of not talking to the other drivers. But he can’t fault me when others talk to me because I can’t control everyone else. Loopholes make life interesting.
I occupy a seat at the bar when He Who Is Definitely Up to No Good shows up and sits next to me. His intoxicating cologne short-circuits my brain cells. Somehow his hair already looks like a disheveled mess and his bow tie lays crooked against his pressed shirt. His unruliness brings a smile to my face. Sturdy hands that caressed my spine an hour ago hold another glass of Scotch. I regret looking Noah straight in the eye, caught off guard by a penetrating gaze, his deep blue eyes framed by thick, long lashes.
A simple smile he sends my way tugs at my lower half. I can’t control my body’s response to him, especially when he looks at me like he wants to kiss me.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone at an event like this?” Noah’s voice has a rough sound to it like he spent the night partying and drinking—sensual and gravelly all at once.
“Aw, you think I’m pretty. How charming. Santi left me alone because he’s busy kissing ass.” I point a pink-nailed finger toward my brother who is chatting with a group of sponsors.
“More than that.” Noah’s megawatt smile makes my heart clench. Well, don’t you have a way with words. “Ah, a day in the life of a celebrity. A tough cross to bear.”
I chuckle. “I doubt I’ll ever get used to hearing that. Can’t imagine my brother as a celebrity. So weird.”
“It takes time. Wait until he’s followed around by paparazzi to the point where he can’t even eat or shit in peace. This place corrupts the best of us, surrounded by endless money, booze, women—you name it. A playground for the privileged.”
I turn toward him and glance down at his outfit. He pulls off a tuxedo, looking roguishly handsome with smooth material clinging to his body. My fingers twitch at the temptation to run through his tousled hair that hints at his rowdiness.
But I don’t because it’ll ruin my efforts to be good.
“Did this place change you?” I try to keep my voice neutral, not giving away any feelings. He’s the last person Santi would want me to hang around with.
His eyes harden. “I was born into it. Son of a legend and all.” He flashes me an eye roll. “So technically, no, since it’s all I’ve ever known. Can’t be corrupted by something that made you.”
I scrunch my nose. “We aren’t like that. We were raised in a small home by modest parents. Santi didn’t even go to college, so he could race to make money. Gave up a lot to pursue a dream. He paid my parents back everything they’ve ever invested in him because it means the world to him to provide for them.”
“Humble beginnings make the best success stories. Your brother signed a twenty-million-dollar contract though, and that’s a lot of money, so with it comes responsibility.” His eyes stare intensely into mine.
I sigh, aware of Santi’s most recent financial gain. He may surround himself with pompous people, but he isn’t like most of these greedy and egotistical guys.
Noah takes a big sip of his drink. I copy him, chugging my champagne—a dose of liquid confidence to dull my nerves.
“What was it like being a kid around here?” I look across the room, imagining a young Noah hanging out with these people.
“While growing up, I thought it was the coolest thing ever. And I still do. But my dad isn’t exactly father of the year. Nannies took care of me while my mom was off yachting the world. But woe is me, the hard life of someone who has it all.” The sadness in his voice betrays his attempted nonchalance.
“Do your parents come to see your races?”
“Every now and then. Dad’s coming to the Barcelona one. My mom’s another story, occasionally popping in when it’s most convenient for her and her friends.” He tips his glass and clinks it against mine before we both drink to that notion.
I sense parent issues with this one.
He looks at me with bright eyes. “What about you? What brings you to the crazy life of F1 racing?”
“Do I need a reason besides my brother competing?” I smile at him.