by Abby Gaines
“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
The belligerence in Zack’s voice startled her, even though it was what she’d been pushing for. “Excuse me?”
He switched off the TV. “I can do the weather,” he said. “Or NASCAR. Movies, books. Just say the word.”
Gaby’s stomach fluttered. Zack definitely didn’t like that she thought Garrett Clark was cute. “You think that’s all Garrett talks about? Superficial stuff?”
Zack snorted. “The guy’s about as deep as a puddle at the top of a banked track.” “Interesting,” Gaby murmured, and was rewarded with a deeper frown. “What if I want to talk about the Bachelor of the Year contest?”
His mouth firmed. “Sure, we can talk about that. It’s a load of garbage.”
“Garrett doesn’t seem to think so.” She looked suggestively at the blank screen.
Zack bristled. “I’m not entering that stupid contest. I don’t need to prove I’m a heck of a lot more interesting than Garrett Clark.”
She let her brows draw together in dubious assessment.
“I am,” he said, warningly.
“Uh-huh.” She wandered to the table and poured another coffee from the press. She took a swig of the cold liquid. Now or never. “Actually Zack, you do need to prove you’re a better catch than Garrett. I entered you in the Bachelor of the Year contest.”
Zack jerked backward. “You what?”
“Have you seen how much exposure these guys are getting? The contest has been on all the major networks, and it will be again. It’s sponsored by the biggest-selling weekly magazine in the country, and the daily newspapers are picking up stories all the time.”
“I’m a NASCAR driver, not a-a beauty king.” He sat down on the couch, disgusted.
“You had one good race,” Gaby said. “Not enough for Getaway, not enough for the media and certainly not enough for your own satisfaction.”
“The bachelor contest sure as hell won’t give me any satisfaction,” he said.
“We can’t keep lurching from one interview, one race, to the next and hoping we don’t screw up too badly. The contest gives us week after week of strong, positive coverage, whatever else happens.”
“You said yourself I don’t have the social skills of drivers like Garrett Clark and Trent,” he pointed out. “What makes you think I’ll get positive coverage?”
“I saw an indication of what you can do at today’s interview. We’ll build on that.” She sucked in a breath and stood over him in an attempt to intimidate. “I plan to put you through charm school.”
He stared up at her. “Huh?”
“The first lesson is to stop confusing huh and uh for conversation,” she snapped. “From now on, I want multiword sentences. Even some multisyllable words.”
“Ne-ver go-ing to hap-pen,” he enunciated clearly.
“I mean it, Zack. I need you to commit one hundred percent to the bachelor contest, and that means changing your attitude to just about everything.”
He got to his feet, terminating her brief height advantage. “I told you, the only thing I’ll commit to one hundred percent is my racing.”
Frustrated, Gaby paced the room. Couldn’t he see that success in the bachelor contest might actually help his racing? He needed a confidence boost. “I already told the reporter you’re in.”
“Then it’s your job to get me out,” he said.
She eyeballed him. “No.”
“What are you going to do, make me do the contest?” He laughed, and it was the last straw.
Gaby flung hesitancy to the winds…along with her professional ethics. Zack didn’t give a damn about anyone else, why should she give a damn about what he wanted?
She sat carefully on the couch he’d just vacated, ignoring the magnetism of his presence, and folded her hands in her lap. Steeling herself.
“What?” Zack asked, suspicious.
She decided to overlook the single-syllable sentence. “We both know there’s something else you’re willing to put a hundred percent into.”
“No, there’s not.” His gaze flickered toward the door.
“And we both know this comeback isn’t just about your racing,” she said silkily.
“Of course it is.” But he ran a finger around the back of his shirt collar, and Gaby knew she had him.
“Your family,” she said. “They’re more important to you than your racing, but if possible, you’re doing even worse with them than you are on the track.”
The heat of his glare could have melted pavement. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sit down, Zack,” she said. “I plan to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
ZACK SAT ON THE OTHER end of the couch. Because he wanted to, not because Gaby said so. Because he was so damn tired after more than twenty-four hours on his feet.
He didn’t know how she’d come up with her theory about his family—a lucky guess, most likely—but he wasn’t about to discuss it.
“You will attend charm school and graduate with flying colors,” she said. “Then you will participate in every event, every interview you’re asked to do in relation to the bachelor contest, and you’ll do it with charm, flair and…and sexiness.” She colored, but her tone was firm.
“So far I’m finding this pretty easy to refuse,” he said, relieved. For a minute there, she’d had him going with her pseudo insights.
“In exchange for your cooperation,” she said deliberately, “I will provide additional services.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. She shot him a look that said how puerile, and continued, “Your comeback is as much about coming back into your family as it is into NASCAR. Probably more. But it’s not working.”
“You think?” he sneered.
“Do you have any idea why that is?” Her clear blue eyes met his.
And, dammit, he was so tired, so damn susceptible, he found himself saying, “Matheson Racing is all about winning.”
“By which you mean, being a Matheson is all about winning.”
“If I wanted psychoanalysis, I’d go see Kelly.” He added rudely, “She’s a lot better at it than you are.”
To his irritation, Gaby smiled with what looked like genuine sympathy. “You really are a mess.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. He had been fine until she started in on him. He never should have agreed to this morning’s interview.
“I believe you go into conversations with your family with good intentions—at least half the time. But something always goes wrong.”
She was right, half the time he did. The other times, he was too riled to make the effort.
“I’ve seen the hopeful look you get on your face when you talk to your dad, your brothers.”
Heat suffused Zack’s jaw. “Don’t be stupid.” She made him sound like a five-year-old seeking his daddy’s approval, his love. Yeah, okay, so he wanted some kind of connection with his dad and his brothers. But he didn’t need it, and if this season didn’t work out, he could go back to Atlanta and resume his pattern of occasional communication with his folks.
Something twisted inside him at the thought.
He shot Gaby a look of intense dislike and considered having her fired.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “your problems with your folks aren’t all your fault.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically
“Even when you’re on your best behavior—which, frankly, isn’t that great—your family is guilty of judging what you say and do in the light of past grudges.”
She’d noticed that, too? That no matter what he did, no matter how pure his motives, someone took it the wrong way? Zack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Go on,” he growled.
“I have a solution.”
The leaping sensation in his chest was totally unexpected. He couldn’t speak.
“I will work with you on improving your image with your family,” Gaby said.
The soaring ho
pe—because that was what this feeling must be—plummeted. Zack cursed himself for his naiveté. Had he really expected Gaby to have the answer to a decadesold problem?
“A PR campaign,” she elaborated. “One aimed at showing your family you’re a Matheson just like them, and without you the family is less than it should be.”
“You want to spin me to my family?” Zack said, outraged. “You’re nuts.”
“I admit you’re driving me crazy,” she said. “But putting you in the bachelor contest will fix that.” She leaned forward, and the movement parted her blouse. Zack got a glimpse of creamy skin. He jerked his gaze away.
“I can’t fix the psychology of what’s going on in your family, but I can help change perceptions,” she said. “Once you change someone’s viewpoint, then they reevaluate everything, and react to words and behaviors, in the light of that new view.”
He tried to follow her reasoning. “You’re saying that if Dad and my brothers think I’m a nice guy, they won’t jump on everything I say?”
That did have some appeal. Right now, every time he made the tiniest progress with his family, he’d open his mouth and ruin it. Which possibly came down to those deep-rooted perceptions. Maybe the reason he got along so well with his sisters-in-law was because they didn’t prejudge every communication.
“They’ll see everything differently,” Gaby agreed.
Despite the fact he was mad with her and had every reason to be, the idea proved incredibly seductive. Zack found himself leaning toward her.
“It’s not all perception,” she said. “You’ll need to change some behaviors, but if you know what you’re trying to achieve you can avoid a knee-jerk reaction when people say something you don’t like.”
That made sense. “And you think a PR campaign can do all this?”
“I know it can.” She sat back, sensing victory. “It will mean me spending a lot more time with you. For a while, at least, I’ll need to be present during most of your family interactions.”
Zack made the surprising discovery he could live with spending more time with Gaby. But what she was proposing was too weird. “I’m too busy for this.”
“How much time, how much race focus do you think you lose to fretting about your family?” she demanded.
A lot. Looking at Gaby in profile, Zack wondered why he’d never noticed the stubborn tilt of her chin. Her soft voice, with that edge of nervousness, had lulled him into a false impression that she was a pushover.
She didn’t wait for him to articulate his answer. “When you feel confident you have your personal life under control, your racing should improve.”
How many times this season had the solitude of the No. 548 car proven an overfertile time to ponder his grievances? Could those negative thoughts affect his racing? Of course they could—everyone knew racing was a head game.
“How would this work?” he asked reluctantly, scarcely able to believe he was considering manipulating his family. Why not? Nothing else has worked.
“We’ll tackle both campaigns at once—the bachelor contest and your family. You will pay meticulous attention to the charm school lessons I give, which—” she fixed him with a firm eye just as he began to protest “—will be as relevant to your family situation as they are to the contest.”
Zack harrumphed.
“You will make every effort with the contest, and in all circumstances you will behave as I tell you.”
“The power has gone to your head,” he said.
“I’m not joking.”
Zack had been so wrapped up in his own troubles, he hadn’t realized until now that the lengths she was prepared to go to were extreme.
“Why are you so hot on this?” he asked. “You’re going way beyond the call of duty.”
“It’s my—”
“Your job, right.” He twisted to face her. “I don’t buy it.”
Her gaze slid away. “This is about you, not me.”
“I’m not going along with this crazy scheme unless I know what’s in it for you.” He saw the way her eyes lit up at the thought of him giving in. Yeah, well, he was desperate. “Tell me,” he ordered, “or it’s no dice.”
Her lips clamped together.
Zack picked up the remote control and turned the TV on, ignoring her. He found a cartoon channel, and settled back against the couch.
“Fine,” Gaby said tightly at last.
“I’d prefer you to use multisyllable words,” he said helpfully. “You need to set a good example for me.”
She glared. “I want to run Motor Media Group while Sandra’s on maternity leave.”
Whatever Zack had expected, it wasn’t that. He turned off the TV. “That’s a big job.”
She huffed. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“I have no idea. But I haven’t seen Sandra look at you as if she thinks you can do it.” Zack was so used to seeing doubt in his family’s faces, he recognized it easily in others.
“I need to prove my capabilities,” Gaby admitted.
He mulled that over. “You think if you keep me in line, Sandra will give you the job?”
“You’re my client, you’re the obvious place to start.”
“So your offer to help me with my family isn’t about me at all?” The thought rankled. Dumb, since he was used to playing second, or third, fiddle. “This is all about you.”
“I do want you to fix things with your family,” she said. “But, yes, my main concern is getting that job.”
“Why do you want it? Is it the money?”
Gaby laced her fingers in her lap. “Kind of. My parents were quite old when they had me—Mom was forty-six. They’re not in great health, physically or financially. They can meet their own needs, but they’ve made it clear there’s unlikely to be much left for me when they go. I need to make provision for myself.”
“Do they live around here?”
She shook her head. “In Nashville. I don’t have any other family.”
“You’ll probably get married one day.” Zack scanned her slim curves, the feminine sweep of her lashes above blue eyes, the bow of her mouth. “Your husband will help support you.”
“I already tried that,” she said coolly.
“You’ve been married?” Something primeval—possessiveness, protectiveness, he didn’t know what—swept over Zack.
“Engaged,” she said. “It was a painful lesson in not relying on someone else to take care of me.”
“What did he do to you?” One look at the quiver in Gaby’s lips and Zack had an urge to pound the guy’s head into the pavement.
Her face shut down, the way his own often did. “I answered your question about what I want out of this, you don’t need to know anything else. You just need to agree to enter the bachelor contest, give it a hundred-percent effort. In return, I’ll help manage the impressions you give your family, the same way I manage your media impressions. Only better,” she added, “because now you’ll be cooperating.”
Zack briefly entertained a scenario in his head where he and his family laughed and chatted and bantered around a Thanksgiving table. Too sappy. He dismissed the image and conjured another one, where he and his folks were civil to each other, where every conversation wasn’t a minefield.
Even that was a vast improvement.
He let out a breath. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’m in your hands.”
Something electric crackled in the air, left his heart thumping.
Gaby put a hand to her chest as if her heart was playing up, too. “See you in charm school.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“MIND YOUR MANNERS, and don’t go on about NASCAR,” Brady Matheson ordered his sons, who were sprawled around his living room on the Wednesday evening between the Pennsylvania and Watkins Glen races. “It’s a sensitive issue for Amber.” But all he got for his trouble was three pairs of rolled eyes. His daughters-in-law were more polite and nodded obediently.
“She’s your stepsister,” he reminded
them all unnecessarily. And she’s my stepdaughter. “She’s part of our family.” He added hastily, “That doesn’t mean you can go arguing with her or insulting her or getting her dander up like you do with each other.”
Dammit, he hadn’t been this nervous in years. Yet again, he wondered if it was a wise idea having the boys here while he met Amber Blake, Julie-Anne’s daughter, for the first time.
Julie-Anne was desperate for the meeting to go well, which put Brady on edge. She’d insisted Amber would feel less threatened if she was in a big group, rather than one-on-one.
Threatened. Brady cursed under his breath. He wanted to like his stepdaughter, he really did. But she sounded neurotic. She’d better not try to come between him and Julie-Anne.
Yet she already had. Julie-Anne had insisted on going to the airport alone yesterday to greet her daughter. Not unreasonable—except mother and daughter had spent the night at Julie-Anne’s cottage in Charlotte. It was the first night Brady and Julie-Anne had spent apart since they married.
He’d missed his wife.
And Julie-Anne had missed Amber the past few years, more than most people knew. Brady sighed. He needed to be the better guy about this.
“Dad, we’ll be on our best behavior,” Zack promised, unusually cooperative.
Brady snorted. “With you, that means you’ll either ignore her or you’ll blow up at her.”
Dammit, he always said the wrong thing to Zack. Sure enough, his middle son’s eyes hardened, his chin jutted. Brady braced himself for an argument he didn’t need right now. Sometimes he thought life was easier when Zack wasn’t talking to the family.
Gaby, Zack’s PR rep, put a hand on Zack’s arm. He glared down at her, but it seemed to distract him from retaliating.
Brady let out a relieved breath. He hadn’t realized Zack was dating his PR rep—the boy was secretive—but if she managed to curb his moodiness, Brady was all in favor.
The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway alerted him. “They’re here.”
