by TL Mayhew
“That’s great. Who was it with and how’d it go?” he asks, pride lacing his tone.
“It was with Grady Anderson, I guess he knows you? Anyway, I think it went well. They’re supposed to be calling me with an answer either way this week,” I say, rambling through quickly before he gets a chance to cut in.
“Yeah, I know Grady, he’s a good guy. Who’s he working for these days?”
“Kye Kingston,” I almost whisper, hoping none of the mixed feelings I have for Kye come out on my reply.
A growl and a faint obscenity or two come across the line before he speaks again. “That guy is reckless on the track, Berkleigh. He’ll do whatever it takes to win and I’m not sure I want you mixed up in that kind of environment.”
Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him. “I don’t even know if I’ll get the job…” I counter. “…. but it is something I really want to do, Dad. I mean it’s partly the reason I went to that stupid college.”
“Stupid, huh? Do you know how much it costs to put a kid through college? And then for them to turn around and be so… ungrateful.”
“Dad, please.” Deep breath. Exhale. “I appreciate the fact that you sent me through college. But I am really excited about this.”
There’s a long pause and a sigh before he speaks again, “Fine. I trust your judgment. Call us once you hear. I’ve gotta go. Love you.” At that he disconnects the call.
He’s not happy. And now I’m torn between the excitement at a chance of doing something I love and disappointing my father. It’s not as though I have the job yet. So, for now, I’m not letting the guilt of his mood weigh me down.
We’ll cross that bridge if…no when…I get the job.
My stomach growls, breaking the peaceful silence in my small apartment. It’s then I realize I’ve hardly eaten anything all day.
I know there’s nothing in the fridge because I’ve been too busy for shopping the past few days, so I tap out the local Chinese restaurant number, order a couple of entrees, then grab the remote for my stereo system and click the power on. Soft classical music filters through the surround speakers.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against soft cushions once again and let the string instruments lull me into a peaceful trance until the food arrives.
Chapter 10
I wake with a start to pounding on my door. Disoriented, it takes my mind some time to adjust and when it does, I’m reminded of the interview. Coming home and relaxing. I must’ve fallen asleep.
When it gets quiet, I think maybe whomever it was had the wrong door and they left. I snuggle back down in the cushions and close my eyes.
The knocking starts again. Food. I’d ordered food.
“Shit.” Jumping up from the couch I rush over to the counter where my purse sits, and rustle through the contents, before pulling out enough cash to pay, and then head toward the door.
Peeking through the peephole, all I see are Chinese food bags and the tips of the fingers that are holding them. I flip the four locks and swing the door open.
“Sorry for making you wait. On the phone they said thirty-six dollars even, here’s forty and you can keep the change.”
The bags are lowered but on the other side is not a delivery boy. Instead, blond hair and crisp blue eyes come into view. “How about I just take the entire forty and instead of eating this garbage I’ll take you out to dinner?”
“Elliot?” I ask, but it’s not a question of who, it’s more a question of why he’s here. Not that it matters because I’m overjoyed to see my brother and I rush into the hall, wrapping my arms around him. Placing a kiss on his cheek, I take his hand and lead him inside. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a guy just come visit his sister?” he counters, dropping the food in the trash can on his way into my apartment.
My stomach growls and I consider grabbing it straight out of the trash, instead I turn my attention on my brother and watch as his judgmental stare peruses through my apartment room by room.
I keep a neat place and live in a decent area so I shouldn’t be worried about his approval. And if I think about it, I’m not. It’s more about what he’ll tell Dad when he arrives home that concerns me.
Stepping into my room, he runs his fingers over the bed and then heads toward the closet, swinging open the doors. Without saying a word, he thumbs through my clothes, groaning as he pushes aside all the button-down shirts, tank tops, and overalls that consume the space.
“Is there something specific you’re looking for?” I ask crossing my arms.
No answer.
“Elliot?”
He almost disappears in the small space, reaching farther in the back and when his arm returns from the dark abyss of my closet, in his hand is a black strapless dress. One I’ve only worn once in my life to some random fancy cocktail party.
Tossing it on the bed, he lets out a huff. “Is this the only nice dress you own?”
My face contorts in confusion. “Yeah, why are you asking?”
“You live in California; I would expect your wardrobe to be a little more...” He pauses briefly shaking his head before blurting out what he’s thinking. “…feminine. But I guess it’ll have to do. Go shower, make yourself presentable, then put this on. We’re going to dinner and then a few sponsors have invited me… us,” he corrects, “out for drinks.”
I’m dumbfounded at how he feels like he can just come in here and start ordering me around.
It’s sad how they all feel controlling my life is what they’re supposed to do. It’s not like I hadn’t grown up with it. And even though Elliot contributed, he was never quite as bad as the others, so I’m not sure what’s gotten into him now. His bossy tone is irritating.
I cross my arms defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re doing here. Did Dad send you to spy on me? That’s it, right? Maybe he thought since you and I are the closest, I’d be more forgiving than if he say… sent Dante? Spill, Elliot, otherwise, you can go to dinner yourself and I’ll be pulling that Chinese food out of the trash. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”
He lets out a sigh and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Dad didn’t send me, not really. I volunteered.” I suck in a breath at his admission, but it doesn’t deter him from defending himself. “He didn’t ask anyone, Berk. Instead, we’d decided someone needed to because of his constant mood. I never would’ve guessed his baby girl moving a thousand miles away would’ve caused such a reaction.”
“Don’t call me that,” I tell him, narrowing my stare. “And who’s we? Whatever happened to spreading my wings. Or at the very least giving me some breathing room?”
“Dante, Daine, Dex, Dru, and myself. And I’d say a thousand miles is a lot of breathing room, Sis.”
“You know what I mean,” I huff out a response, taking a seat next to him on the bed.
“Just look at it this way.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into him. “You get to spend time with me, your favorite brother, which—by the way—you’ve already admitted.”
“Hey, I didn’t…”
“Plus…” he continues, ignoring my disagreement with him. “I get to schmooze with some sponsors I’ve been chasing for almost a year now. So, come on, Berk,” he says, shoving me forward and off the bed. “Let’s go out. You can show me around California and all the hot chicks I can get my hands on.”
I roll my eyes at the suggestion. Like he needs any help getting a woman.
Glancing between him and the dress, I give his request some more thought before swiping it off the bed.
“That’a girl,” he chuckles.
By the time I’ve showered, dried my hair, added some curls and a bit of makeup, it’s close to five before I’m finally slipping into the dress and some heels.
When I enter the living room, I find Elliot lounging on the couch, and watching an old race on the flat screen. There’s a duffle bag at his feet and I notice he’s changed into a pair of nav
y twill pants and a blue checked patterned dress shirt, one that enhances the blue in his eyes.
He’s been called a walking felony by some of the few female friends I had in high school. They’d even gone on to say, “It should be a crime to be that hot.” Then they’d ask me for his number.
I’ll admit he was blessed in the looks department but to me he’s just my brother.
My staring catches his attention and he lets out a whistle, rising off the couch. Walking a wide circle around me, he says, “Tell me, what you did with my tomboy of a sister? Is she still in the shower scrubbing under her greasy nails? Because you most definitely are not her.”
I reach out and swat him on the arm. “Knock it off. Can we just go? I’m starving and if I don’t get food soon, you’ll find that even though I’m in this stupid dress I can still kick your ass.”
“And there she is. Fine let’s go. You can drive,” he says heading to the door while I grab my things.
On the elevator ride to the parking garage, I wonder how he got here. “Did you take a cab here or something?” I ask, digging around in my purse for my keys.
He dangles keys in front of me. “I rented a car.”
Boy, did he ever. As soon as the elevator doors open and we step out into the concrete garage, he’s pressing the fob on the key chain. The lights flash on a shiny new red Corvette. Its sharp lines give it the appearance of a foreign sports car and my heart rate kicks up a notch.
I can’t wait to see what it can do.
I slide into the driver’s seat and grin from ear to ear when I start her up.
“Just remember who’s name the car’s rented under,” my brother says, gripping the dash dramatically, as though I’m driving too fast when I haven’t even left the parking garage.
Once out on the main road, I get a feel for her as we head toward our first stop, The Rooftop Grill.
Chapter 11
KYE
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you need her,” Grady says from behind his overstated cherrywood desk, as I pace between the bookshelves and his cheesy red couch. “She answered every single question, in detail, I had about stock cars and none of the other interviewees had been able to do that.”
“I don’t know, man.” I’m within a breath of telling him it’s a bad idea, but I know he’ll ask why, and since I’m not willing to elaborate about what almost happened in the simulation room, I decide against it.
“Maybe we could give her a trial run. You know? There’s a small purse NASCAR race coming up in Kansas. It could be your test run in a stock car, and it could be her test run on your crew.”
He has a point. It could be a trial for the both of us. I’ve driven stock cars before but never professionally. Having at least one person on my team who has some knowledge of stock cars would be ideal. Keeping my lips off hers could do me in however.
“Okay, let’s do it. But under one condition.”
He chuckles. “There’s always a condition with you. Lay it on me.”
“You find one other person who has more or equal experience with stock cars and they can be her senior. Oh and, Grady…”
He lifts his eyes from the paperwork on his desk and meets mine.
“Just make sure they’re not better looking than me.” I add that last piece because I know it’ll get a reaction out of Grady. And, because somewhere deep down, I’m not sure I want more competition.
I’m thankful in a way that Alicia had interrupted us in the simulation room because had I put my lips on Berkleigh’s, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stop.
“Damn, man, really? Is that even possible, Kingston?” he asks, emphasizing the King in my last name.
“I guess that’s up to you, not to find out.”
Fuck, there’s already going to be too many men around her on my team. I’m lucky that at least one of them is married. One has a girlfriend, or at least I think he does, and the other… well with his age I doubt she’d be interested. But Grady’s right, we do need her.
I have a good team and even though I’ve had some wins in the past, as of late too many things have been going wrong with the Indy cars. I’m not sure if it’s because the guys are getting bored or we’re just getting shit for parts.
Kingston only manufactures half of what we need to keep the cars running smoothly. The rest, which have been riddled with flaws, are ordered from mass production plants.
The team knows I don’t blame them for any problems because of the faulty products, but morale is at an all-time low. Switching gears by expanding our fleet to stock cars, and bringing in Berkleigh, might just be the motivation they need.
“All right, man, I’m headed out. A good stiff drink is calling my name. We good here?” I ask, standing and heading toward the door.
“Just one last thing,” Grady says, pushing the office chair under the desk.
I raise a brow encouraging him to go on.
“We never had this conversation. If Elizabeth knows I told you, I suspect you’ll be finding a new manager as well.”
His confession pulls a chuckle from deep in my chest. He’s scared of her. “I think I can handle Grandmother. I’m her favorite grandson and…”
“You’re her only grandson,” he counters.
“Nevertheless, hiring her on our team will more than likely give us a leg up. And if successful, it lines her pockets even more,” I tell him, standing straighter.
He closes the distance between us, slapping me on the shoulder before we exit the office, and he locks the door. “It’s your funeral man. Any specific playlist you’d recommend for a man who was taken down by a sixty-seven-year-old?”
“Asshole. C’mon I’ll buy you a drink.”
The bar isn’t far from Grady’s office downtown. He’d said he chose the location to keep the distractions at a minimum. By that he means me. It’s not like he’s involved much in the inner workings of what goes on with the cars or my crew.
If I didn’t know him better, I’d be offended. He and I do spend a considerable amount of time going over upcoming races and making sure I have a say in the sponsors we choose, but I don’t hover. The fact he has a wet bar in his office is a bonus.
I can see where he’s coming from. If his office were at the Kingston complex, it’s where I’d be after a long hard day of spinning around the track, complaining about what this or that driver did.
It’s where we could’ve hung out tonight, talking shit but I need a change in scenery.
A place I can get my mind off the whirlwind that is Berkleigh Shaw.
The moment I’d heard her name called over the loudspeaker then saw Philip, one of our single parts guys, breeze by my office, I’d decided there was no way I was letting him get one step closer.
He’s a player, that one. His girlfriend is quite the looker, but she has no idea he frequents the track bunnies as well. There’s been more than one instance I’ve been tempted to fill her in but knew if I did it wouldn’t make much difference in his eyes. He’d just find another, and really, it’s none of my business.
I pull the Spyder in front of the unimpressive building and toss Teresa, the valet, my keys as soon as I exit the car.
Sleek lines and silver clearcoat make Sylvia the envy of most men and a magnet for most women. None of which I’d ever let behind the wheel. None except for Teresa.
With a grin on her face, she climbs in the driver’s seat, drops it in first, and spins the tires as she shoots away.
“There goes a fifty off her tip,” I mutter, but not really meaning it.
An ex-driver herself, Teresa takes good care of my car. It’s why, I’d called ahead, to make sure she was working tonight.
Her story is a sad one. Just when she was making her way up the leaderboard in the racing industry, she was sideswiped on the track by a seasoned driver. The accident was unfortunate, especially since it ended her career at quite a young age.
Sometimes drivers have the courage to get back on the track, and she wou
ld have, had she not lost most of the feeling in her right foot and some of her right hand. It doesn’t give her much trouble walking or driving usually. But on occasion, mostly when she’s been on her feet all day, you can see a slight limp.
“Fuck, man. You’d be raising hell if I’d spun Sleek Sylvia’s tires like that.”
I ignore him, relishing in the rev of the engine as it racks up the RPMs before shifting into second and quickly into third. If Teresa came back with a big fat fine from a traffic stop, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d pay the ticket but still… not surprised one bit.
“Eh, let her have some fun. Plus, she knows how to handle my silver beauty, you… not so much.”
He turns an annoyed stare on me, and it’s clear I’m getting the big fuck you without him speaking a word or raising a finger.
As we near the door with my security detail in tow, some of the women in line start screaming and raising their phones intent on snapping a photo of me. Normally I’d be flattered, taking the time to sign a few autographs and maybe a breast or two, but tonight, I’m just looking forward to a stiff drink and talking shit with my sidekick.
It’s obvious this wasn’t the first stop for the women. They’re rowdy. Some even lift the velvet ropes and make a beeline straight for me, but they’re stopped a few feet away by the two burly guys Grandmother had insisted I hire for protection.
Groans rumble through the early evening air as Grady and I disappear inside.
There was a time I would’ve had my choosing of any one of the scantily clad women in line, but then a certain sexy spitfire stumbled into my arms, and no one has measured up since.
Once inside, we head straight for the back room.
It’s a permanently reserved private area for Kingston Racing and fellow drivers alike. On occasion a driver may meet up with sponsors here, and depending on the situation, one or the other will be wined and dined. The outcome, a giant company logo decal on the driver’s car and a large sum of money added to their bank account.
