I took a drink from my water bottle and set it aside. “Showing everyone what I’m capable of.”
Laughter rippled through the press conference at Forward Racing’s headquarters. I kept my expression deliberately serious, unwilling to let anyone doubt I meant it. I wouldn’t let them dismiss me just because I was new.
My gaze shifted to Ale, who gave me a barely perceptible nod and a smirk.
“Do you think you’ll be the next Sergio Williams?” A blond journalist’s glossed lips curved into a smug smile. Pressure crushed my chest, and cold sweat trickled down my back. I’d known these questions were inevitable, but I hadn’t expected them to rattle me this much.
I feared I’d never measure up to Dad, but she didn’t need to know that. No one did. Instead, I faked indifference and leveled her with a don’t-fuck-with-me stare. “I’m his son. It’s only fair to be as good, right?”
Chuckles rolled through the room again. I glanced at my watch. The conference was winding down, and relief swept through me when the team’s PR manager called it to a close.
I pushed my chair back and stood. Ethan Brooks, the team’s other racer, straightened beside me. He was six inches shorter, blond-haired, blue-eyed.
We hadn’t spoken yet, though the articles had already speculated about our future rivalry. On the track, sure—but I had no intention of fueling it off of it.
“You did well for a rookie,” he said.
Annoyance coiled in me. “A rookie wouldn’t get signed, but thanks.”
Surprise flickered across his face, quickly masked by a clap on my shoulder before he stalked off toward a group of guys by the door.
Ale walked over. “Ready to go?”
Not even close. I needed a shower and a full night’s sleep—luxuries I hadn’t had since arriving—but skipping the team’s welcome dinner wasn’t an option.
“Yeah.” I grabbed my phone from the table, shoved it into my pocket, then slipped into my black parka. “How did I do?”
Ale sighed. “Fine. But—”
“I’ll tone it down for my image, I know.” I rolled my eyes as we headed out.
We bypassed a small knot of journalists in the foyer and stepped out of the building into the freezer otherwise known as Stetbourg in November.
“And then they say Madrid is cold.” Ale buttoned his coat.
I grimaced. “I’d rather be there. Or anywhere else. Anywhere but here.”
“Should’ve thought it through before signing.” Ale opened the door of his Lexus for me. “Now it’s too late, so don’t whine.”
He was one of the few people who could be unapologetically honest with me. Ale always acted with my best interests at heart; that’s why he got away with almost anything.
He slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. A blast of warm air hit me, and I sagged against the seat, covering a yawn with my palm.
“I meant it,” Ale said as he pulled out of the lot. “You did fine. But don’t antagonize anyone before you’ve got a few wins under your belt. Watch your father’s interviews—he handled any situation with tact.”
“Maybe I didn’t take after him.” I rubbed my hands over my face. “It pisses me off they talk to me like that, like they expect me to fail before my first race just because I’m new.”
Ale changed lanes and stopped at a red light. “Wait until your first loss. They were nice today.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but my mood still nosedived. It was already shit—I missed Spain and had to witness Russell and my mother’s PDA more times than I cared to count since I’d arrived.
How the hell did Kaia put up with seeing them together?
“I won’t bitch. Sorry.” I closed my eyes as Ale resumed driving.
“Tranquilo.” His tone softened. “It’ll get better.”
***
