Smokin' & Spinnin'

by Miller, Andrea

  I gasp. I throw Ryan’s agenda down on the boardroom table. I can’t take this. I cannot fight with someone who doesn’t fight fair.

  I turn sharply on my heel toward the boardroom exit. I need air. I have to get out of this room for a few minutes. I fling open the door, and it hits the opposing wall with a bang. Several of the other employees in the boardroom jump at the impact. As it sounds out, I have an immediate flashback of Annalise’s demise. I stalk back to my office.

  I walk past a group of employees who are quickly scattering back to their desks after eavesdropping, no doubt. As I walk past the last row of cubicles, I witness two women exchange money over the top of their working spaces. Abruptly, I stop, then walk back to the women.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “I…um…” a middle-aged woman stammers, surprised by my outburst. She shakes her head and looks down. “I’m sorry, but there was a bet in the office to see how long you would last,” she mutters apologetically.

  “Oh really!” I say matter-of-factly. I am even madder now. “Well give her her money back because I’m far from done here!” I instruct the ladies, and they nod guiltily.

  After that slight detour, I continue to my office in a huff. I cannot believe this. My own coworkers actually made a bet against me to see how long I would last. That is complete bullshit. Oh, I will show them. I wear out the carpet in my office, pacing and ranting to myself. Lord, please forgive me, but that motherfucking son of a bitch! I quickly remember myself. I’m not going to do this. He is not going to run me. I’m going to do my job, and by God, he is going to do his.

  Jerri cautiously sticks her head into my office. “I’m so sorry, Whitney,” she offers, dejected.

  “It’s OK, Jerri. It’s not your fault. I just need a few minutes to regroup and get my thoughts straight, is all.”

  Jerri looks confused. “What do you mean? You’re not quitting?”

  “Hell no!” I respond suddenly, without thought. Then remorsefully I add in my best southern drawl, “I’m sorry, Jerri, but no, I’m not. He ain’t running me outta of here.”

  I make a few more laps around my office as I quickly devise a plan in my head.

  “May I have your permission to speak to him freely?” I ask Jerri. “I believe I can handle this now.”

  Jerri smirks. “By all means. I am out of options and open for suggestions.”

  I look down at my desk for support for my plan. I spy Ryan’s employment contracts and sponsorship commitments, and instantly my plan is established.

  I say with grand authority, “I’m ready, Jerri! Let’s do this!”

  Chapter 8

  Itake a deep breath, grab the stack of bulky documents off my desk, and head back into the boardroom. With Jerri flanking me to the right, I feel strong, although my heart is about to burst out of my chest. She and I stride purposefully through the boardroom door.

  I look Ryan squarely in the eye as I slam the contracts on the mahogany table in front of him. Damn! That felt good! Ryan tries to cover up his surprise that I have returned to the boardroom, but fails miserably. He gapes at me with a “deer caught in the headlights” expression, then quickly changes to his trademark smirk. I laugh to myself. Whitney 1. Ryan 0.

  “What’s this?” Ryan says coolly.

  I am now keenly aware that every eye in the boardroom is on me. I’ve made my scene. Now I had damn well follow through. I steal a quick glance at Jerri. She is my backbone. She gives me a slight nod as if giving me permission to proceed. I drag in a hasty breath and square my shoulders to him. Here goes…

  “Ryan.” I look him directly in his radiant blue eyes. The glow in them causes me to falter. “When…Jerri asked me to take over the position of public relations manager for you, temporarily, I took the liberty of reviewing your employment contract as well as your sponsorship agreements.”

  Ryan raises his eyebrows with light amusement. “And…?”

  “It seems that you have gotten a tad bit confused about your job description,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “And how’s that?” Ryan cracks.

  “I would like to remind you that you only have two jobs to do.” I hold up two fingers to accentuate my statement. I start my list. “Number one, drive your race car.” There is an audible gasp in the room, but my eyes do not leave his. His trademark smirk has been replaced by a lost look. I have embarrassed him, maybe. “And number two, abide by your sponsorship agreements.”

  My blood pressure accelerates as I continue my rant. “It is my job to make sure that number two is accomplished. Therefore, you stick to number one, and I will make sure job number two is done correctly. And I can do my job a helluva lot better if you will act like an adult, for God’s sake!” I add to hasten my point. “Frankly, we…” I hesitate to look around the room for backup, but of course, no one will meet me gaze. “We are all sick and tired of your arrogant, condescending bullshit!”

  Ryan shifts in his chair like he is about to say something, but remains silent. He looks as though steam is about to unload from his ears. Whitney 2. Ryan 0.

  “According to these contracts, Ryan, you have directly violated some aspect of each one of your commitments and responsibilities. Why your sponsors, let alone your management, put up with this behavior is beyond me.”

  Ryan jumps up from his chair, then slams his fist down on the table. “Because I am Ryan fucking Carter, that’s why.”

  I cringe, recoil, and then reload. “Well, Ryan fucking Carter, you need to get your shit together, or you won’t have a race car to drive at all!” I shout. “Every single one of your sponsors has a right to pull the rug out from under you right this very second because you are too damned concerned with that incredibly large chip on your shoulder.”

  A few snickers go up from the other employees who are witnessing my meltdown in the boardroom. I continue to ignore these outbursts because Ryan and I are deadlocked in a heated stare. Our intense standoff is broken by the sound of a small, one-person round of applause. We both turn to search the back of the boardroom to find our enthusiast.

  As I look, I catch a glance at Jerri. Her face is deathly pale with a shocked look of horror. A man in what appears to be his midfifties glides effortlessly over to Jerri and me. He is dressed simply in jeans, plain white T-shirt, and work boots.

  Jerri calmly whispers, “Garrett!”

  Oh no! Oh shit! It’s Ryan’s dad, the owner of GCR Racing. My face drops, no doubt mirroring Jerri’s look of horror, I’m sure of it. I don’t take my eyes off Mr. Carter, but I can hear the pleasure in Ryan’s voice when he makes a throaty, mocking “hmmmm” sound. The opposing team is finally on the scoreboard.

  I take a step back, defeated. What have I done? How long has he been standing there? I continue to watch the exchange between Garrett and Jerri. He greets her fondly. She smiles and nods, although her face is still horribly pale.

  Garrett turns his attention back to me. “Well, Miss…” He trails off, realizing he doesn’t know my name.

  “Pa-Parker,” I stammer. Without even looking at Ryan, I know he is enjoying this. Bastard!

  “That was quite a speech, Miss Parker,” he continues. “I’m Garrett Carter, by the way.”

  I smile and nod as I shakily take his proffered hand. I’m not sure what to say. Clearly I have said enough, so I stay silent.

  Garrett turns back to face his wayward son. “Now, Ryan…as Miss Parker so eloquently put it”—he motions to me with a sideways glance—“you really do need to get your shit together.”

  Ryan’s face falls flat in a shocked line. By his expression, I can tell that he assumed his dad was on his team. After an official review, the opposing team’s point has been revoked.

  Garrett continues, “Ryan, I came in here today to speak to Jerri about you, especially since you skipped our morning breakfast.”

  Ryan doesn’t look at Garrett. Instead he looks out the window of the boardroom.

  “But to my surprise, Miss Parker has said
enough for all of us. I believe she got right to the point.”

  My face burns with embarrassment.

  Ryan slowly turns his chair back around. His gaze shifts between me and Garrett. Seven shades of red flash over his face as he listens stoically to the warning his father carefully lays out.

  “Listen, and listen good, son. If I experience any more problems from you, whether it is from this office/staff, on the track, off the track, and/or from any of our sponsors, I will fire your ass!” Another audible gasp goes up. “You got that, son!”

  Oh my God! This is not happening! I am mortified as Garrett continues to reprimand Ryan.

  “Because frankly, son, I have had enough!” He pauses a moment for Ryan’s response, but doesn’t get one. “Are we clear?”

  Ryan doesn’t miss a beat and mutters, “Crystal,” through gritted teeth.

  Garrett immediately castigates him. “Don’t start with your damned smart mouth! Are we clear, son?”

  “Yes, sir,” he says with his mouth in a firm line.

  “Well then…good. I’m glad we understand one another. Now, I have some work to attend to, and I am sure the rest of you do, as well. Let’s get to it.”

  Jerri replies a soft, “Yes, sir!” for the group as Ryan slams his chair back and walks hastily out of the office, not making eye contact with anyone.

  I let out a huge breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding. I look around to find a chair to steady myself. I feel like I am about to fall over.

  As the other employees escape the boardroom and make their way back to their desks, Garrett turns to me with a straightforward command as he gestures toward the exit. “Miss Parker, walk with me!”

  Damn! He is going to fire me after all!

  Chapter 9

  Ifollow Garrett out into the hallway, and we make our way toward the exit. He calls for the down elevator, which opens quickly, and we enter in silence. I have a huge lump in my throat and a feeling of dread in my stomach. I feel nauseous. The elevator doors close as Garrett inputs a special code into the keypad to reach the B level, which I assume stands for the basement.

  As the elevator begins its descent, Garrett turns to me. “I was quite impressed with your speech?”

  What?

  “I don’t believe anyone has every spoken to my son that way before. Well…except for his mother maybe!” He laughs.

  A gush of air escapes my lungs. “So, I’m not fired?” I mutter, sounding relieved.

  Garrett laughs heartily. “No, on the contrary, Miss Parker, I would like you to become Ryan’s permanent public relations manager.”

  I am shocked. I gape at Garrett, not sure of what to say. I start to stammer, “I…uh…Thank you, Mr. Carter.”

  “Please, call me Garrett.” He smiles as the elevator door opens.

  We walk into a vast open area that looks like a museum. The floor is pure white polished marble. There are stock cars and glass trophy cases placed strategically throughout the space. Racing photographs and mementos decorate the walls, all in tribute and celebration to the legendary career of Garrett Ryan Carter Sr.

  Garrett speaks as I survey the room in amazement. “Jerri said that you were new to stock car racing, so I thought I would give you some insight to me and my organization,” he explains as he waves his hand toward his collection.

  “Wow, this is incredible!” I say in awe.

  “Everything on this floor is in its original state and from my personal collection. We have reproductions on the main level for our fans and visitors.”

  I nod and automatically understand why.

  “That is the reason there is a special code for this level and only certain people have access to this floor,” he further explains.

  As Garrett speaks, I take a moment to look him over. He is ruggedly handsome. I know now where Ryan gets his looks from. Garrett has the same fierce blue eyes that dance with a devilish gleam. Only, he does not have the overexerted arrogance to go along with it. His beautifully sculptured jawline mirrors Ryan’s perfectly. And although their hair colors do not match, the hairline is the same.

  As we begin our tour, Garrett talks comfortably about his humble beginnings in racing, building his first car with his father, NASCAR great Garrison Carter, and training his son to become a driver. “I have been very fortunate in the fact that I love what I do and that I also happen to be good at it.” He smiles fondly at the memories. “It also helps that my son loves the sport as much as I do and is as good, if not better, than me.” He winks at me. The way he speaks of Ryan is heartwarming. It almost makes Ryan seem like a normal person.

  Since Garrett is being so open, I dig for more information. “Forgive me for the stupid question, but how did you become a NASCAR driver?”

  Garrett smiles and gestures for me to follow him over to another corner of the display room. “This is my father, Garrison Carter.” He motions toward several dated photographs on the wall.

  I smile and nod as I examine the photographs, another handsome Carter. Those roots also run deep.

  Garrett speaks slowly and hesitantly. “My father was a very difficult man, but a hard worker and great provider for our family. Whenever he had free time, he spent it obsessing over his homemade stock car that he raced locally on a dirt track not too far from here.” He takes a deep breath. “I was mesmerized by him. I wanted to be with him every second, so I spent as much time with him as I could, which meant being with him in our garage, working on his car.”

  Garrett continues with ease, “He was a hard man, and in order to please him, I paid attention to learn as much as I could about this sport that he was so transfixed by. The more I learned, the more praise I received from him, which was little at best. But I wanted to please him, and that is what it took.” He sighs deeply at his recollections, and I watch him intently, completely enthralled in his story. “Which I guess will explain why I am so forgiving and lenient with Ryan. That is something that I struggle with. I want to make sure Ryan knows how important he is to me above all this because I always felt second-rate with my own father.”

  Garrett’s revelation makes me want to cry. He senses my reaction and gestures for us to keep moving through the tour.

  We approach a large display case in the back of the showroom that boasts ten large silver trophies. Garrett falls in line behind me. “I still can’t believe those. It all seems surreal after the fact.”

  I have no idea what the awards are for, so I ask, “What do these trophies represent?”

  Garrett eyes me warily. “Those trophies represent ten NASCAR championships that I have won throughout my career. I have won more championships than any other driver in the history of stock car racing.”

  I flush, embarrassed at my ignorance.

  Garrett recognizes my embarrassment and helps me to understand. “Each week, drivers accumulate points based on how they run in the race, how they finish, and laps led, et cetera. After the last race, points are tallied, and the driver with the most points wins the season championship. Since I am semiretired now, my goal is to get Ryan in the best position possible to continue this legacy.”

  “How many championships has Ryan won so far?” I ask naïvely.

  Garrett chuckles. “Zero!” He shakes his head. “Ryan has a very different racing style than mine. I am more patient, whereas Ryan is very spontaneous, or hasty, if you will, with his actions, which leads to more accidents and car problems. I am trying to teach him to be more patient, persistent, and consistent on the track, but I haven’t gotten very far with that yet.” He sighs.

  “Good luck with that,” I interject, but am instantly remorseful of my quick outburst.

  Garrett doesn’t acknowledge my rant as he continues, “Ryan has every ability to be as good if not better than I have been in my career. Don’t get me wrong, he has a long way to go, but I see a great deal of myself in him, especially at his age. His mother says I can’t really give him a hard time because I was the same way at his age. Then again, she has no r
oom to talk either because Ryan has an extra dose of hardheadedness that comes directly from her.”

  I watch as Garrett’s eyes light up and sparkle at the mention of Ryan’s mother. He laughs quietly. He is such a sweet man, and it is very evident how much he loves his family. Why can’t Ryan be like this?

  I laugh. “Yes, sir. I know too well. We don’t exactly see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

  “I know, or, well…so I have heard,” Garrett admits. “There are several people who keep me informed of goings-on around here, even though Jerri likes to keep me out of it. Honestly, I have never seen anyone handle Ryan like that.” Garrett laughs and shakes his head. “I believe that you will be good for him. He needs someone to give him a good ration of shit every day. He has wonderful potential and far more opportunities than I ever had. It is finally time for him to come into his own because one day soon, this will all belong to him,” Garrett says as he gestures around to his accomplishments.

  Chapter 10

  It is a little after noon when I make it back to my desk. After the heated boardroom bout with Ryan and a walk down memory lane with Garrett, I am finally able to sit down at my desk to start preparing for Sonoma. I can’t even grasp the fact that I will be flying across the continental United States in less than a week.

  Jerri wants me to attend only Sunday’s race again this week but says I will be ready for a full weekend by Kentucky. I have got to take this one race at a time, especially if I want to keep this job. I am going to have to stay one step ahead of Ryan and show him that I can do this job and do it well. I wonder how he will take the news that I am his new permanent public relations manager. Hmmm…I am glad that I don’t have to deliver that information to him.

  I look around my office to get my bearings. The beautiful pink floral arrangements make me smile and remember the conversation that I was having with Colton before all hell broke loose. Then, all of sudden I remember—Brooke! Crap! I have to deal with her. She has got to be seventy shades of pissed by now.