Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2

by Pamela Britton

  He spent the next few hours prowling the hotel’s grounds. They’d picked a humdinger of a hotel. The management had obviously worked hard to make the interior of the place look as lush as the tropical paradise that been cultivated around the exterior. Outside, palm trees and other tropical-looking plants seemed to shield guests from the world beyond. The whole place seemed designed to give guests privacy. Inside, potted plants sprouted forth, some in waist-high maroon-colored pots, others in tiny things, but all placed together strategically so they resembled an oasis of foliage. Dark, earthy green tiles blanketed the lobby area, the same deep red carpet he’d noted outside the meeting room covering the floor wherever there wasn’t tile. Dark brown and crimson-striped couches offered a comfortable place for guests to relax. They were all over the place. Against walls, in private alcoves, directly across from the reception area. Derrick wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t a place where powerful men took their mistresses for weekend trysts. He doubted he’d be recognized, given he seemed to be the only guest in residence, a carefully cultivated illusion.

  When six o’clock neared, he couldn’t keep a smile from his face. He had a bet with himself. Part of him wagered she wouldn’t show up. The other half of him wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t open the door only to be slapped upside the face. Either way, it’d be interesting.

  She wasn’t waiting for him outside his hotel room door, and a stab of disappointment sluiced through him. Granted, it was still five minutes before the hour, but he’d pegged her as the type to be early.

  The elevator door binged. He glanced toward the end of the hall, his smile growing bigger when he spotted a harried-looking Callie stepping from between the polished doors. She lugged a suitcase of some sort behind her, the kind on wheels momentarily snagged on the space between the elevator shaft and the hotel floor. He heard her curse, watched her turn back. Derrick crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the wall as he watched. Her cute little derrière jutted out when she bent over to fix the problem.

  What was it about her?

  Their gazes slammed together the minute she turned around. He watched as she stumbled a bit. Observed as she regained her composure, pushed her glasses back up her nose, before confidentially striding forward again.

  That was it.

  She didn’t like him. Perhaps she didn’t trust him. Whatever it was, it turned him on.

  “I was thinking you wouldn’t come.”

  “You thought wrong,” the eyes behind her glasses glittering. Those eyes were spectacular. They weren’t green as much as gray with a starburst of emerald around the pupil. Sometimes green, sometimes not. Right now they were light green, especially with light shining through them. Intelligent light. Impatient light. She stared at the handle of the door, her meaning obvious. Open it, please.

  He had to bite back a smile, and he stayed right where he was, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed, the way she licked her lips…especially the way she did that.

  “You really want to talk about race cars?” he asked, slowly pushing away from the wall.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned to face him bravely. “What else would I be here for?”

  She knew exactly what, and damned if it didn’t turn him on that she didn’t just melt into his arms like most women did.

  “I don’t know.” He sidestepped her computer case, placing a hand against the wall. She was trapped. “We could do something else in there.” He leaned toward her. Would she move before he could kiss her, he thought, leaning even closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Would she let their lips connect?

  He tried to read her eyes, something made more difficult by her glasses. Tried to figure out if it was all an act. If she was playing hard to get.

  He tipped closer.

  She drew back, her stare unblinking. “Don’t you dare,” she warned softly.

  “Don’t I dare what?” Almost there.

  “Kiss me.”

  “Okay.” He closed the distance.

  And got a heel ground into his toes.

  “Ouch!”

  She darted beneath his arm. “I warned you.” She used her computer case as a shield.

  “Why you little—” She’d gotten him right on the big toe and it throbbed like a mother. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Next time maybe you’ll heed my warning.”

  “Next time?” he cried. “Baby, there won’t be a next time.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a few times. “Did you just call me baby?” She took a step toward him. “I mean, seriously, did you really just call me baby?”

  What was wrong with her? “Yes.”

  “Forget it. I can see that I’m wasting my time here.” She turned on her toe-mashing heel and headed toward the bank of elevators, the wheels of her suitcase making a whirring sound she moved so quickly.

  “Hey,” he called. “Wait.”

  She kept on walking.

  “Don’t you want to talk about your cars?”

  She turned back for a quick second, long enough to say, “Not if it means being pawed by you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She’d reached the elevators already, and wouldn’t you know it, the same car she’d ridden up in was right where she left it. The damn door opened the instant she pressed the button.

  “See ya, Derrick Derringer.”

  He didn’t even have time to give chase. The doors closed behind her and an instant later she was gone.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered softly.

  Round one to Callie Monroe.

  “Stupid idiot,” Callie muttered, pushing her glasses back up her nose—a nervous habit of hers, she admitted. “Jerk. Piece of—”

  “Who’s a stupid idiot?”

  Callie jumped back from the door of her room, nearly dropping the entry card in the process.

  “And what are you doing back already?”

  “Veronica,” Callie managed to wheeze out. “You scared me.”

  “And you didn’t answer my question.” Veronica sauntered toward her, the door that connected her suite to Callie’s tiny sleeping quarters wide open. “I thought you were meeting with Derrick.”

  “I was—did,” Callie quickly answered. “It was short.”

  The room was covered in plush, brown carpet, Veronica’s heels muffled by the four-ply. “Hmm. Why do I have a feeling you’re not telling me something?”

  Because Veronica was good at reading people. She had a knack for knowing when Callie wasn’t being honest—like the time Callie had accidentally hung up on Mike Miller the first time he’d called. Veronica had known the disconnect wasn’t the phone company’s fault. Callie didn’t know how she knew—she just did.

  “I have no idea why that is.” Be brave. Don’t let her see you sweat. The last thing she needed was for Veronica to smell blood. “I’m tired, Veronica. And under a lot of stress. Maybe that’s it.”

  “Then what did Derrick say?”

  I was thinking you wouldn’t come.

  Callie was almost certain he’d put extra emphasis on the last word. Come. The jerk had been trying to make her uncomfortable.

  “He’s not interested.” She wheeled her briefcase into a corner and kicked off her shoes. They landed with a thud against the wall. “We’ll have to look for another big fish.” She shrugged out of her jacket next, wishing Veronica would leave. She really was tired. The last few weeks had been hell.

  “I don’t believe it.” Veronica plopped down in a chair near the room’s only window. Behind her the sun had begun to set, Callie wishing she could enjoy the view outside her fourth-story room. Alas, no. Veronica sat in the chair like a queen surveying her subjects. She still wore the sleek, black pencil pants from their big meeting downstairs, and the same mint-green blouse that illuminated her complexion in a flattering way.

  “How could he say no?” she asked imperiously.

  The same way she’d said no to him, Callie almost replied,
pulling the pins out of her hair. The whole mass fell across her shoulders. Then, out of nowhere, came the urge to laugh.

  The look on his face when she’d stomped on his toe…

  “What?” Veronica’s red hair swished over one shoulder and Callie noticed that the strands were the same color as the sunset behind her. She probably paid hundreds of dollars for that effect while Callie’s fell in a scraggly, uninspired mess around her own shoulders. “What’s so funny?”

  Leave it to Veronica to spot the tell-tale sign of a smile. “I think I’m giddy.”

  Veronica’s red brows drew up, but something near her toes must have caught her attention because Callie watched as the pampered redhead drew her foot closer, apparently dissatisfied with the pedicure she’d spotted between the straps of her five-hundred-dollar heels. Callie wanted to cry then. She couldn’t imagine having the time to get a pedicure. Well, she could, but it seemed like a far-off dream.

  “Just as long as you keep it together through tomorrow,” Veronica muttered distractedly.

  They’d scheduled private meetings with a few of the drivers. Any lingering questions would be addressed then. Callie couldn’t wait.

  Yeah, right.

  “Was there something you needed?” Callie wished she could peel off her pantyhose. They were making her legs itch. It made her want to take a shower. Instead she had to stand there while Veronica surveyed her up and down, her green eyes dimming in such a way Callie knew she’d found her appearance lacking. No doubt she’d get the you-need-to-dress-better speech in the not-too-distant future, as well as the I-really-wish-you’d-buy-some-contact-lenses spiel. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the blood, sweat and tears she’d put into this whole venture, Callie would have quit a long time ago.

  “No.” Veronica jerked her head in impatience. “I just wanted to see how your meeting went. We need Derrick Derringer and I am severely disappointed by your inability to land him.”

  She could have landed him in bed.

  The thought plopped into her head, unbidden, but there. A Looney Tunes laugh tried to squeeze past her lips. She clamped it back. “I’ll try harder next time.”

  Veronica leaned back, her legs kicked out in front of her, hands resting on the armrests. “There won’t be a next time, Callie. You need to land him now. This weekend. He’s the only big fish we’ve got.”

  That wasn’t true. There were a few other household names they were pursuing, some even seemed interested.

  But none of them had shown up today.

  “You need to sign him now. Tonight.”

  “Veronica—”

  “No. I don’t want to hear it. I want you to go find him. Tell him we’ll do whatever he wants to get him signed. Anything.”

  Her laughter had faded. In its place sat a huge ball of resignation and depression that stretched so deep, she felt it weigh down her shoulders.

  Come on, Callie, pull it together. You’ve dealt with far worse.

  Like her dad dying.

  And less than a year after that, her mother. Nothing, but nothing, could ever be as bad as all that.

  She lifted her chin, threw her shoulders back, looked Veronica in the eye. Callie knew from experience it didn’t matter how long she tried to plead her case, Veronica wouldn’t leave her alone…or her room. The woman had the tenacity of a gopher. It was far simpler to appear compliant rather than waste the energy of trying to argue with her, and right now Callie didn’t have any energy to spare.

  “Fine.”

  “Go,” Veronica ordered with an imperious wave of her red-lacquered nails.

  With any luck, Callie could find a quiet corner of the hotel, camp out, and maybe get some rest.

  She slipped her shoes back on, grabbed the handle of her briefcase and turned for the door. She didn’t bother with her jacket. Or her hair. Who cared what she looked like? Well, Veronica probably did, but oh well.

  “Let me know how it goes,” Veronica called out.

  Uh huh. Sure. She’d call her first thing in the morning. Better yet, she could rent another room. Some place far from Veronica.

  Buoyed by the thought, she swung her hotel door wide.

  And ran smack into Derrick.

  Chapter Five

  Derrick had just enough time to jump back.

  “Holy crap,” he heard her say. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Who’s there?” someone called out behind her.

  “Uh, nobody, Veronica” Callie called. “Someone from room service just scared me half to death. That’s all. Bye.”

  “Room service?” Derrick asked in a low voice, understanding dawning.

  She didn’t even respond, just hooked an arm through his, her rolling suitcase nearly clocking him in the leg as she dragged him away from her door.

  “Hurry up. Before she gets suspicious.”

  He almost dug in his heels, might have done exactly that except he had no more desire to run into Veronica the Pirahnica than Callie did. So he allowed her to lead him toward an exit sign, Derrick somewhat amused to note it was the stairwell.

  “Should I break the glass?” he asked when they passed a fire extinguisher.

  “Huh?” She followed his gaze. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “If she decides to follow.”

  The door slammed closed behind them with a crash which echoed down the stairwell. He watched as Callie all but threw her suitcase behind her, the arm she’d hooked through his elbow slipping away as she clasped the stairwell railing.

  “Come on.”

  “Wait,” he called, the two of them on eye-level now, Callie having paused on the top step. It smelled like ozone and rubber in the tiny corridor. He peered over the edge of the railing. The dizzying descent gave him vertigo for a moment. “You’re going to break your neck if you don’t slow down, especially lugging that suitcase behind you.”

  “It’s not a suitcase. It’s my briefcase.”

  He watched as she glanced behind him, froze for a moment, as if listening for sound. Apparently satisfied, her gaze landed back on him again. “What were you doing outside my room?”

  She looked different. No buttoned up jacket. No tightly pinned hair. Pretty in a sexy librarian kind of way.

  “You look good with your hair down. Just like I thought you would.”

  She quickly reached for the strands, as if contemplating the notion of bundling it all back up again and securing it up on her head. “Did you need something?” she asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  Her face rearranged itself into an expression of surprise. Her lips parted softly, her chameleon eyes widened behind her glasses, and he noticed she truly was pretty in a different sort of way. He couldn’t pin his finger on what it was that he found attractive. Right now, she had the same color eyes as her boss, and yet hers seemed softer. Kinder. More full of life.

  “I was way out of line earlier.”

  “Yes, you were.” She tipped her chin up, the lenses of her glasses catching the fluorescent light.

  “You’re cute,” he admitted. “And I guess I just figured—”

  “I’d be quick to jump into bed with you.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Even though I made it clear I was not pleased by your autocratic demands.”

  He shrugged. “A lot of women play hard to get.”

  Her brown brows lifted.

  “But they don’t really mean it.”

  She seemed to be studying him, and the gleam in her eyes was the same one he’d seen in his chief engineer’s eyes when he studied an engine block that’d failed. “So you think.”

  “Pardon me?” He was so befuddled by the look of anger and disappointment in her eyes that he almost missed her words.

  “How do you know they don’t really mean it?”

  “Because I always end up in bed with them.” He splayed his hands. “It’s a game. They know it. I know it. Hell, I’m so used to women pretending they don’t
really want to go to bed with me that I assumed you were playing the same game.”

  “So you blackmailed me into meeting with you.”

  He found himself shrugging again. “I assumed the outcome would be the same as it always was. You were just better at hiding your true intentions than most.”

  She stared at him for a moment, her face slowly swinging from side to side. “Unbelievable.”

  “When I realized my mistake I thought about dropping the matter. Maybe even flying home tonight. One thing stopped me.”

  The swinging stopped. Her thick brown hair fell to one side as she titled her head. “And what was that?”

  “I’m really intrigued with the racing series you’ve conceptualized.”

  If he were honest, he was also a bit baffled by Callie Monroe herself. She appeared smart, yet she’d partnered with Valerie Adams. She’d conceived the idea for the X-TREME Racing League, yet she’d kept it a secret. Most of all, she needed a big-name driver to help launch the series. In a word, she needed him…yet she’d just turned him down cold even though most women of his acquaintance would have jumped at the chance, and that wasn’t ego talking, it was the damn truth. Callie appeared ready to push him down the stairs if he made another wrong move.

  “Very well,” she sniffed. “Apology accepted.”

  He waited for her to smile. To open those pretty little lips of hers and begin her X-TREME Racing League spiel.

  She said nothing.

  “Did you want to tell me about it?”

  “About what?”

  He couldn’t be certain, but he was almost positive she knew exactly what he referred to. That she knew well and good he asked about her brainchild, but that she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  Score another one for her.

  “I’d like to see what you’ve got, Callie. In that briefcase,” he added in case she thought he meant something else.

  She narrowed her eyes for a moment, as if she contemplated turning him down, or maybe questioning his motives again, but in the end she had to have recognized he had a point—she needed him. He couldn’t wait to find out just how far she would go to satisfy that need.