Then I stood there and promised her that her job was safe. I reassured her I wasn’t going to do anything to let anybody know what happened and that we could just forget it. That was supposed to be where it ended. She’d looked so happy, and I knew I’d done the right thing. Then she had to come around that desk and touch my arm the way she did. Anybody else would have been able to just deal with it, but not me. I freaking pounced on her. Not thirty seconds after pushing the reset button and clearing the air so we could have just gone on like everything was fine, I grabbed her and kissed her. Five more steps. If I had just taken five more steps, I would have gotten out of the office and could have gone about my day like normal.
Instead, I kissed her. And then I fucked her. In her office. Right there on her desk with the rest of the complex going on like business as usual. In all the years I’d worked at the complex, that wasn’t even something that crossed my mind.
Shit. If Mom found out, she was going to castrate me.
Mom knew this was my company, and she respected me as the head of it. She’d watched me build it and was extremely proud of me for what I’d accomplished. But in her heart, this was still in so many ways my father’s company. He never wanted it to be big like I did. It was just something small he carried on after sharing a love of racing his own father. But I knew how much she respected the business and how sacred she thought every inch of the complex was. If she knew not only that I’d had sex in one of the offices, but that it was with an employee and during business hours, she would never get over it. That would push her right over the edge.
I had to fix this. Somehow, I had to deal with what happened and get us back to that reset button so we could move forward. But it was obvious I couldn’t do it in person. I had developed a very strong taste for Merry that I apparently had no capacity to resist. Just being in the same space with her made me completely lose control of myself. My mind stopped working clearly, and my body took over. That meant going to her office again to try to talk this out was just a really bad idea. The last thing I needed right then was to stroll back in there with all the intention in the world of apologizing and clearing the air again, only to go for round two.
An email was seriously my only option at that point. I pulled one up and stared at the blank white box for a long time trying to figure out the exact words. I typed out several messages only to erase them and go back to staring. For someone who sent dozens of emails on a normal day, this was really freaking difficult. Of course, this was the first time I’d ever had to send this particular style of email. Some of the messages seemed way too long and complex, turning the situation into something bigger and more dramatic than I needed to make it. Others were too curt and short, sounding dismissive and possibly even cruel. There had to be some sort of happy medium.
Finally, I settled on a message that was basic and straightforward, but hopefully not too cold. In it, I apologized for letting myself get carried away and not stopping myself. Then I promised I would stay out of her way at all times unless it was strictly necessary for work, and reiterated she was definitely not going to lose her job. It still felt strange and not exactly right, but I couldn’t keep letting myself go over it and over it. If I did, I would spend the entire day trying to make it perfect. That just wasn’t an option. I needed to send it and be done with it. Before I could second-guess myself again, I pressed Send, then settled into the uncomfortable period of waiting for a response.
If one came. It was entirely possible she would just read the email, delete it, and go about her life pretending like nothing happened and never acknowledge it. I didn’t know if that would be better or worse than getting something back from her. When a response popped into my inbox, I felt my chest tighten. But it was only one line.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
That was enough. It wasn’t emotional or personal, but it also didn’t feel like blackmail, so I was okay with that.
For the rest of the day, I did exactly what I’d promised in the email and steered absolutely clear of Merry. We didn’t have one of our meetings scheduled until the end of the week. That seemed like an oversight at the beginning of that day, but now it was a blessing. We would have a couple of days to let everything settle down, and then we could attempt the whole “normal” thing. In the afternoon, I headed down to the practice track and watched Darren do laps for a while. He pushed his bike to its new limits, testing out the modifications made since the last race.
After a while, Greg joined him and they went around in circles, chasing each other, battling for position. It was exciting to watch, but also a little nerve-racking. The reality of having two riders in the race was stronger now that we were approaching the second race. It was a novelty for the first one of the season. We’d never had two riders in a race, and it was a thrill thinking about going after two positions. Then it felt like it was the two of them against the rest of the teams. That had changed this week. Now it felt like the two of them were against each other, and that put new pressure on both, and on the whole team. But I welcomed it. At least it was something to think about other than how much I wanted to have Merry over and over again.
22
Merry
I sat at my desk Tuesday, staring blankly at my computer. I could barely think straight. The whole mess with Quentin was hanging over me, and I felt like the world was pressing in on me from all sides.
I still couldn’t believe I’d had sex with my boss in my office. I wasn’t raised like that, and it was so completely out of character, I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. Up until that morning, I didn’t think I’d ever even considered that people actually did that in real life. Movies and TV shows, absolutely. But not in the real world. And definitely not in my life.
Unable to concentrate, I ended up spinning around in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The longer I sat in the office, the more the memories of what happened there the day before caused heat to burn across my cheeks and my heart to flutter in my chest. I felt like a crazy person. I wanted to put the entire thing behind me, but I couldn’t keep the memories from rushing through my brain.
I needed to get over it. This was not the time for me to get distracted and be unable to focus on what was in front of me. There was way too much for me to be doing to spend my day spinning around in a desk chair contemplating my boss’s body and how it felt on mine. I really needed to get to work if I was going to even get close to accomplishing the goals I had for drumming up interest in the race the next night.
But it wasn’t just the race itself I was promoting. The tailgating event being hosted in the parking lot before the race itself was my idea. During one of my meetings with Quentin, I’d suggested putting together an event outside of the traditional race experience to let fans get more up close and personal with the team and also socialize with each other. The more energy and excitement we could build up, and the more of a bonded atmosphere we could create among the fans, the fiercer the loyalty and devotion there would be. And that meant more ticket sales, more merchandise sales, more successful appearances, and a bigger presence online. In order for that to work, I needed to spread the word and get as many people interested in coming as possible.
The company was already popular, and the fan base was there. Now it was a matter of taking what was already successful and crank up the visibility, power, and reach. Quentin’s millions were evidence the potential was there. If it was tapped, the effect could be astounding.
I was able to push the memories into the back of my mind by midmorning and bury myself in work. I didn’t come up for air until I heard a knock on my door, and my heart jumped into my throat. Fortunately, when I croaked out for the person to come in, it was Brandon’s face that popped into my office.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” I told him. “I didn’t even realize it was getting so late. I’m starving.”
“Great. What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Actually, I want to intro
duce you to the place we get food from usually a couple of times a week,” I said. “It’s a little box lunch place not too far from here. We can call and have it delivered, then go outside and eat.”
“That sounds perfect,” Brandon said.
It didn’t take long for the food to be delivered, and we brought it outside to sit under the tree I’d become so fond of during the time I worked there. Before the food got there, I had sent Brandon out to the car to grab the blanket I kept in the trunk for occasions just like this.
We spread the blanket out across the grass and unpacked our lunches. The first few moments were spent in the time-honored sibling tradition of dividing up food and trading items so we could each build our own ideal lunch.
“So, how has your first day been?” I asked, plucking the pickle slice from my little white paper cup of the best potato salad I’d ever tasted and popping it in my mouth.
“Really great. Everybody is so nice here. I already feel really welcome, and since I spent all that time with Artie, everything is smooth and pretty easy so far,” he told me.
“That’s good to hear. I told you the people here were awesome. That’s why I was so glad you got the job. It’s a great place to work.”
“You sound like a promotional brochure,” he said with a laugh as he picked up his cold roast beef sandwich for a bite.
I nodded. “I feel kind of like one. It’s the marketing side of doing social media. The company doesn’t have a real marketing department, so it’s just me.”
“How is that possible?” Brandon asked. “It’s not like it’s a tiny, unknown company. How did it get this far?”
“Quentin,” I answered simply. “Up until now he’s handled things like getting local sponsors and spreading the news about races and things by word of mouth. I think that’s a big reason why he was so resistant to the idea of adding a big social media push to the company. He likes feeling like his fandom was built organically and that he’s still a hometown boy. So, that’s what I’m trying to do with the campaign. Be impressive and humble at the same time.”
“Good luck with that one,” Brandon said. “Sounds like you’re taking on more for this company than you ever have.”
“Most definitely. But I knew that going in. That’s part of why I was so excited to get a consistent, secure position rather than all that gig work. Working here really lets me get into the meat of it and do more. It’s exciting. I just hope I’m doing well and don’t end up completely flopping,” I admitted.
“You’re not going to flop. You don’t have it in you to flop,” he said.
“You’re supposed to say that. You’re my big brother,” I smiled. “We’ll see tomorrow at this tailgating thing. There’s been good interest, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out. If it does well and we can get more attention, we might be able to land bigger sponsors.”
“I’m sure people will love it. And Quentin is going to be even happier with you than he already is,” he said.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, realizing only after the words came out of my mouth how snappy and defensive they sounded.
My brother stared at me as if I had three heads.
“Um. That he’s happy with your performance at your job?” he asked. His eyes searched my face. “Is there something else I could have meant by that?”
The images I’d been trying to chase out of my mind came rushing back, and I did my best not to think about them.
“Nope,” I said. “Of course not. You’re planning on coming to the race, aren’t you?”
He ate his sandwich, his expression showing how thrown off he was by the breakneck change in direction I took the conversation.
“I am,” he said.
“Great. We’ll drive in together and you can go to the tailgating event with me. Then we’ll sit in the company box with Minnie,” I said.
We finished up our lunch talking about the upcoming race, then went back to our offices where I slumped against the desk, embarrassed by my close call of almost revealing everything to my brother.
23
Quentin
Race days were simultaneously my favorite and least favorite days of the season. They were always, in a word, a mess. Everywhere all over the complex, people were running around like crazy, tempers flaring as they scrambled to get things done. No matter how much we prepared and how much time we put into getting everything ready, the morning of a race day always came with what seemed like an insurmountable list of tasks to complete and preparations to make in time for the event. And now with the added pressures of our first tailgating party, it seemed like there simply weren’t enough hours in the day for us to be completely ready.
When Merry had made the suggestion about the tailgating event, it sounded like a fantastic idea. Fans already liked to gather in the parking lots before the race, playing music, cooking food, and getting a few drinks in before loading into the stands. For some, the party just kept rolling. They didn’t even bother to go into the stands and instead parked on the hills that surrounded the track so they could look down over the action and keep their raucous entertainment going throughout. Hosting our own event would bring attention to our team, make the fans feel special, and get the energy going so they would be even more excited to be there.
Merry and Mom had been working together designing special merchandise for the party. They hadn’t shown me any of the finalized designs yet, but I knew Mom was waiting anxiously for four boxes to be delivered. There was supposed to be here yesterday, but they never made it. They needed to get here quickly if the team was going to have enough time to bring them down to the track and get them set up with the rest of the party. That in and of itself was creating more anxiety and frantic energy throughout the complex. We were all excited about the party, but at the same time it was new, and we didn’t really know what to expect. The reality of taking time away from being down at the track gearing up for the race was starting to creep in for me. I was used to being there well ahead of time, tweaking the bikes and getting an overview of the track conditions. I’d still have time to do that but making an appearance at the party would cut into it. I had to see how I was able to balance the two to determine if this was something we could do again.
But it wasn’t just normal pre-race jitters and stress that was getting to me. I was dealing with a secret—a big secret, and I hated it. Honesty was always a big thing for my family. From the time I was a small child, my parents instilled in me that honesty was one of the most important personal characteristics anyone could have. Even if you were wrong about something or made a mistake, being honest about it prevented the situation from being worse. That was dragging me down as I carried around the biggest secret I ever had. Knowing how disappointed they would be in me not just for what I did, but for being dishonest about it, was getting to me. Keeping something from them at all was hard, but keeping something like this, something potentially harmful to the company, a secret, was taking its toll on me.
I felt like I couldn’t get my brain wrapped around what I was supposed to be doing. Even though I’d done this dozens of times before, I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t make myself finish any task or get anything done. All of it had me walking along the complex feeling lost, unsure of what I was supposed to do next. I was so out of it I didn’t even notice my father come around the corner directly at me. He tried to move out of my way, but we ended up running into each other, and all the papers and my tablet I was carrying in my arms toppled to the floor and spilled out around me. The sound shocked me back into reality, and I shook my head to get the fog away.
Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and patted my back.
“Everything okay, my boy?” he asked.
Just the fact that he asked that told me he already knew there was something going on. That was my father’s way. He could tell when there was something wrong with one of his sons, but he was never the kind to push or pry. He would give each of us our own time and space to tell h
im what was on our minds, then help us in any way he could. I wanted to pour out everything to him and let him make me feel better, but at the same time I knew I couldn’t. I needed to get away from him as quickly as I could. I didn’t have it in me not to open up to him if he kept asking.
I bent down and scooped up everything from the floor, nodding but not saying anything until I was sure I had myself together.
“Just trying to get ready for the race,” I told him. “There’s a lot going on today.”
He chuckled. “You’re telling me. Your mother has asked me about a thousand times if that delivery has gotten here yet. If it doesn’t get here pretty soon, I think she’s going to end up trying to walk her way around the truck's route to find them.”
I forced a laugh.
“Sounds like Mom,” I said.
Just as I said it, his phone alerted him to a new message, and he looked down at it.
“Speak of the devil,” he said. “I better get up there and help her unload. Have you eaten today? You’re looking kind of pale. Make sure you’re not so focused on everything you forget to take care of yourself. Go by the kitchen and grab something your mother made. She was on a savory kick this morning. The rosemary and cheese bread is really good.”
“I will,” I reassured him.
I was relieved when he finally walked away and I could duck into an empty office, taking a few deep breaths to ease my shaking. I couldn’t keep going like this. There was no way I was going to be able to keep this locked up inside me and just expect it to dissolve away eventually so I could pretend it didn’t happen. As much as that’s what I wanted, or at least what I told myself I wanted, it wasn’t realistic. Not for me. I couldn’t keep pretending. It felt like a lie, and that wasn’t something I could handle.
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