Page 9 of Faster
“You’re going to beat him so soundly.” Cece seemed sure about that. They both lifted their glasses, but Micaela noticed that Cece only took a sip. Cece loved champagne, which could only mean—
“No. No. I just—bad things happen when I drink too much champagne.” Okay, there was definitely a story there, but Cece didn’t seem to want to divulge details.
Everyone had started speculating that she and Ethan would try for a baby if he won the championship last year.
When that hadn’t happened—the final race had been highly controversial due to a safety car incident—everyone thought he might retire.
“I get the timing is bad.” Micaela had an IUD for precisely that reason. She enjoyed sex, but she’d been absolutely opposed to any tiny Brent-lets after dealing with the full-size version.
Cece saw that Micaela’s glass was empty and swapped with her. “You have absolutely no idea.”
“If you need to talk ...” Micaela recognized the value of the gossip she’d just stumbled on, but she felt like she owed Cece for being cool with her.
Some WAGs might have looked right through her or said nasty shit about her, just because she was another woman who spent so much time with her husband. But Cece was a good one.
There was definitely something going on. And Micaela would cover for her—whatever her secret was—by having a second glass of champagne.
But Cece didn’t give her anything. It was as though she had a mask that looked just like her face, and she put it on and became Public Cece. It didn’t bother Micaela—this sport could be a den of vipers—but she wished they were close enough friends that Cece could keep her mask off.
They made small talk for a few minutes, and then Cece wandered off to talk to Jocelyn Godwinson and some of the other WAGs.
She didn’t follow, because Jocelyn terrified her.
She was mean and calculating and had said something about how she was fine with a female driver on the grid—as long as her husband wasn’t paired with a girl.
Micaela turned and scanned the party for someone she should talk to.
She was glad she had that second glass in her hand when she saw Liam in a tux.
Of course, she’d seen everyone involved in the sport in a tux at one time or another, but it was different now that he was her boss instead of just her ex-boyfriend’s nice and very good-looking dad.
Although he was a retired racing driver, Liam looked more like a swimmer—long-limbed and tall, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He had dark hair like Brent, but with a sprinkling of gray above his ears.
He had a slightly crooked nose and a scar through his left eyebrow from a crash that had nearly ended his career—and his life.
Brent would never be as handsome as Liam.
All of his injuries had been immediately set, healed, and erased completely.
He’d be smooth and poreless until he died.
Liam had distinguished lines around his eyes, because he’d driven in the early aughts, before men learned about sun protection.
He had a slight hitch in his step from when he’d broken his ankle in the terrifying crash she’d seen over and over again in replays. He shouldn’t have survived.
But he did. Liam seemed indestructible and immovable to her. People loved Liam. He was one of the boys and knew everyone on the team by name.
Brent, they tolerated.
Tolerated wasn’t the word she would use for how she felt about Liam. When she’d dated Brent, he’d made sure to invite her to family dinners after the Grand Prix and on vacation with them during summer break.
He’d even invited her to Christmas once, when he’d heard her father was in the Maldives with prospective wife number six.
But Micaela had been too embarrassed to take him up on the offer.
He gave her a warm feeling inside that she couldn’t quite trust. He made her feel special in a way that wasn’t exactly paternal.
So, she’d spent the holiday alone at her father’s house with takeaway curry and some of Sir Jack’s oldest and most expensive scotch.
Sometimes, she’d thought of Liam while she was with Brent. Just thinking about that now had her face heating, and that was when he walked right up to her.
Even though he was all dressed up and she could see where his hair was still damp in the back from a recent shower, he still smelled a little bit of motor oil.
They didn’t even use conventional motor oil in the cars, but it was like this close-to-raw petroleum scent had latched on to him in 2002 and never let go.
That was the year she was born. She shouldn’t be thinking about the way he smelled. He was two decades older than her. He was her ex-boyfriend’s dad. And, most importantly, he was her boss.
There was no way that he would have hired her if he felt anything but appreciation for her talent. There was no way that he felt heat creeping up his spine when he touched her upper arm in a totally innocent gesture and asked, “Ready for tomorrow?”
Her triceps twitched under his fingers. She had to have more upper body strength than most women so she could control the car, especially in the lower formulas where the handling wasn’t as easy as it was in her current ride.
But that didn’t make it easy. And she didn’t have fashionable, little-bird arms. Not like the women Liam probably dated—not that she’d ever seen him with anyone while she was with Brent.
And not like the girl that Brent had cheated with.
But she liked her arms. She liked her arms. She had to like herself as much as she could because no one else would love her enough to make up for the things she didn’t like about herself.
She missed his touch when he dropped his hand and took a sip of some amber liquid—probably fifty-year-old scotch. She licked her lips thinking about how smoky and rich his mouth would taste.
Micaela gathered up every scrap of ego she’d built over the years and said, “I was born ready.”
He laughed, and she wished she didn’t notice how much she liked it. It made her want to crack a joke when she wasn’t funny at all. She hadn’t had time to develop a sense of humor while proving that she was better than all of the boys.
“Have you seen Brent?” Micaela wasn’t sure what Liam knew about the circumstances of their breakup.
He’d obviously seen the pictures and knew they were no longer dating.
But did he know that Micaela had called Brent a cowardly little toad who didn’t deserve anything he had?
Did he know that she’d told him he was only in the seat because his daddy owned the team?
Did he know that she’d taken him up on his offer not because she was so completely fine with Brent a year after they’d broken up that they could work together, but partially out of pettiness and spite?
The way he looked at her, as though he could see right through her, made her think he knew all of those things and more.
She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”
Liam grimaced. She’d hate to have him angry at her—she still couldn’t seem to break her habit of trying to please the most powerful man in the room—but he looked even better when he was peeved about something.
She didn’t know what came over her, but she put her hand on his arm.
His tuxedo was obviously made for him, but the heat of his skin seeped through all the layers of cloth, and she felt like it singed her skin.
“I’m sorry.” Why was she apologizing? She didn’t apologize for herself—much less anyone else.
“He’s my son. I know exactly how he operates.” Liam sighed. Did he know what his son was like when they were together? Did he ever think of warning her? Did he offer her the seat in hopes that they would get back together, and she would straighten Brent’s shit out?
“Liam, I’m so grateful for the opportunity—”
He looked at her then, and she didn’t know what to say when he did that. “I didn’t hire you because of my son. I hired you because you are quicker than any of the other drivers out of contract. I saw the numbers in the Lupo sim.”
Micaela felt as though she could breathe again for the first time since he’d approached her. “I didn’t want that kind of talent stymied by a machismo-driven Italian team that always would have put Ethan Harrow first.”
“I’m still grateful.”
Liam laughed, but it sounded as though he was tired. “That makes one of my drivers.”