Being alone in a small space with his team principal isn’texactly his cup of tea, but Sam doesn’t have much of a choice. He dutifully enters the room and plops on the thin mattress.
After Adam closes the door, he opts to stay standing. It gives the atmosphere a terrifying holier-than-thou dynamic.
“I’m sure you know what this is about.”
Sam knows what he hopes itisn’tabout. “I don’t, actually.”
Adam crosses his arms in front of him. “This sport is a very small community. We work long hours and we’re away from home for long periods of time. A man has needs.”
Sam nods cautiously and tries to think of anything other than Adam’s needs.
“But—of everybody—whyThomas?”
“Thomas?” Oh good, it’s Sam’s worst nightmare.
“How about Miguel? In engineering? He’s short and a big fan of yours. Or Adrien in marketing, if you’re into the whole French thing. I can have them sign NDA’s, pay for a nice steak meal—the works.”
“I don’t know what you’re tal?—”
“Give it up, Sam.” Adam sighs as he uncrosses his arms and plants his hands on his hips. “Our garage is wired better than most museums. I saw the footage of Thomas sneaking into your driver’s room. I’m not as stupid as I look.”
“He apologized.”
“I have been in this business for twenty years. That’s almost your entire life. I’ve seen this shit time and time again and it always fails. Even between drivers that are—frankly—much smarter than you and Thomas.”
“Hey!”
“This won’t end well for you. And, since you might be my number one driver next year, that’s a problem for me. You need to end this relationship. Immediately.”
“There’s nothing between us.” Sam’s throat is ash as he struggles to breathe. “It’s just sex.”
“Do not lie to me.” Adam’s voice darkens. “Everyone in the garage heard your radio. Those weren’t the words of a man who fucks and forgets. That was desperation. Weakness.”
Sam accidentally crumbles the paper cup in his hand and he uses the excuse to look away from Adam’s burning stare.
“I need you to go out there and race for the win. That means overtaking on Thomas—fightinghim—even after you thought the worst may have happened. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam stares at the mangled paper cup and steadies himself. Twisted metal engulfed in flame. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good.” Adam opens the door, so that’s that. “Ferraro won’t be able to fix Dubois's brake issue in time, so I’ll expect a one-two today. Got it?”
What Adam expects, he gets.
“Got it.”
Sam doesn’t stand up until after his team principal leaves. When he does, his legs wobble and he braces himself against the wall.
The race will restart soon. He needs to leave, to get back to his car. Hard to do when he feels like he’s just been run over.
The broadcast screen says he has a solid ten minutes left, but Sam ducks out of his garage and avoids the pit wall as much as possible. For everyone’s sake, he hopes the assistant made Adam’s Red Boar a double.
Frank stands by Sam’s car and he welcomes the driver with a solid pat to the shoulder. “Just pass Dubois and Adam will forgive you.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Lorenzo is just ten feet away from them, the Ferraro team principal talking at Thomas with flailing hands. Either he’s mad too, or he’s debriefing his driver in Italian. The mechanics don’t seem to mind, each of them laser-focused on their section of the car.
“Did they fix the brakes?” Sam asks.
