Read On the Edge Online

Authors: Pamela Britton

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Love Stories, #Contemporary Romance, #Fathers and Daughters, #Sports & Recreation, #Businesswomen, #Single Fathers, #North Carolina, #Automobile Racing Drivers, #Automobile Racing, #Motor Sports, #NASCAR (Association), #Automobiles; Racing

On the Edge (16 page)

BOOK: On the Edge
9.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Mr. Drake, this is Sylvia Munroe from Newman Motorsports. Becca Newman would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Please call us back….”
“Damn it,” Adam said.
“Dad, she might be calling about something else.”
He gave her a hard look.
“She might,” she said again, weakly.
“Yeah, right,” was all he said.
“HE’S NOT RETURNING my calls,” Sylvia said later that same afternoon. Her assistant stood at the entrance to her office, her hand on the door. Down in the shop someone was banging away with a rubber mallet, its rhythmic
thud-thud-thud
giving Becca a headache.
“Okay,” Becca said. “Keep trying.”
“Will do,” Sylvia said.
When the door closed with a soft click Becca put her head in her hands, one of her stack of phone messages sliding out from beneath her elbow and onto the checkered flag carpet below. She left it there.
Three calls from her truck team’s sponsor, numerous calls from the media and one slightly strange call from the president of
Singles.com,
who would like to sponsor her race truck as long as she’d allow them to frame a reality show around her and Adam’s courtship.
“Courtship,” she mumbled, rubbing her temple. “Unbelievable.”
Someone knocked. She grumbled a reluctant, “Come in.”
“Hello, Becca.”
She shot up from her desk, tugging at her white silk blouse that persisted in clinging to her body thanks to the static in the air, static that seemed to charge every particle of her body the moment she spotted him.
“Adam, er, Mr. Drake,” she said, resisting the urge to tug down her knee-length black skirt, as well. Why did it suddenly feel like it was riding up her legs? “What are you doing here?”
“Guess,” he said, walking into her office like a man who wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Rick Stevenson,” she said.
He nodded. “When Sylvia called this morning I decided I better drive over and talk to you about it face-to-face.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I thought it might make it easier if you were about to fire me. Again.”
“Fire you? No, I’m not going to fire you. I’m not happy about it, but in all honesty it’s been great publicity. We can probably get extra mileage out of it if I ask our PR gal to spin it. Is Lindsey with you?”
“No. She’s at school.”
“I see.”
“Becca, about what happened in Martinsville—”
“No, Adam. There’s no need to talk about that again. I have the utmost confidence that you’ll respect my wishes to keep things on a professional level.”
“You do?”
“I do,” she said firmly.
She saw something in his eyes then—pique, maybe, or disappointment. “Great. Then I guess I really didn’t need to drive down here.”
“You didn’t.”
He took a step toward her. “Do you want me to talk to the press when they call? Or should I field all interview requests through you?”
Becca almost took a step back, but she stopped herself just in time, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. “We can handle them.”
He nodded.
“How’s the packing coming along?”
“We’re almost there.”
“I hear Sylvia found you and Lindsey a nice apartment.”
“I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen pictures. But maybe I’ll take a drive by there today.”
“Maybe you should,” she said, straightening some papers on her desk.
“Well, I’ve got some people coming in, so I better get back to work.”
But he didn’t move, didn’t nod, didn’t do anything but stand there.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Martinsville.”
“No,” she interrupted. “I told you. We don’t need to go there again.”
“Actually, I think we do.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do, Becca. We do because I know you felt the same thing I did.”
“I didn’t feel anything,” she lied.
“Yes, you did. You felt the same jolt I did. I saw it in your eyes.”
She looked away, her chest rising and falling as quickly as a piston.
“And so I have to ask myself, maybe the reason you fired me the first time wasn’t because I tried to kiss you, but because you
wanted
me to kiss you?”
“Adam,” she said softly.
“And if you
want
me to kiss you, then why didn’t you let me?”
“Because I’m your boss.”
“No,” he instantly contradicted. “That’s not it. That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“It’s got everything to do with it.”
“You don’t want me kissing you because you’re still hung up on Randy.”
She didn’t answer. What could she say? It was true. She would always be “hung up” on Randy. The sooner he realized that, the better.
“But, Becca, I never got anywhere by quitting. And I’ve learned that in life, some things are worth fighting for.”
The implication was that he wanted to fight for
her,
and God help her, those words made it all happen again—made her body warm and then tingle like it had when they’d been standing together between those two trucks.
He made her
feel
again.
She looked away again. Her gaze landed on the trophy case.
No.
No, she repeated with a inward shake of her head. She wouldn’t give in. She owed Randy that much.
She sucked in a breath, forced herself to look him in the eyes. “I appreciate your honesty,” she said. “But I’m not ready for a relationship.” Even as she said the words, she wondered if she lied.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m willing to accept that excuse.” He leaned toward her. “For now.”
He turned on his heel and walked out of her office without another word. When he was gone, Becca sank down into her chair, the thing squeaking as it rolled back a bit.
Adam Drake had just propositioned her. No, not propositioned her,
warned
her. He wanted to pursue her. And instead of backing away from her when she’d sent up the usual roadblocks, he’d accepted the challenge. Given what he did for a living she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. What did surprise her was how that made her feel. She wasn’t mad. She wasn’t furious. She didn’t want to fire him.
She was…excited.
She put her head in her hands again, her whole body beginning to shake. She felt excited and afraid and so terribly guilty that she could feel that way about any other man than Randy.
It’s time to move on.
Cece’s words echoed in her ears. But as Becca sat there, she had only one question.
Was it?
SHE AVOIDED HIM over the next week, as Adam had assumed she would. To be honest it wasn’t hard to do. In between moving from his place in Kentucky to a new apartment in Mooresville, he wasn’t at the shop a whole lot. And even once he
was
settled, he still didn’t see her. As an owner, she had far too many duties, most of which involved the day-to-day operation of her race teams, to concern herself with him. He wasn’t supposed to have a whole lot to do. Most drivers let the specialist build their cars. But Adam had spent too many years racing on a shoestring not to know a thing or two and so he felt comfortable offering John, now his official crew chief, advice. Granted, he wasn’t familiar with the tracks he’d be racing at, nor all that familiar with truck chassis, but John was, and between the two of them Adam thought they might have a shot at building some pretty awesome trucks.
Plus, it kept him close to Becca.
With her office overlooking the shop he often found himself looking up to the plate-glass windows. He’d never caught her staring, but he knew
she
knew he was there. Through the week he’d watched her escort visitors around the shop, hold meetings in her office and generally stay busy for ten-, twelve-, sometimes fifteen-hour days. And on the one occasion they’d crossed paths and he’d been tempted to get close to her, he’d kept his distance. She needed time. And space.
But he wasn’t going to wait too long.
Adam didn’t know when he’d decided to make a play for her. Probably when he’d burst into her office and seen Becca looking worn and tired and just plain lonely. Something happened to him then as he stared at her, something to do with recognition. He knew what it was like to be alone. Knew how it felt to have the weight of the world on one’s shoulders. But it didn’t need to be that way.
Someone
had to make her see that.
“You ready for the race this weekend?” someone asked, bringing his focus back to the race shop.
“I don’t know,” Adam said honestly, glancing at the rear end specialist who’d built the thing. “It’s one thing to sign up for this gig and another thing to actually have to do it for a living.”
“That’s for sure,” Chris said.
He was a kid, or at least it looked that way to Adam. With his mop of blond hair, he resembled a surfer, not someone who worked for a race team. In reality he was probably in his early twenties, the product of North Carolina’s Institute of Racing Technology.
“And now you have a bunch of people watching you,” he said.
He did, thanks to Rick Stevenson’s article. The reporter had sat down and interviewed Lindsey again last week—this time under Adam’s watchful eye. Once more the phones had started to ring, or so Connie had told him, but Adam had to admit, the piece Rick had written was pretty good even if it did make him sound like racing’s version of Cinderella. But the end result was that a lot of people were no doubt watching to see if he’d be any good.
They’d know the answer in three days, sooner if you counted qualifying. He hadn’t been able to race that past weekend thanks to a licensing snafu—Adam’s application for a permit hadn’t gotten to NASCAR in time, so he’d been forced to sit it out. Although to be honest, that hadn’t been a bad thing. It’d given Lindsey and him time to settle into their new home—and Lindsey her new school, which she appeared to love.
“So you’re the new boy.”
Adam and Chris looked up to see Jason Ingle standing above them, the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series driver’s arms crossed and a sneer on his face.
“Hey, Jason,” Chris said, and Adam could tell by his tone of voice that he didn’t think much of the driver.
“You the one they hired to replace me?” Jason asked, not acknowledging the two crew members.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Adam said, thinking the guy looked older in person than he did on TV. Twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine years old. Black hair. Errol Flynn mustache.
Jason glanced at the race truck currently on jack stands, the blue and gold paint scheme reflecting back bars of light from the fluorescents overhead. The smell of parts cleaner hovered in the air. They’d drained the rear axle and both Adam and Chris had rear end grease all over their light blue coveralls.
“I read Rick Stevenson’s article,” he said, face impassive, arms still crossed, one side of his wannabe mustache lifting.
“Oh, yeah?” Adam said, wiping his hands with a blue work towel. The grease wouldn’t leave his fingers.
“Yeah. And I have to wonder. What kind of driver has to be persuaded by his ten-year-old daughter to test for a race team?”
“You wouldn’t ask me that if you knew my daughter,” Adam said as he tossed the towel onto a bright red work cart, making light of the situation since it was obvious Jason was trying to get his goat. There was intense dislike in the man’s blue eyes. Not surprising. Everyone in the shop knew he was on his way out, including Jason. The only reason Becca kept him around was because she didn’t have anybody better to take over his ride. And while he wasn’t a bad driver, he’d never be the best. Becca knew that. His NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series team knew that. Heck, Jason probably knew that.
“Sounds like your daughter has bigger balls than you.”
“Jason,” Chris said, standing up.
Adam straightened. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is and, frankly, I don’t care, but I’ve got a long ways to go before moving to a Cup team,
if
I get to that level, and so there’s no need to throw darts my way.”
“Yeah,” the guy said. “You’re probably right. Besides, I guess we’ll discover how big your balls are this weekend.”
“I guess we will.”
“But just so you’re prepared, I’m entered in the truck race, too.”
Swallowing his pride, Adam smiled. “Well, good, maybe you can give me a few pointers.”
Jason smirked. “You’ll probably need all the pointers you can get.”
Adam nodded. “I probably will.”
Jason held his gaze a moment longer, probably trying to think of another way to insult him. In the end he apparently gave up, although not without a scathing look of condescension.
BOOK: On the Edge
9.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Nanny Next Door by Michelle Celmer
The Fifth Elephant by Terry Pratchett
Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith
Liberty Silk by Beaufoy, Kate