Dangerous Curves

by Larkin Rose

  Lacy watched her stroll across the room, her insides a slick mess. God, it was hot to have someone fight back with her, to not let her have the upper hand. Sucked for Sellars that till her dying breath, Lacy would always have the last word. Or die trying.

  She dug in her pocket, blew Gabby a kiss, fished out the remaining bills she had in her pocket, and tossed them on the counter. “Paid in advance. It’s gonna be a long day.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Lacy was regretting the decision to ride with Sellars in her restored ’69 convertible Camaro. The thing moved with grace. Not a single rattle. Now she knew what Gabby had meant when she said there was a slim chance the car had broken down. Sellars probably spent every spare minute tinkering beneath the hood. Just like this morning.

  And Lord help her, she looked damn good driving it. Her hand cupping the gearshift, blazer sleeves rolled up, showing the muscles in her lower arm. Her leg lifting against the clutch made her thighs tighten. Her smooth ease moving with the traffic.

  There was only one flaw. She drove like a fucking grandma. Obeying every speed limit. Lacy hadn’t expected that. She was a racer, after all. She had expected a little wind in her hair, trading lanes to move around slower traffic. Hell, she’d wanted that. Deep down, she’d wanted the speed. Wanted a little of that adrenaline she missed so much by watching the racers on the track.

  When they finally pulled alongside the Wyndham Grand Hotel, Lacy breathed a sigh of relief. “Think you could have gotten us here any slower?” She opened the door and got out at the same time the valet crossed in front of the car.

  Sellars tossed the man the keys. “Usual spot, Phillip?”

  “You bet.” He ducked into the seat and revved the engine with a smile, then pulled into the garage.

  Lacy heard the faint echo as it appeared to climb.

  Sellars walked past her. “Sorry. I only do warp speed when there’s a challenge involved. You, my dear, are no challenge at all.” She kept walking into the building, leaving Lacy no choice but to follow and fume until they came to the elevator doors.

  “Last chance to back out,” Sellars said.

  “Without meeting the person who thinks you actually still have a chance at a future?” Lacy cocked her head. “Not a chance in hell.”

  The elevator door opened, and they stepped inside. “You seem obsessed with hell. Did you leave all of your friends there while on vacation?”

  The door closed while Lacy grinned. “I don’t have friends.”

  “I believe that.” Sellars watched the panel tick off the number of floors.

  Before Lacy could respond, the elevator stopped on the top floor and opened to reveal Mr. Reynolds. His hair was completely silver, unlike the last time Lacy had seen him around the track. Had it been that long? Seemed like only yesterday she had the race car in her zoom lens seconds before a death.

  She swallowed hard as a smile lit his face and he extended his hand. “Great to see you again, Lacy. How have you been?”

  Lacy offered a bittersweet nod. “Life is great, Mr. Reynolds. I can’t complain.” She lied. She complained every day of her life. Sometimes every minute of every hour she was cursed to shoot a bridezilla having a meltdown.

  “Great to hear. Come have a seat.” He clapped Sellars on the back then led the way to a large rectangular table by the windows that overlooked the Point.

  Heinz Field emerged like a gentle giant across the river, and Lacy reminded herself she needed to hit the Strip District before her vacation was over. She needed the latest memorabilia to take back home, specifically something for Patrick, who she had finally turned into a fan with her constant affection for the Steelers.

  Mr. Reynolds was no more in his seat before he turned a scolding eye on Sellars and slapped his hand on the table. So much for stalling business. “Arrested again? Are you deliberately trying to get kicked out of NASCAR? Out of racing? What more can I do to save your ass, Kip?” He threw his hands to the side before driving forward. “How many more times do I have to save your ass before you give me no choice but to throw in the towel?”

  Lacy turned to look at Sellars, liking Mr. Reynolds already.

  Sellars simply shrugged, her gaze trained on the window. “It’s just money. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you’ve always said, Granddaddy?” She finally turned to look at him, her expression blank. “Isn’t that how you make all problems in life go away? Just toss a little money at it?”

  Lacy cocked a brow. Grandfather? The sponsor, Mr. Reynolds, was her grandfather?

  Holy hell. That explained a lot. Sellars was a silver spoon baby. No doubt she was catered to her entire life. Probably never had a spanking or had to pick her own hickory switch.

  Dear Lord, she was dealing with a spoiled rich brat who thought she could lure pussy to her car with a simple rev of that sweet engine.

  Mr. Reynolds quickly looked at Lacy then slowly back to Sellars. He leaned back in his chair with a grunt. “Back to that. Always back to that.”

  Sellars stared at him for several seconds before she tagged her sights back on the window.

  Mr. Reynolds looked over at Lacy again. “Did she explain anything to you? What I’m willing to pay you to keep her out of trouble for three more weeks?”

  Lacy shuffled a glance between them. “Well, not really. What exactly is it that you need me to do?”

  He tapped a finger on the desk. “I’ve taken the liberty of signing her up for a few events. Fundraisers, community outings, so to speak.” He looked down at his hands for a second. “She needs to get her face back in the spotlight.” He shot Sellars a glare. “The good spotlight. Not these immature tantrums she’s been putting on for show.”

  Sellars ground her teeth. “Tantrums? Who—”

  Lacy cleared her throat and interrupted. “So you just need me to photograph her during the events?”

  “I need you to keep her out of trouble.” He glanced back to Sellars who was still staring out that window. “She can’t seem to do it on her own.”

  “Pardon my confusion, Mr. Reynolds. I feel like I’m missing the punch line. A few photo shoots doesn’t seem rational for the price you’re offering.”

  “There’s no punch line.” He leaned against the table. “I need someone with the photo skills, who knows the ins and outs of social media, and can keep her in check until NASCAR lifts her suspension.”

  “You want me to babysit a grown woman who seems hell-bent on doing whatever she wants?” Lacy asked. “How do I fit into this picture? I’m not a kindergarten teacher.”

  He smiled. “You’re a pretty girl, Lacy. She likes pretty girls. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  Sellars shot out of the chair so fast, it tipped over with a loud bang. “Jesus! You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

  She barged across the room, stepped into the elevator, expecting Lacy to be behind her, running from a crude insinuation.

  When she turned to see Lacy was still sitting in the chair, eyes wide, lips parted, anger ripped through her. She slammed her finger on the down button and moved back until the doors closed.

  Just like everyone else in her life. Lacy was going to be easily bought. Just like Sarah’s grandmother. Sarah had been killed at the hands of Sellars. An accident, mind you, but she, too, had been bought. No police were involved. No jail for Sellars. Not even a smack on the wrist for the empty liquor bottles in the car. Nothing. Not a damn thing had happened except silence. Radio silence.

  She hadn’t been invited to the funeral. The remaining family had opted for a private burial. One Sellars wasn’t welcome to attend.

  Gone. Sarah was just gone. Riding shotgun beside her one minute, the next, gone.

  Months later, she heard the rumor that Sarah’s grandmother had sold her house and moved. Likely, to some lavish resort where she would live out the rest of her days surrounded by blue, sparkling water.

  Seemed only Sellars had been cursed to carry the guilt around for the rest of her life while ev
eryone else continued on as if someone hadn’t died.

  Someone had died. The love of her life had been killed. Sellars had killed her. And in everyone’s rush to put all the pieces back together, to right the wrongs, they’d forgotten Sellars was shattered and broken and lost.

  Nothing had ever been the same. Nothing ever would be again.

  Lacy watched the doors swoosh closed before she turned to stare at Mr. Reynolds. She scooted to the edge of her chair, anger bubbling hard and fast. “Mr. Reynolds, I’m not exactly sure what you’re trying to insinuate, but let me clarify my job description. I’m not a damn babysitter nor am I a fucking escort. You can’t control me with your bank account. Am I clear?”

  “I’m willing to pay you five hundred thousand dollars to keep her out of trouble. Just three weeks, Miss McGowen. That’s all I need.” He looked away and Lacy could read the desperation in his expression.

  She had no idea what was going on in this family, was positive she didn’t want to know, but she wasn’t for sale and didn’t appreciate that he assumed she was.

  “I’m a photographer, Mr. Reynolds. Not a hooker.” Lacy leaned back in her chair and took in a calming breath. “Never make the mistake of suggesting otherwise ever again.”

  His gaze went to the window. “I apologize. I just don’t know what to do anymore. It’s like she’s still punishing me. I just wanted to save her. To make it go away.”

  Lacy remained quiet when all she really wanted to do was push out of her own chair and escape via the same route Sellars had.

  As if he’d read her mind, he turned clear eyes on her. “I’ll throw in exclusive photographer rights to all of my racing teams if you can pull this off. I need her to make it to the starting line, Lacy. Her skill will take her from there.”

  Lacy almost laughed, and cried. Once again, Mr. Reynolds was showing his true, uncaring colors. But in the same breath, he’d shown how much he truly loved his granddaughter.

  With a smile, Lacy pushed the chair away from the table. “I’m going to assume that dementia has made you forget my past, the very past that made me leave NASCAR and this city to begin with. How dare you think that I would want to walk back into the same life with assholes just like you who use bully tactics to get what they want.”

  Mr. Reynolds held his hand out. “No. No! That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean, I just…” He shook his head. “Once again, I am sorry. I never meant to upset you. Please sit down.”

  Lacy stood her ground. “Your bedside manner is disturbing, Mr. Reynolds. So let me save us both the trouble and let you know how I can be persuaded to babysit your otherwise reckless granddaughter.”

  * * *

  For the next thirty minutes, Sellars paced the sidewalk, wishing she hadn’t left Lacy to deal with her grandfather, knowing Lacy would exit with a fat bank account, just like everyone else in her life it seemed.

  Why were people so easily bought? How could they sell themselves so short? Did money really rule?

  The doors swished open and Lacy stepped out.

  Sellars couldn’t help the growl that rumbled through her chest. “So, how much were you worth? The whole five hundred thousand? Or did you purse those lips, bat those sweet chocolate eyes, and sweet-talk him into doubling his offer?”

  Lacy cocked a brow and Sellars resisted the urge to step into her, to bend down and capture those lips before hellfire escaped them. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, shitface. So let me get you up to speed.” She stepped toward Sellars and inhaled the scent of her. “I’m worth far more than you’ll ever earn in your fucking lifetime. And all the riches in the world couldn’t force me to sell out. Not even to save my own soul. That, oh twisted one, is your domain.” She took in a short breath and stepped closer. “Like you, I never get on my knees for anything, or anyone, but I won’t hesitate to push a bitch down on hers.”

  Sellars stared down into those angry eyes and saw lust dancing in them.

  “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, I’m going to leave you to stew in your own family drama. I have a friend waiting for me across the street.” She glanced toward the blinking walk sign on the pole, pushed around Sellars, and started across the road.

  Sellars watched her walk away, her insides clenching, her mind overflowing dangerously fast at the very image of dropping to her knees, making a feast out of that little fireball, or better, forcing Lacy down on hers.

  Lacy called out to a man who was holding a “Need food. Please help” sign whose smile showed his adoration as Lacy got closer and waved in return. When Lacy made it to the sidewalk, she hugged him like a long lost friend.

  Sellars hesitantly followed, curious about the interaction. She’d been taught to stay clear of the homeless with their little paper cups and signs that begged for help of any sort. Don’t make eye contact; her parents had engraved that message on her soul. So she hadn’t. She’d noticed them, of course, but kept walking, ignoring their pleas for even the simple change in her pocket.

  She had a sneaky suspicion that Lacy was going to show her what a stuck-up snob she’d been all her life.

  Chapter Six

  Lacy and Sellars made their way back to the hotel after spending over an hour with Ralph.

  Sellars learned a hell of a lot about Lacy in that little time. That she cared deeply for the homeless men and women in this city. That she knew almost all of them by name, their stories, and that she must be spending a tiny fortune sending money to the local McDonald’s to feed any of them who stepped inside for food.

  It was an eye-opener, actually. She didn’t want to like Lacy, but who could hate a person who thought so much of those less fortunate? Lacy was all about the underdog, it seemed.

  It was hot, actually. She’d never met anyone who put others above themselves. Not even her own parents.

  “We need to head to the opposite side of town. We have an appointment,” Lacy said as she stepped into the crosswalk, wondering why Sellars had been so quiet for the past hour.

  Was it Ralph? The homeless man. With Sellars’s background of rich parents, a filthy rich grandfather, she’d likely never been that close to one. Let alone had lunch with one.

  She had a little over an hour to get Sellars to the fashion designer. Mr. Reynolds expected her to be freshly cut and newly attired for the upcoming gala event. An event Lacy wasn’t too thrilled about attending herself. She didn’t like stuffy surroundings, especially when those surroundings would be filled with snooty rich people, all putting on their best behavior for the sake of their careers.

  Fake. Everyone would likely be fake.

  But if she was going to get what she wanted, a full-blown art gallery event displaying all of those photographs for all the homeless who relied on handouts and good-hearted people, she was forced to play by his rules. If he wanted Sellars dressed to the nines for the event, then come hell or high water, that’s exactly how Lacy would deliver her.

  “How did you get involved with the homeless?” Sellars asked.

  Lacy walked a little faster, wishing she could outrun her past as easily as it was to pull away from Sellars. The answer was a direct link to that past.

  “Self-medicating myself,” Lacy answered as they stepped onto the curb outside the hotel.

  She wouldn’t include that it had been her mother’s idea to help her get over the ugly death she’d witnessed or all of the backlash and media that came after. Lacy had been in a bad place mentally after the fatal wreck. She’d already packed her bags and left Pittsburgh, LA bound, to get far away from anything and everything that had to do with racing. Months later, she still couldn’t close her eyes without seeing the images. Those horrible images that had changed her life forever.

  Her mom suggested using her camera, the very camera she couldn’t look at without crying, and start slow. To capture the world around her. A bird in flight. A turtle in a creek. Fish in a pond. Slow moving nature, she’d said.

  Finally, Lacy bit the bullet and hesitantly pi
cked up the camera, feeling its weight and the power it truly held. The power to capture death. To freeze that death forever. And as hard as it was to hold it after so much time, those long walks she’d forced herself to endure through her neighborhood, eventually through the city, had been more therapeutic than she ever thought possible.

  Things in LA were different from the greenery she’d always been surrounded by in West Virginia, her home state, or even Pittsburgh where traffic could come to a crawl quickly during rush hour. Concrete replaced plush grass. Car horns replaced the chirp of crickets and croak of tree frogs at night. Yet she’d found the most beautiful piece of life on those crowded streets. The homeless.

  They were hidden in plain sight, camouflaged by the bustle of everyday life passing them by, but she’d found their beauty. They stood still in the chaos. They were frozen in time while the world swiftly moved around them. Lacy saw them. Their worn down expressions. Their heavy heads. Their rough features.

  From afar, she’d captured them. Their signs that begged for a handout. Their interactions with each other. The way people didn’t notice them at all, no matter what the heartfelt words were on their cardboard signs. Their pleas were condensed to a few simple words with a magic marker.

  They just simply wanted to live.

  Each day she returned, eventually with food and drinks. Sometimes with cigarettes. Sometimes with only her camera. Soon, she became a familiar face. They opened up to her. They told her about their lives now, as well as the lives that led them to the streets to begin with.

  Some had been runaways, choosing that life over the ones they’d fled. Others had hit rock bottom either in the form of drugs, maybe financially. Regardless of the path that had led them to this place and time, they were family to each other, and their compassion for each other stood out like a diamond while business suits snubbed their noses, while people barked at someone who accidentally bumped into them, while women dropped their folders of papers and no one stopped to assist. They helped each other. Gave up their food for those less fortunate in the day’s hunt. Even gave up their makeshift houses for newbies who were scared and frightened of this new world they’d fallen victim to.