The Full Velocity Series Box Set

by Tracie Delaney

  I widened my eyes. “You spoke to them, without speaking to me? To Helen?”

  “She’s my sister. I don’t have to run shit past you.”

  “No,” I said bitterly. “The only thing you run past me is the goddamn bills, isn’t that right, Caroline?”

  “You owe my sister, Devon, and I’m here to see you pay. Until she met you, Charlotte was vivacious, full of life, the center of my world. She touched lives and left them better simply by breezing through. And now, she’s an empty shell, her future stolen because of your mistake. Charlotte had the world at her feet. The things she could have achieved and now won’t. All because of you! You robbed her of a fulfilling life, and you robbed me of the sister I love.”

  My spine bowed under the weight of Caroline’s condemnation, her speech nothing I hadn’t heard many times, yet still had the power to wound. And the worst part? I agreed with every word, even as each one felt like a knife to the heart, stealing my breath and causing a great hole to bore through my stomach.

  “How much?”

  She hit me with a thin-lipped smile that had my fists involuntarily clenching. “Half a million Swiss francs per year, about three hundred and fifty thousand Australian dollars.”

  Fuck. I was only just meeting the cost of Charlotte’s care as it stood right now. There wasn’t a chance in hell I could afford those kinds of fees. Charlotte’s home here was partially funded by the state. If we took her abroad, we’d lose that benefit.

  “I don’t have the money, Caroline.”

  “Find it,” she snapped.

  Helen, I noticed, remained quiet throughout the entire painful exchange. I looked at her now, her face stricken, her skin pale. I didn’t know whether her obvious distress was because of her worry for me, because of the strained atmosphere, or the fact that she might lose Charlotte, someone Helen had grown very close to.

  “What do you think?”

  Helen shook her head. “This isn’t my call, Devon. You and Caroline must do whatever you think is best for Charlotte. You’re her family.”

  “No, I’m her family,” Caroline said unnecessarily. “I say what happens to my sister, not Devon. He barely fits the moniker of boyfriend.”

  Helen’s lips almost disappeared. She was far too professional to ever share with me her true feelings about Caroline, but I knew. She loathed her as much as I did. I felt my culpability, keenly. I didn’t need Caroline’s constant reminders.

  “But I fit the moniker of bank perfectly well, right, Caroline?” I said, my tone dripping ice.

  She shrugged, picking fluff off her skirt.

  Silent minutes scraped by as I racked my brain trying to come up with a solution. I was already one of the best paid engineers in the paddock, and I rented my apartment in London, so I couldn’t even sell up and release the capital. My parents owned their home, but it wouldn’t be right for me to ask them to mortgage it, and in terms of income, they only had their pensions. They were comfortably off, but not rich. Not by a long shot.

  But if this hospital could remove her ventilator, which Charlotte hated, I owed it to her to at least try. Maybe I could take on consultancy work, with Jack’s blessing. Outside Formula One, of course. There was no way he’d ever let me use my highly sought-after skills to help his competitors gain an advantage.

  I got to my feet. “I’m going to spend some time with Charlotte,” I said to Helen.

  Caroline scrambled from her chair. “That’s it? What about Switzerland?”

  I didn’t respond. I’d had about as much of Caroline as I could stomach for one day. I opened the door.

  “I won’t be ignored, Devon.”

  I closed the door behind me without even glancing at her. Luckily for Caroline, she remained on the other side. If she’d followed me, a row would have ensued and given her more ammunition to fire.

  I spent the next couple of hours reading to Charlotte and trying to figure out where the hell I’d get my hands on three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Only after I said goodbye to Charlotte and walked to my car did the solution to Caroline’s bombshell come to me.

  Reilley.

  At the end of the day, she insisted the book she wanted to write was a behind-the-scenes look at Formula One rather than about me in particular. I had more than enough stories fans of racing would find interesting, but wouldn’t offend anyone. I’d simply tell Reilley details about my private life weren’t part of the deal, other than those I chose to share. That way, she wouldn’t find out about Charlotte.

  What was it she’d offered? Five percent of the royalties? I had no clue how much that would amount to. After sitting in my car and trawling the internet for a half hour, I found what I’d been searching for. The answer: A shitload of cash. If this book did half as well as her others, my immediate money worries would be over.

  Reilley was smart, though. I’d need to be very careful. One slip of the tongue, and she’d be all over it.

  I dialed her number. My hands turned clammy as I waited for her to answer.

  “Devon, what a nice surprise.”

  The sound of her voice brought an unwitting smile to my lips. I couldn’t help it. She always came across so friendly, but given where she was from in the Midwest of the US, I shouldn’t be surprised. Before Charlotte, when I was younger, I’d traveled around the States during each season’s winter break from racing, and I found the Midwesterners some of the friendliest folks in the world. And I’d been to a lot of places.

  I decided to get straight to the point. “Did you say five percent?”

  An audible hitch of breath reached me down the line. “Yeah.”

  I opened my mouth to say “Deal”, then at the last moment, changed my mind. “Make it ten percent, and I’ll do it.”

  She paused, then laughed. “Have you been smoking weed?”

  “Not today,” I said. “Ten percent.”

  She whistled. “You’re way off the mark. I can’t sanction that, and my publisher won’t either.”

  “It’s ten percent or no book, Reilley. Your choice.”

  My heart raced, the risk I’d taken by playing hardball manifesting itself in a dry mouth and a constricted throat. I knew I wouldn’t get ten percent, but if I pushed hard, and won, I might get six or seven. The difference between that and the five she’d originally offered was a significant sum, and every penny counted to ensure I could provide for Charlotte.

  I was banking on the fact she’d been chasing me for months. I doubted she’d walk away the moment I’d shown a glimmer of capitulation. She’d negotiate hard with her publisher. I’d bet my career on it.

  “And if I can’t get to that number?”

  I let the silence linger, my refusal to answer meaning Reilley had to come to her own conclusions without confirmation from me.

  A resigned sigh came over the phone line. “I’ll talk to my publisher. When are you flying to Bahrain?”

  “In the next couple of days,” I said.

  “Can I travel with you? We can start then. It’ll be a good way to fill in the dead time.”

  “We don’t have a deal yet, Reilley. You get me what I want, and we’ll see.”

  I hung up and, for the first time since Caroline had issued her demands, my shoulders relaxed. Reilley would come back with a counteroffer, and a deal would be struck somewhere between the two extremes.

  But even as relief that my money worries could be over flowed through me, a sick dread gnawed at my gut. I’d spent twelve years in a public role yet always managed to protect my privacy. Signing on the dotted line meant giving more of myself than I had in years, and to Reilley Bennett of all people. She’d need to be kept on a tight leash, and I’d have to remain razor-sharp every second I spent in her company.

  Regardless of the cost to me personally, I owed it to Charlotte, and damn it, I’d deliver.

  Reilley

  “Ten fucking percent? Is he crazy?”

  I held my cell phone away from my ear. Simon had a loud, booming voice. It would
n’t take much for him to burst an eardrum.

  “Come on, Simon. Ten for him. Ten for me. Eighty for you. That sounds like math that’s in your favor, and by a significant margin.”

  “You forget I’m taking all the risk as well as the responsibility. Production costs, marketing, the expenses of running this damned publishing company, editing staff asking for ridiculous pay rises or they’ll go Indie. It all costs, Reilley. And I still don’t understand why this book has to be different. We haven’t had to pay any of the others a dime.”

  I sighed heavily. It wasn’t the first time Simon and I had had this conversation. I swore he kept asking, hoping for an alternative answer. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity?

  “Because, unlike the other subjects, there’s slim pickings on Devon. He doesn’t give press interviews, other than on race days when he’s targeted by TV crews before the start, and even then, he hardly says a word. He doesn’t party hard or sleep with groupies. He’s never been married, that I know of. No kids. His mom and dad are nice people who’ve paid their taxes their whole life and are now retired. His sister and her husband are squeaky clean. Hell, it’s the goddamn Brady bunch.”

  “You’re really sellin’ this book to me, Riles,” Simon drawled.

  I laughed. “Don’t forget, he’s also been a key part of one of the most glamorous sports in the world, for years. He probably knows stuff that’ll make your pubes curlier than they already are.”

  “Leave my pubes out of it,” Simon grunted, but I could hear the smile in his voice. “Offer him seven, and his additional two percent is coming from your share.”

  “Can I go to eight if pushed?”

  “Sure,” Simon replied. “That’ll be three percent coming from your share.”

  “Oh, come on, Simon. At least split the difference with me?”

  He expelled a huff. “You’re lucky I love you.”

  “You love money, Simon. Not me. Money.”

  “And this book better make me a shitload. I’ll want you out there peddling it for all you’re worth, so don’t go booking any vacations next year.”

  “Same as always then,” I said, sarcasm bleeding through my tone.

  Finally I got a laugh out of him. Jeez, these last few weeks it was like he’d had a pole shoved up his ass. He should be dancing on the ceiling with the coup I’d somehow pulled off. I didn’t know how I’d pulled it off, but that was a moot point. The fact was, I had. End of story. And it was gonna be epic!

  “Keep me updated.”

  “I will.”

  I hung up and immediately called Devon. My fingers tingled as I waited for him to answer. I’d love to know the catalyst, the thing that had changed his mind, but in truth, I didn’t care about his reasons. I only cared that he’d agreed.

  The excitement rushing through my veins wasn’t only because he’d capitulated, but because it meant I’d be spending huge amounts of time with him. And yes, I admit, a well-buried, deeply hidden emotion was starting to emerge, and I hoped something would happen between us. It happened in the movie industry. Co-stars got it on all the time.

  What’s good for them is definitely good enough for me.

  My call went to voicemail. I tried again, and again. On the fourth attempt, I left a message asking him to call me back.

  And then I waited, staring at my phone, willing it to ring. If he’d changed his mind before I had a chance to give him the offer I’d kill him. My credibility with Simon would be shot.

  No, I wouldn’t allow him to renege. Devon had opened the door. I was simply walking through.

  As soon as we agreed on his royalty percentage, I’d be able to get our lawyers to draft the final copy of the contract. I’d had a contract drawn up months ago with only a few details missing, so it shouldn’t take them long to finalize. With any luck, they’d email it by tomorrow, and I could get it straight over to Devon. I didn’t want to give him too much time to reflect, especially given his swift, and unexpected, change of mind.

  After half an hour of pacing, nibbling on my fingernails, and more pacing, my phone finally rang. I snatched it up, then took a breath before answering. I didn’t want to come across as desperate. Breezy, that was what I aimed for. He had to believe I’d be willing to walk away.

  “Hey, thanks for calling me back,” I said.

  “No problem. Your message sounded urgent.”

  So much for breezy.

  “Oh, no, not urgent,” I said, trying to salvage control of the situation. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to let you know I’ve spoken to my publisher.”

  I fell silent and let the information linger. Devon made a noise that sounded remarkably like a sigh of relief. Aha, so he was the desperate one. That made up my mind for me. Seven percent was my maximum, but I was going to try for six. At the end of the day, I was a businesswoman, and I had my publisher’s, and my own, best interests at heart, despite my attraction to the man on the other end of the line.

  “And?”

  A tinge of desperation in his tone confirmed my theory.

  “I’m really sorry, Devon. I want you to know I tried my best, but he won’t go anywhere near ten percent. Publishing is a business of very narrow margins. The absolute top end I could push him to was six percent. But if this book sells as well as my others, and I’m confident it will, even that one percent over my original offer is a great deal of money.”

  When quiet ensued, I assumed we’ve been cut off. I checked the connection. Nope, line still open. I left it another few seconds.

  “Devon? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Give me a sec.”

  I held back a sigh of relief. I didn’t want to show my hand, too.

  “Sure thing. Just checking the connection hadn’t dropped, that’s all.”

  He didn’t reply, but I could hear him breathing, slow and steady. “Seven,” he came back with.

  “Six and a half,” I countered.

  He chuckled. “You play hardball, Reilley. I’ll agree to six and a half providing I get editing privileges. I want a say in the final content. And I need an advance.”

  I considered his request. The editing demand wasn’t unusual, but the advance was. There was no way Simon would agree to that. “I can relinquish on the editing privileges, providing you hit the deadlines I give you. We’ve already scheduled a provisional release date for next summer, which means I’ve only got nine months to research and write it, then six months for the production team to edit, proofread, and typeset the manuscript. Time is tight, so I can’t give you months to look it over. But the advance is a problem.”

  “No advance, no agreement.”

  Now who’s playing hardball.

  I nibbled my lip. Simon wouldn’t give in to Devon’s demand for an upfront payment, but I could. It was only money, and I had more than I’d ever be able to spend anyway. From what little I knew of Devon Gray, he wasn’t materialistic. If he was asking for an advance, he must have a damned good reason.

  I intended to find out what that was.

  “How much?”

  “Three hundred and fifty thousand Australian dollars.”

  I paused. That was a hell of a lot of money. I could afford it—easily. It wasn’t the request that bothered me, more the reason for him needing such a vast sum. My writer’s brain shot into overdrive, but instinct stopped me from drilling into it right then. I’d bide my time. After all, Devon and I would be spending enough of it together if he signed on the dotted line.

  After making him wait for a good half minute, I said, “Text me where you want the cash wired to. Now, do we have a deal?”

  Devon drew in a ragged breath. “Looks like we do, Reilley.”

  I had to try really hard not to squeal because that would be… urgh, terrible. But after working for so long, trying every angle I could think of to get Devon to agree to work with me, I had to say it was a fantastic feeling now that he’d finally acquiesced. I did do a little dance, though. Silently, of course.

  “That�
��s great, Devon. I’m really pleased.” Understatement of the century. “I’ll have our lawyers draft the contract and get it over to me. It’ll be standard T’s and C’s, so it won’t take long. Are you around tomorrow?”

  “Later in the evening, yeah.”

  “Great. Shall we meet for a drink, say, eight, eight-thirty?”

  “Let’s make it coffee. I’d rather sign my life away with a clear head.”

  I smiled, even though he couldn’t see me. “Fine by me. I’ll let you know as soon as I have the contract.”

  I hung up, double-checked I’d definitely closed the line… and then I screamed.

  I got lucky and managed to grab a seat in the window of the coffee shop where I’d arranged to meet Devon. My seating position gave me a great view up the street. I spotted him long before he saw me, and I took the opportunity to drink in my fill. He’d dressed all in black: shirt, jeans, boots, and with his inky hair and dark complexion, he cut one hell of a sexy figure. Now that we’d sewn up the business side, I could focus on my attraction to Devon. The problem, though, was that he hadn’t once shown the slightest interest in me, and I didn’t want to jeopardize our upcoming working relationship by sticking my foot in it.

  No, my strategy needed to be for him to make the first move. And if he didn’t?

  Well, I hadn’t figured that part out yet.

  He passed the window and held up a hand in greeting. I responded with a welcoming smile. I’d already gotten him a coffee. Americano, black. He strolled over, and I noticed he caught the eye of a couple of other women. Back right off, bitches. To Devon, though, they might as well have been invisible… like me.

  He flopped into the chair opposite and swept a hand over his face, once again alerting me to how tired he appeared. I couldn’t help wondering what demons kept him awake at night.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s becoming a habit,” I said, grinning. “I’ll bet Jack doesn’t put up with it.”

  “Jack is my boss. You’re not.”

  I picked up my coffee and blew across the top, locking my eyes on Devon’s. “Well, I kinda am.”