No, Trey wasn’t who he needed to talk to right now.
He needed to talk to his cousin Brock. Brock was the senior vice president for brand management, which meant he kept close tabs on all things Blackthorne. That also meant he had resources for finding information.
Ross hit the number and waited.
“Ross, holy shit. It’s good to hear from you,” Brock said.
“Hey, Brock. How’s it going?”
“Man, I didn’t flip a flaming car while going two-hundred miles an hour, so I guess I’m just fine. How about you? Uncle Graham sent a group text and told us all that you were okay. You couldn’t have managed that yourself?”
“Sorry,” Ross said as guilt crept through him. “I should have. But Dad called me when I was still being checked out by medical—and he managed to piss me off badly enough I didn’t think to text anybody.”
Ross had gotten texts from so many people that he’d just sort of expected that’s how it was going to go. He should have sent his own texts—or made his own calls—though. Especially since the wreck was nearly two weeks ago.
“Yeah, well I heard about that. And I understand why you’re pissed. But dude, next time call and let us know you’re not dying.”
“Did you see the wreck?”
“Not when it happened, thank God. I was working on something and got called away. By the time I got back to it, I’d heard about the crash and that you were okay through Uncle Graham’s text.”
“So then you went and watched it on You Tube, am I right?”
“Well, yeah. That was pretty spectacular, Ross. Scary as hell, I bet.”
“I mean it’s not fun when it’s happening—but the cars are safe. There’s fire retardant that sprays the car from inside the frame, and we wear fire suits. It gets hot, but we’re safe for long enough to get out.”
Typically. Things could go wrong, but so far they hadn’t.
“Sure, whatever you say. I’m sorry it happened though. You were about to win.”
“Seemed like it—but even that could have changed on the last lap.”
“Guess so.” Brock sighed. “So when do you head for the distillery?”
“I’ve been there since last Thursday.”
“Wow. Didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but it’s not like Uncle Graham to waste time, is it?”
“Nope. He wasted no time in ordering me to report to the distillery and give up racing for good. Won’t even let me finish the season.”
“Yikes. He didn’t give us details, just said you were going to work at the distillery. I kind of assumed it’d be in a couple of months at least. But we’ve been needing someone down there and I guess he figured it might as well be you.”
“You don’t need anyone down here, Brock. The place is being run by people who know exactly what they’re doing. Far more than I do.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t Blackthornes. We need a Blackthorne on staff.”
Ross banged his head on the back of the couch. His cousin was obsessive about the Blackthorne name and brand and how it was portrayed in the media. Having a Blackthorne at the Kentucky distillery would make a lot of sense to Brock. “So you approve of Dad’s decision?”
“To make you leave racing? No, not really. The NASCAR team gets a lot of eyeballs on the brand. Eyeballs we might not get through other media. It’s sexy and daring and people like it.”
“It’s expensive, though.”
“Yeah, it’s expensive. But it works.”
“So can you tell Dad that for me? Please?” Ross laughed because he knew his dad wasn’t going to listen to anyone right now. Not even Brock. Graham Blackthorne was like a lion with a thorn in his paw since Mom had left him.
“I have told him. It’s why we still have the team. But he doesn’t think you need to be driving for it to work. We have other drivers.”
“No, he thinks I need to be executive vice president of Blackthorne Kentucky, right? Just so long as I stay out of Evan Brooks’s way—and Holly Brooks, too.”
“Ah, the Brooks family. By all accounts, they’re an asset to the operation.”
“I believe that. Look, that’s what I’m calling you about.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The fire that destroyed their warehouses. Did you know that the youngest daughter, Emily Brooks, was injured in the fire? Brain injury. She’s in a group home.”
“I knew there was a fire. I don’t think I knew about Emily. I’m sure the information is available, but I didn’t go over more than the basics. So what is it you want to know?”
Ross frowned. He thought of the aching sadness in Holly’s eyes. The way she’d said her sister would never have a life of her own. Never get married. “I want to know the extent of her injuries. Her prognosis. What kind of facility is she in? What have they done for her? What else could be done?”
“It’s not quite my area, but I can put somebody on that. You should be aware we may not learn much though. HIPAA restricts the kinds of things you can find out about a patient.”
He hadn’t thought about that. “Okay.”
“Why do you want to know?”
There was a knot in his throat. “I just wanted to know that every option has been explored.”
“You’ve been there a few days. How have you gone this deep already? You don’t even know these people.”
“I’m not quite sure. But I want to know about Emily. Can you get me the info?”
“I’ll do the best I can. Be next week probably.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“Hey,” Ross added. “Have you figured out what the secret is that Mom said she’d been keeping all these years for Dad?”
Ross had been late to Mom’s birthday party and he’d missed the part where she’d yelled at her husband and stormed off, but it’s all anyone had talked about after it happened. The speculation had run rampant about what the secret could be. Theft, fraud, infidelity, criminal activity—it ran the gamut, and Ross mostly ignored it all. No sense getting worked up about something they didn’t yet know. That was Brock’s job. Besides, if anyone was going to figure it out, it’d be Brock.
“No, I haven’t. I'm keeping a close eye on the rumor mill, which has some key accounts buzzing, as usual.”
Ross could hear the tightness in his cousin’s voice. Brock took all potential threats to the Blackthorne brand personally. And very, very seriously.
“It might not be much of anything, you know.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“Thanks for the help, Brock.”
“Anytime. I’ll let you know what I find out. And Ross?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.”
The call ended and Ross sat there for a long minute, thinking about Holly Brooks and the distillery. It hadn’t been completely torturous so far. Spending time with Holly could be fun, especially when she glared at him when he said or did something nice for her. He didn’t know why that amused him, but it did.
Holly wasn’t like other women. She was determined not to like him, unlike most of the women he encountered. He knew he was a good-looking guy, but even if he weren’t, it wouldn’t have mattered. The Blackthorne name opened doors, made people rush to offer him whatever he might want because they hoped they’d benefit somehow.
With women, those offers usually turned personal. Flirtatious. Brock was against one-night stands for reputation’s sake, but Ross didn’t have the same thought about that as his cousin. In his opinion, it wasn’t a stain on the Blackthorne name to enjoy the charms of an attractive woman when she offered them.
But Holly Brooks wasn’t offering. Hell, she was barely friendly. Until tonight, when she’d let him glimpse her without the shields and hostility. He wasn’t sure what had changed to allow her to be open with him, but he was glad for it.
He wanted more of that Holly.
And he was willing to do just about anything to g
et it.
Chapter Six
HOLLY’S PHONE RANG EARLY. She was still on her first cup of coffee when the call came. She picked it up, surprised to see that it was Ross Blackthorne. Of course he had her number because it was part of the distillery management contact information he’d been given, but it was the first time he’d used it.
Maybe he was calling in sick so he could get out of coming to work today.
“Hello?”
“Morning, sunshine,” he rumbled with that too sexy voice of his.
Sunshine?
“Morning, jerk face.”
He laughed. “I didn’t call you babe.”
“No, but sunshine isn’t that much better.”
He was still laughing. “Okay, no nicknames at all. No sunshine, sweetie, or babe. No doll or hon. Got it.”
“What do you need, Ross?”
“Need?”
His voice dropped an octave. Heat settled between her legs. It shocked her more than it should. He was sexy. She’d have to be dead not to react.
It was just that she didn’t want to react. Not to Ross Blackthorne of all people. He might be at the distillery now, but he wasn’t planning to stay. She didn’t delude herself that he was going to, even with his father currently making him work there. Eventually, they’d come to an understanding and Ross would be gone again.
“Yes, why are you calling me? You must need something. Sick today? Can’t make it? What?”
“Damn, girl—excuse me—Holly. You don’t have much of an opinion about my work ethic, do you?”
“I’m just going on what you said. You’d rather be in your garage than at the distillery. So I thought maybe you weren’t coming in today.”
“I would rather be at my garage. But I’m also a Blackthorne, and we don’t quit. My dad wants me at the distillery, that’s where I’m going to be every day until I can make him see reason. I was calling to ask if you needed a ride in today.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. She was so glad he wasn’t here to see it. Way to be an ass, Holly! “Oh, no. Thank you. I was just going to take an Uber.”
“Don’t bother. I can swing by. The ride is free, unlike Uber.”
“I’m not destitute, Ross. I do get a salary.”
“Yeah, but you have a starter to pay for, remember?”
Shit. “I do, yes.”
“So I’ve got it with me and I’m on the way. I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Is that enough time?”
Holly blinked. “You’re on the way to work already?” It was only six a.m. He didn’t have to be there until eight.
“No, I’m on the way to pick you up and take you to breakfast.”
“No way. You bought dinner last night.”
“That’s right, I did. It’s your turn to pay. Where can we get some really good pancakes?”
“Muriel’s. Or just about any Mom & Pop place on the way to the distillery.” She said it because she figured he wouldn’t want a parking lot repeat in his fancy car.
“So you’ll be ready?”
Holly’s heart tripped in her chest. He wasn’t giving up? And now her palms were sweating. This was ridiculous. “I feel like you aren’t giving me a choice here,” she said, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.
“You always have a choice, Holly. If you don’t want breakfast, we won’t go—but fair warning I’m doing the drive through at McDonald’s if not. I don’t see how you can turn down a free ride to work though. Especially from the man in possession of your starter.”
“You have my starter? Already?”
“I said that earlier.” He laughed. “Picked it up from a buddy this morning.”
Oh geez, he had said it. She remembered now. “How much is it?”
“I have to look at the receipt. I’ll let you know later.”
She rolled her eyes. Rich people. “When can you put it in?” The minute she said the words, she wished she could call them back. It sounded so… dirty. It shouldn’t be dirty. It was just a starter for heaven’s sake, and you put starters into cars. But Ross wasn’t saying anything and…
Holly touched her cheek. Oh God, her face was on fire right now. What the hell?
“Whenever I get a chance, Holly,” he said, his voice rumbly again. Was he flirting with her? Was there a subtext here? Or was she just crazy? “I’d love to put it in as soon as possible.”
Oh jeez, definitely a subtext. And yet her body was doing a little dance inside as fireworks ricocheted through her, concentrating between her thighs. She felt all tingly. Hot. Needy.
“Fine,” she said as coolly as she could manage. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”
Holly! Jeez!
He laughed again and she wanted to bury her head under the covers and never come out. “See you soon.”
The connection ended and Holly shot to her feet. She ran for the shower, soaped and rinsed her body and washed her hair, then got dressed in record time. She barely had time for mascara before her doorbell rang. Her hair was still damp and she scraped it back into a ponytail. Then she shook her head at herself and went to answer the door.
Ross stood on her front porch, looking like sex on legs in his dark denim jeans and pale lavender Oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled up. He smiled and her belly dipped into her toes.
“Hey. You ready?”
“I have to get my purse,” she told him. “And check to make sure I turned everything off.”
He stepped inside the entry of her small cottage and hooked his thumbs in his jeans. He looked all casual and sexy, like a guy you’d meet at the feed store or, haha, the racetrack. She had to remind herself that he was wealthy, that he had a two million dollar car sitting outside right now, and that the only reason he was here was because his father had forced him to work at the distillery. The casual look was a ruse. This man could burn one hundred dollar bills to keep warm and not miss a single one.
“Nice place,” he said as she went over to pick up her purse from the console table in the hallway. The door opened into a small hall, but the living room opened to the left. It was an older house with the kind of period details she loved. Wainscoting, crown and dentil moldings, and built-in bookcases.
“Thanks. I bought it about a year ago now.” She’d grown tired of living in apartments and decided it was finally time to get her own place. She’d gone modest because she never knew when she’d need money for Emily’s care. So far her sister was taken care of, but there was very little room for any experimental treatments if they came available. Holly had decided that was a bridge she’d cross if she ever came to it. If she had to sell, she would.
“It’s nice.”
“Probably a bit smaller than you’re used to.”
“It’s not the size that matters,” he said.
Holly didn’t say anything about that statement, though she wanted to. Instead, she smiled brightly—and hoped she wasn’t turning beet red. “I’ll be right back. Have to check I turned off the coffee pot.
“I’ll wait,” he said with a cocky smile.
She was pretty sure she’d turned it off, but the truth was he turned her brain to mush and she needed to make certain she had. Plus she needed a moment to regroup and refocus.
He was still standing there looking like every woman’s fantasy come true when she returned. “All good?” he asked.
“Yep, all good.”
He led the way outside. When she turned from locking the door, there was a huge pickup truck in her driveway. It was black. Everywhere. Body, windows, wheels, handles—except for two large gray stripes that went from the hood and up over the cab. There was also a silver snake on the grill. She looked at Ross. He arched an eyebrow and pressed a button on the remote to start the engine. Then he unlocked the doors.
“Where’s the car?”
“Disappointed?”
“Not at all. But I wasn’t expecting a truck.”
“This isn’t just any truck, Holly. It’s a Ford F-150 Shelby Super Snake.�
�
She shook her head. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Performance,” he said. “Horsepower. Seven-fifty-five, to be precise.”
“You like fast vehicles, don’t you?” That was an understatement for sure.
He walked her over to the truck and opened her door. “Yes, ma’am, I sure do.”
“Thank you—but I can get my own door next time.”
“I know you can.” He closed the door as she buckled into her seat. The interior was black and gray, sleek. Gorgeous and new, of course.
Ross got in and snapped his seat belt. “So where do you want to go for breakfast?”
She’d been planning to tell him that a drive-through was fine, but pancakes would be awesome, wouldn’t they?
“There’s a diner on the way to the distillery. They’re only open for breakfast and lunch. Ted’s Diner.”
“Ted’s it is,” he said, reversing out of the drive. When they got to a stop light on the main road, another car pulled up beside them and two guys hooted. Holly jerked her head toward the sound. The guys were giving Ross a thumbs up.
“Wow, they recognize you already? Through those tinted windows?”
He laughed. “No. It’s the truck. It’s a Super Snake. That gets guys excited.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shot her a look. “I’m really not. Hang on,” he said when the light changed.
Holly squeaked as he floored it and the truck roared off the line. “Are you crazy? It’s fifty-five here!”
“And I’m doing fifty-five,” he said, backing off the accelerator. “We just got there fast.”
“Oh Lord,” she muttered. “Do you ever drive like a normal person?”
“I drive better,” he replied. “I’ve spent years learning how.”
They came up to another stoplight. The car pulled up beside them again. The guys hooted and gave thumbs up. Ross powered the window down.
“Man, that is one cool truck,” one of the guys said.
Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3) Page 6
