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.
Life comes full circle. Before the season began, Peter and Rick met with me to discuss my issues, cast judgments, and throw jabs at me. Now, I call a meeting with them because I can. Rick squirms in his seat with his gelled hair askew and pinstripe suit wrinkled. Peter remains neutral with a flat smile, clasped hands, and a shining head.
I take a deep breath. “Rick, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to work with you, but I’d be lying. I know honesty isn’t a familiar concept for you so let me break it down. You fucked with the wrong man. I suggest you crawl back to whatever American hellhole you came out of because you’ll never be hired in this industry again, let alone another sport. I’ll make it my personal mission to ensure you never have a chance. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me? Fuck that.”