by Alice Ward
“It’s in my contract—”
“Whatever. If they want you enough, they’ll work with you. Did you even try?”
“You told me to play nice!” I exploded, but I stopped when I realized that this was total bullshit. Sure, he was picking on me for dressing like a sell-out, because he knew it bothered me, but there was something else.
Jealousy. I could see it in his eyes. He was wondering why I was spending time on makeovers when I should have been thinking about my next race. If this had been his chance, he would have been in the simulator every day.
He thinks I’m blowing it.
“Look, bro,” I said gently, wanting him to see how much I wanted this. “I haven’t just been getting makeovers. I’ve been busting my ass for weeks. I’m going to do well in this race. I promise you. But what I need to know is that you are going to get my pit crew in shape for the qualifier. Will you?”
He sighed. “Don’t you worry about that. I got that under control.” He paced away, then turned and fired back at me, “Why’d you make it seem like I’m out of contention? As soon as I get this arm working, I’m back in it. But you made it like I’m dead in the water and out of it. Now it’s going to be that much harder to get sponsors to even look at me.”
There it was. The real reason he was so pissed. He wanted to race. And yes, I had been speaking of his career in the past tense because I’d wanted the focus on my racing career, not his.
I pressed my lips together. He was right. That was a stupid thing to say. “I’m sorry. I know you can get back in it. I just—”
“Didn’t want any competition?”
“That’s not fair. I just wasn’t thinking. It’s been so nerve-wracking. They kept asking me about you as if I’m not a good racer on my own. As if being a woman means that I’m just a marketing ploy and not a serious contender in this.”
He let out a laugh. “Are you? You’re not really acting like one.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I’d been working on it, but not nearly hard enough in Brody’s eyes.
And he was right. Instead of being in the simulator, my concentration had been taken up by something else. Locke. I thought of him more than was healthy. I probably would’ve screamed bloody murder until they gave me my way. But him? I had a hard time not bending to his wishes.
Truth be told, I wanted to be the person Locke wanted me to be. Whoever that was. I wanted to be what made his blood pump, what made him notice me, what made him want me.
Finally, I said, “I don’t know.”
He gave me a disappointed shake of the head. “Maybe they’ll start treating you like a serious athlete when you start acting like one.”
And then he turned and went back into the building, leaving me with my face as red as the damn dress.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Locke
The press conference was a verifiable shit show.
It started out fine, but it didn’t end up so well. Not when the questions started to swerve to a sexist nature. I should’ve known a fireball like Emma wouldn’t be able to keep her top from blowing when they started to ask questions like what she’d do if she got her period. Yes, the reporters were being unfair, but Emma’s way of handling it didn’t exactly exude grace and control.
But that was what made Emma, Emma. She was ice-cold behind the wheel, a powder keg everywhere else. She wasn’t all about being someone’s model of poise and perfection. Despite the pretty dress, there was a fire underneath. It was that spitfire spark that had first attracted me to her, and that was what was going to win her the Cup. Not being demure and ladylike.
And the thing was, she was within her right to give them shit right back since they’d given it to her. They hadn’t treated her like a serious athlete.
Maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was wrong to have her made-up like that. If she’d told me that she hated it, I would’ve sent Victoria and Adlar out on their ears. But I could tell part of her actually liked it, that she’d uncovered a new side of her, one that she liked. I hadn’t made her go out there looking like anything other than how she wanted to look. I thought.
Hell.
Maybe we should have stuck to the jeans and t-shirt. The reporters were merciless with her. I wanted to tear out their throats on her behalf. But I knew she wouldn’t want me fighting her battles. She was too tough to let anyone do that for her. Plus, I risked the chance of making her look weak. So I left her alone in the pit with the rabid wolves.
They would’ve torn apart a lesser woman, but not Emma. She stood up there and took it. Then she fought back, her eyes blazing with fire and spirit.
By the end of the conference, though, she was showing the war wounds. She looked tired, a little deflated, and she’d gotten up and walked away without another word to me.
When I got to the doorway after the room had cleared out, Laura was shaking her head. “Well, at least we got the microphones working?” she said with a sad laugh. “That really didn’t go as planned.”
“I get the feeling that things won’t often go the way we plan with Miss James,” I told her. “I think we’d better get used to it.”
There was horror in her eyes. “I don’t know if my heart can take it. Most of the reporters leaving were pretty pissed. I can’t wait for the news headlines tonight. UnCaged’s Latest Acquisition: Total Brat.”
“She’s not a brat.” I shrugged it off. “And what does it matter, anyway, as long as she wins?”
She nodded and followed me up to our offices. “I guess. They sure weren’t fair to her. And you know what? She deserved to kick their asses a little. They didn’t treat her well. I just wish she could’ve been a bit more diplomatic about it.”
“But that’s not Emma,” I said, smiling as I thought of the way she’d gone at it with that prick in the wire-rimmed glasses. “We didn’t take her on because of her diplomacy skills.”
I wiped the smile away too late because Laura caught it. Her frown deepened. “Locke…” she said in a warning tone.
“What?” I said, deflecting her. I wished I was closer to my office, so I could hide away in there and avoid the next question I knew was coming.
“Locke…” she repeated, shaking her head, her eyes wide with alarm. “Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her.”
I shrugged. “Of course not.” Not yet, anyway. “Like I said, I—”
“She isn’t company ink, Locke. She’s a very beautiful woman. And our property. And if you go down that road, I promise you, it’s not going to end well.”
“I got it,” I said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with her.
“Do you? I’m the one with the law degree,” she reminded me. “And I’m telling you, that’s a lawsuit waiting to—”
I held up a hand. “I know, I know.” I gave her my most innocent look. “Which is why I don’t get involved. You don’t have to tell me that.”
She studied me suspiciously, moving closer, as if she was trying to sniff my guilt like alcohol on my breath. “All right,” she said doubtfully as we came to her office.
I looked around. Adlar had packed up all of his tools, and he’d left a pile of distressed denim and faded t-shirt there, which I had to assume was the clothing she’d arrived in. “Okay. Where did she go?” I asked Adlar, who was sitting in a chair, reading a Glamour magazine.
He gave me a sorrowful look. “She did not come back up here.”
Great. So what had she done? It was a bit of a trek back to her apartment. I couldn’t imagine she’d walk it in that red dress and sandals.
Laura pulled out her phone and sent her a text. “She might be at the gym,” Laura said, not worried. “Or she took a car back to her apartment.”
I agreed, that was probably what she’d done. Her schedule had her working out on the simulator in the afternoons, so she’d probably headed toward the training center. I needed to head that way too, make sure everything was all right.
But when I arrived at the training center, she wasn�
�t there. Bruce nodded when I asked if he’d seen her. “She was in, but she didn’t want to do the simulator today. She just came in for a minute and left.”
“All right.” I blew out a long breath and scrubbed my face with my hands. Staring at the ceiling, I cursed. Some fucking shitty day. My muscles felt stiff and tight, and I kept replaying Laura’s words of warning to me. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Which was why it wasn’t going to happen. I repeated the words several times to make sure they stuck.
Still, I didn’t know why I’d come over here. I told myself that I’d wanted to check on the mental health of my business investment, but that wasn’t true. Emma was fine. She was the girl with the ice water in her veins. She was probably sitting in front of that big screen television of hers with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. No, I’d come here because…
I had to admit it. What I really wanted to do, despite Laura’s and my own warnings against it… was be with her.
And that was fucking wrong.
When was I going to get that through my head?
I swiveled to leave, knowing exactly what I needed to do next. Whenever I needed to work something through my head, I usually ran. My gym clothes were here, and the beach was steps away. I’d run her out of my system. Run her out, and then I could go back home with calmed nerves and a body too exhausted to spring a hard-on.
Heading to the men’s locker room, I changed into shorts, tech-shirt, and running shoes, then set my CageFree to my favorite playlist and affixed my wireless earpiece into position. Waving goodbye to Bruce, I headed out the door, pumping some good old Led Zeppelin.
The wind was whipping even before I got down to the shore. I headed toward the ocean until I hit the packed sand that had been made denser by the waves coming ashore, then started to run parallel to the ocean, right above the crashing surf. I decided to run north since the wind would be blowing right in my face, making me work harder.
It wasn’t easy. When I looked skyward, I saw the reason for the wild winds. A storm was blowing in from the north, the dark clouds rolling forward on top of one another. Flashes of lightning illuminated them, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
I still had what I estimated to be a good half-hour until it moved in, so I kept going, savoring the cool, damp air and the way the wind was challenging my muscles. As I ran, I thought of Emma in that deadly red dress. Emma sweeping her dark hair from her shoulders and applying that pink lipstick. Emma spread out on the weight bench, waiting for me to taste her.
I slowed my pace as realization dawned on me. As much as I wanted to run her out of my head, something kept bringing her right back.
As if it was an exclamation on my thought, a jagged edge of lightning split the sky in two.
I slowed to walking, breathing hard as the wind pelted me. It was time to go back.
Before I could turn, though, my eyes trailed down from the sky and caught on a form in a black bra top and gym shorts farther up the beach, closer to the dunes. Emma.
She was facing away from me, but I could tell it was her, even with the chute out behind her like a cape, obscuring much of her body. I could pick out that alluring hourglass shape in a crowd of a million people, probably a result of how much I’d thought about her. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she was running directly into the storm front.
Into this wind? On deep, loose sand? What was she doing? Trying to kill herself? I knew she was tough, but I didn’t know she was crazy. Hadn’t I told her to get comfortable with the sand before attempting the chute?
Hell, even I wouldn’t attempt the chute in this kind of weather.
As concerned as I was, I still smiled as I watched her charge into the fierce winds, only to be pushed back two steps for every one she took. It was poetic, beautiful, watching her, set to the soundtrack of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.”
With each setback, she dug in deeper, pumping her arms, pushing hard, spraying sand behind her. To think I used to be one of those assholes who thought drivers weren’t at the same level as other athletes. Emma was as strong and fierce as any of the hundreds of female athletes we’d searched for to be included in the Like a Girl campaign.
She was maybe the fiercest athlete I’d ever come across, period.
I watched her dig in once more, her calf muscles straining as she got pushed back again. But she didn’t give up.
This means she wants it. This means she’s mad as hell, and she isn’t going to take shit from anyone in that race.
I winced when I saw the way her feet were hitting the ground. She was overpronating her dominant leg, which was not a good thing. That was a recipe for an injury if ever I saw it. I looked around to see if Rinaldo had followed her out to spot her, but I doubted he’d approved of this workout. Rinaldo was tough, but he didn’t often order suicide missions.
I should film this so I can give her pointers later. I reached into my armband and pulled out my phone. Then I started to film, silently critiquing her as the wind whistled in my ears.
Yeah, her knees weren’t coming up high enough, likely from the wind resistance. Much more of that, and she’d pull a muscle.
I couldn’t take any more. Laura had said to stay away, and I would. But I had to ensure our investment was safe first. I’d supervise the session, give her a little advice, and be on my way.
I took a step forward, clenching my fists and willing my cock to behave. Hell, I’d advised supermodels on how to workout, put my hands all over them without crossing the line. I could do this. I would do this. I was a fucking professional, after all.
As I neared her, though, a giant gust of wind blew, making me stagger back. Emma flew backward, falling straight on her ass.
I laughed, waiting for her to get up and have at it again.
But she didn’t. Instead, she just sat there, hunched over, her arms propped over her bent knees. The resistance chute behind her continued to flap in the wind, but she just sat in the sand, shadowed by the dunes. I was about to ask her if she needed help when I heard something.
It sounded like a sob.
Then she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Emma James, the tough-as-nails country tomboy with ice water in her veins… was crying?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma
As I sprinted away from UnCaged’s headquarters, I knew I was probably violating some of the rules implanted in that billion-page contract that I’d signed a little over a month ago. Surely, there had to be some clause in there about how I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without letting my owners know.
But I didn’t care.
I looked down at the CageFree on my wrist, and it beeped, showing my heart rate was way too high for what it should be. I shook it to get it to shut up, and when it didn’t, ripped it off and hurled it as far as I could throw it.
I groaned, ran to where it laid, picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket, happy I hadn’t broken the damn thing.
Had I really attempted to school a bunch of reporters? I winced as I thought of the words that had escaped my mouth. I’m honestly ashamed of the lot of you. You call yourself reporters?
God, Brody was right. I did sound like a spoiled bitch. What had he said? Something tells me you need to get your ass back to Wintersburg and get yourself a healthy dose of perspective.
I wouldn’t see my parents until the race, but at that moment, I needed them. I whipped out my phone and punched in a call to my parents, desperate to hear them on the other end. But the phone just kept ringing and ringing. My mother was probably working in Phoenix where she was a paralegal, and Daddy was probably down in the shop. Ending the call, I looked tiredly out the window at the palms swaying.
I’d never felt so alone.
Emma’s got ice water in her veins. She can be ruthless when she wants to be.
I didn’t feel very ruthless right then. I thought more about what I’d said. For your information, it doesn’t matter what the hell I’m wearing, or what my anatomy is. What
matters is that I’m going to wipe the track with the asses of every one of my opponents. And you can quote me on that.
Would I? I had no experience to race against the big names. How could I make an assertion so outright ridiculous? Right then, my confidence was at a complete low, and all I wanted to do was go back home to Wintersburg and crawl under the covers. Now, the world would expect me to clean the oval with the asses of the best drivers who’d ever raced in this sport. What had I been thinking?
And Locke. God, he was probably ruing the day he’d met me and selected me to be the face of his multimillion-dollar ad campaign. I couldn’t sell nothing to nobody. He’d sat there, making me feel confident with his hand on my knee, almost too confident. And then he’d silently watched me self-destruct without a word.
He must have hated me.
When I stood in front of the training center, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Laura. Where are you?
Ugh. She was probably wondering where I was so she and Locke could yell at me for reaming out the reporters and making UnCaged Fitness the laughingstock of the racing world. I could just imagine Locke cornering me in a room and saying, I’m sorry, but this violates rule number 4,132,276 of the contract, rendering it void. You have two hours to move out of your apartment. Goodbye.
Gnashing my teeth, I was blown inside by a stiff wind. Bruce was waiting for me, and it was then I remembered that on my schedule was a three-hour four-hundred that I needed to complete.
Everything inside me sank. I almost burst into tears right there. Yes, sometimes racing made me feel better, but right now, it was everything that was wrong with my life. I wanted to escape.
I wanted to run.
“Hey, Bruce,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “I’m not feeling the simulator right now. I—”
I thought of what those asshole reporters had said, and only one excuse came to me. I have my period.
So I didn’t finish my excuse. I just walked into the gym, tore off that stupid red dress, and stared at the tag. It wasn’t Target, after all, because I was sure Victoria wouldn’t set foot inside a Target. No, it was some French name I’d never heard of. I balled it up and threw it in the garbage, hoping I could finally breathe when I was back in my old gym clothes.
