Total Control

by Pamela Britton

  “What’s CML?”

  “Chronic myelogenous leukemia.”

  “I know that, but is it a bone cancer or something?” Todd asked.

  “Yes. The kind that causes the rapid growth of blood-forming cells that can lead to tumors and bone marrow failure.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must be on his parents.”

  “No,” she said. “You probably can’t.”

  They lapsed into silence again. Todd searched for something to say. But what could he say? He was blessed with a healthy family. His mom and dad still came to watch him race. His sisters routinely had babies. Until that moment, he didn’t realize how blessed they were.

  “What,” she surprised him by asking, “does one do at a sponsor event, by the way?” and Todd was glad they seemed to be on even ground.

  “Eat food. Shake a lot of hands. Imbibe alcohol.”

  “I see,” she said with all the enthusiasm of someone about to dig out an ingrown toenail.

  “It won’t be that bad. And, anyway, it’ll be over in a couple of hours and you’ll have lots of stuff to tell Benjamin. I’m sure he’ll want to hear how you got to meet Lance Cooper and a few of the other drivers I’ll be introducing you to.”

  “Who’s Lance Cooper?”

  And that, he admitted, summed up every reason why he shouldn’t be thinking—yet again—how much he’d like to kiss the pique right off her face. Not only was he still sort of stinging from Kristen’s rejection—and therefore in no frame of mind to pursue another woman—but even if he was, he and Indi were total opposites.

  And yet as Todd drove toward their destination, he admitted Indi was a conundrum he wanted to try and decipher. Not because he was attracted to her.

  His gaze caught on her legs.

  Okay. So maybe that was a lie. But what red-blooded male wouldn’t find her attractive? She was like one of those paintings where the artist draws a picture within a picture. At first all you saw was the initial drawing—a thing of beauty—but the more you looked, the more you saw other layers.

  Those layers fascinated him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE NEVER FELT so out of place in her life.

  Indi sat at a table set up near the perimeter of the room all the while having one of those out-of-body experiences, the kind that made you wonder just where, exactly, you’d gone wrong. And just what, exactly, she’d done to put herself in this predicament.

  She was here for Benjamin, she reminded herself. And so far it hadn’t been all that bad. Todd was actually nice. When they’d arrived in the MINI Cooper, he’d asked her if she wanted to go inside while he did his thing with the media, who were waiting for him to arrive. He’d asked the press to wait a second while he escorted her inside. Indi would have to have been inhuman not to feel special when he’d done that.

  “He’s so totally hot,” the woman to her left said, someone Indi had originally guessed to be at least twenty years younger based on her “totally” comment but who was, upon closer examination, closer to Indi’s own age. Indi squinted her eyes, the low light making it hard to see ten feet beyond one’s own circumference. She had to peer through the crowd to see which driver was “hot.” It wasn’t Todd, it was some blond-headed guy, but that wasn’t to say that Indi hadn’t heard more than her fair share of comments about how good-looking Todd was.

  Deciding that the blond guy wasn’t her idea of “totally hot” at all, she turned her attention to the people milling about. They weren’t in a room. They were in a giant white tent sponsored by Snappy Lube. Yellow and orange appeared to be the color scheme for the night. Indi’s arms rested on an orange tablecloth. The buffet table sported yellow fabric. Even the chairs had been outfitted with yellow slip covers. Indi felt as if she sat inside a giant candy corn.

  Worse, the big top was set up near the front of the racetrack and, since a race was going on, she could hardly hear herself think, between the elevated conversation echoing off the canvas top, the pitiful music being played in the background, and the race cars out on the track, which were a constant hum.

  “I heard Todd Peters works out at a local fitness club whenever he’s in town.”

  Indi glanced right. It was the same woman who’d made the comment about the blond guy, a woman with big hair and a lot of makeup.

  “I got the name from one of his fan club presidents,” the woman said with a nod to her two dinner companions.

  Indi had actually spotted the three women when she’d arrived. They hadn’t seen her with Todd because they’d been hanging on to the coattails of another driver, but once he’d ditched them they’d been skirting the room ever since, looking for big game. She had no idea why they’d taken a seat next to her except she would bet it had something to do with their stiletto heels and the numerous laps they’d made around the room.

  “Do you think we should go there in the morning?” the blonde asked.

  “I think definitely,” one of the other women said. Another blonde with hair so short and so full of gel it resembled Lady Liberty’s torch—right down to the pointy tips.

  “Not with me,” a third woman said, a brunette with long, pretty hair and a surprisingly makeup-free face. “I’m sleeping in.”

  “You’re such a party-pooper, Diane,” flame-head said.

  Diane shrugged. “And you and Amber are stalkers.”

  “Here, here,” Indi muttered.

  But the words came out during one of those weird lulls in conversation, the kind when a previously noisy room turns absolutely quiet.

  Three faces swiveled toward her.

  Indi met each one unflinchingly. “I mean, um, I hear Todd’s really nice.”

  “So have I,” Amber said.

  “Uh-huh,” flame head said. “Todd Peters shirtless is something I’d pay money to see.”

  Indi just smiled. Todd Peters without his shirt on is something she’d pay money not to see.

  She remembered his wide shoulders.

  Or maybe not.

  But the women weren’t paying attention to her. Even Diane, the friendly one, looked past her, all three of the ladies blinking like beauty pageant contestants just before the winner was crowned. And Indi knew, she just knew who stood behind her.

  “Oh my gosh, Todd Peters,” Amber said.

  “Hi, ladies,” he said before coming around to her line of sight. “You want something to eat?” Todd asked. One of his arms rested on the back of her chair, the other on their table. And really, he had rather taut arms. Two sinewy cords of muscle ran up from the wrist. For a moment she found herself wondering if race car drivers had stronger forearms than normal men. Wrestling with that steering wheel had to take some effort….

  “Uh…no,” she said.

  “Good,” Todd said. “Then let’s dance.”

  “Dance,” Indi immediately countered.

  “Yeah,” Todd said, grabbing her hand and trying to tug her up. She resisted, but a surprisingly large hand that was amazingly strong pulled her up as if she weighed no more than paper.

  The three women’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, hey,” Barbara said. “If she doesn’t want to dance with you, I will.”

  “That’s okay,” Todd said at the same time Indi said, “Great,” which caused Todd to glance at her. “Don’t you want to dance?”

  “I do,” someone said behind her.

  “Todd, I—” Crud. She didn’t know what she wanted.

  “Hey. Can we get a picture?” Amber asked.

  “After my dance, ladies,” he said, beaming at the besotted women.

  “Aw,” Barbara pouted.

  But Todd was already leading her away and Indi let him because, truth be told, there was a part of her that really wanted to be with him and that alarmed her. That alarmed her a lot.

  “There’s really no need to do this,” Indi said when they were far enough away.

  “You’re right,” he said. “But we are.”

  “Todd, I—”


  He spun her onto the floor, if one wanted to call asphalt covered with some type of rubber a dance floor. And that was when Indi got her second surprise of the night.

  Todd Peters knew how to dance.

  The band played oldies. The tune Todd spun her around to had been recorded by some pop band that Indi was sure no longer recorded music. So as they dipped and swayed, Indi tried to hide her surprise. Todd would throw her out, then pull her back in with both hands, only to throw her out again and then guide her into a spin. Before long, they’d attracted a crowd. Bulbs flashed. Indi glanced around. People clapped along.

  Smile, Todd mouthed.

  She didn’t want to smile. She was feeling things that…well, that she hadn’t felt in a long time. And yet as he whirled her along she found herself grinning. It had been so long since someone had danced with her, and danced with her well, that the music made her want to throw her head back and wiggle her hips, but she couldn’t because it somehow seemed wrong to be enjoying herself with Todd, while Benjamin was back at the hotel, sick.

  The music stopped—quickly, abruptly—like an engine cut off midstream. The electronic tinkle of a piano took the place of an electric guitar and Indi knew what was coming next.

  “No,” she said, right as Todd pulled her toward him.

  “Come on,” he said as slower music began to be played. “Our audience will be disappointed if we don’t.”

  Indi glanced right and left. The crowd around them had begun to break up, but there were still a few people watching them avidly. The way people stared at celebrities always perplexed her. Didn’t they realize Todd was a flesh-and-blood man just like all the other males in the room?

  “You look like you’re on your way to a triple root canal.”

  “Do I?”

  “If I’m so hard for you to tolerate, Indi, I can take you home.”

  Was that what she wanted? She’d stood back after he’d walked her to the door earlier, watching him greet his fans when they’d first arrived. He’d shaken more hands and signed more autographs than someone schmoozing for electoral votes. And he’d done it with a smile. A genuine smile. That’d surprised her, and made her think yet again that she could like him if given half a chance.

  Still…

  “It’s just that this really isn’t my scene,” she said, realizing that somehow they’d begun to dance. Todd’s arms held her loosely, but not so slackly that she didn’t feel the warmth of his body. The intimacy of not only sensing his warmth but smelling his essence had her blushing.

  “Then let’s go.” He started to let her go.

  She surprised herself by placing a hand over the top of his arm. “Wait.”

  They stopped swaying for a moment, Indi realizing that his eyes weren’t really brown. They were more hazel, with light green flecks near the center.

  “Aren’t you obligated to stay?” she asked.

  “I’m not obligated to do anything beyond show up.”

  “Really?”

  He shook his head. “It’s an appearance, that’s all. The other drivers will head out soon, too.”

  “Oh,” she said. No wonder those fans who stood near the perimeter of the dance floor still hovered there, a few of them with pens and paper in hand. They knew their time was short.

  “Honestly, Indi. I wasn’t planning on staying here long. You can tell Benjamin and Linda that you didn’t miss out, that none of the drivers hung out long.”

  “So you guys just smile to the crowd and then bail?”

  “For the most part, yeah.”

  “That must suck for the fans.”

  “Not really. They know how the game’s played.”

  That would explain the forward behavior of those women, too. They had to act fast to catch their idol’s attention.

  “So if we’re ambushed on our way out, that’s why,” Todd added. “Although most fans are pretty well behaved, especially at a function like this.”

  “How do people get invited?”

  Wait. Were they really having a conversation again? One without verbal sparing and disparaging remarks being flung back and forth?

  “These are VIPs, or Snappy Lube employees, or friends of Snappy Lube employees. It’s invitation only, which means you don’t want to get whoever invited you into trouble by hunting down your favorite driver.”

  “Unless you stalk them on your own time.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She told him about what she’d overheard, Todd’s brows darting straight up. “You’re kidding?” His head turned until he’d found the table full of women. Amber and Barbara waved. Diane rolled her eyes and shook her head, obviously as mortified by her friends’ behavior as before. “I really do have an appointment with a physical trainer in the morning.”

  “I’d cancel it.”

  “Yeah. And maybe we should slip out the back. You ready to go now?”

  Not really. For a moment or two she’d been able to forget about Benjamin and his illness. “Sure,” she said.

  But when his arms dropped away, the sudden loss of contact made her feel momentarily off balance—as if she’d been leaning on him for support.

  “Do you know where the back entrance is?” she asked.

  “When in doubt, follow the caterers.” He guided her toward the buffet table set up at one end of the tent.

  “Todd,” a man called as they passed.

  Todd ignored him. Indi glanced back in time to catch the disappointment on the man’s face. And then someone else called his name. Todd quickened his pace at the same time he leaned forward and ducked, almost as if he tried to hide behind the silver-domed chaffing dishes.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered right as Todd found the exit. He bolted outside…and right into the path of an oncoming waiter.

  “Hey,” cried a young kid carrying a tray of food. And then his eyes widened. “You’re Todd Peters,” the guy said, taking a step back in order to get a better look. Unfortunately, the food on his tray didn’t stay put. A gravy boat of oil-based dressing slid off the front.

  Right onto Indi’s dress.

  “Oh!” Indi cried as the wet, gooey mess oozed down her.

  “Oh, damn,” the kid cried.

  “Uh-oh,” Todd said when he caught sight of her.

  Uh-oh was right. Bits of parsley and minced garlic clung to the front of her dress, the oil turning the bright red fabric a deep maroon.

  “Here,” someone said, throwing a towel.

  Indi wiped at the mess. But it quickly became obvious it was hopeless.

  “We have bottled water in the truck,” a woman said, her white catering coat bearing the name Anna. She pointed to a white truck with the words Good Eats on the side. “Maybe we can run some water over the front of it.”

  “I doubt that’ll help,” Indi said, still swiping.

  “I have a T-shirt you can borrow,” the woman said. “You could take the dress off—”

  “You can clean up in my motor coach,” Todd said, flipping open his phone and pressing a button. “Ron, are you around with the rental car?”

  “Ron? Who’s Ron?” she asked.

  “He’s my motor coach driver. I’ll have him pick us up in the SUV. Unless you want to ride back in the Snappy Lube car?”

  “No, no—”

  A man’s voice cut her off. “I’m here,” he said.

  “Great,” Todd said. “I need you to pick us up in the back of the Snappy Lube tent ASAP. Indi collided with a soup tureen.”

  “It’s not soup. It’s salad dressing,” she said, surprisingly disappointed that her new dress was ruined.

  “Don’t worry,” he said after snapping his phone closed. “We’ll get it cleaned up.”

  “I hope so.” But right as she said that, Indi noticed someone else had followed them outside. A young woman wearing a red dress rimmed with gold—Todd’s colors—had her camera in hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Peters,” the waiter said at exactly the same time the woman said, “Can I get a pi
cture?”

  “Sorry. Bad timing,” Todd said, motioning toward Indi. “We need to go.”

  “You can send us the dry-cleaning bill,” the woman named Anna called after them as Todd took Indi’s hand and all but tugged her past food warmers and portable stoves, most of which seemed to be powered by a nearby generator that hummed and expelled noxious fumes.

  “I feel like wet toilet paper,” Indi muttered, realizing she’d walked away with the caterer’s towel. Oh, well.

  Todd looked over his shoulder again. Indi followed his gaze. The female fan had backed off, but she was following at a distance. Indi had forgotten how “difficult” it was to deal with fans.

  “We’ll get you cleaned up,” Todd said, picking up the pace. “My motor coach is right over there.” He pointed to the racetrack.

  “Wait a second,” Indi said, pausing. Night had fallen, but she could plainly see the giant grandstands that rimmed the track. A multitude of lights turned night into day, and now that Indi was outside, she could distinguish between the roar of the cars and the excited cheers of the crowd. “I’m not going in there dressed like this.”

  “You don’t have to go in there,” he said, trying to prod her forward again. “My motor coach is out behind the track,” Todd said. “In a private lot. Nobody will see you.”

  Except him.

  When she took off the dress, which she would have to if she wanted to try to salvage the fabric, she admitted. The realization dawned right as he pulled on her hand again; Indi put on the brakes a second later.

  “What?” he asked in obvious exasperation, his attention sliding down and catching the galaxy of garlic before moving up and over her shoulders. The woman was still there, too.

  “Just take me back to the hotel,” she said.

  “There’s no point in you sitting in the back of a limo, miserable, when you can get cleaned up at my place.”

  That was just it. It was his place. His private quarters. For some reason Indi didn’t like the thought of being alone with him. In a confined space. And then…stripping.

  “I’d really rather go back.”