“You two have got to get along,” Mack said.
Liz stood and slung her bag strap over her shoulder, turning away from Rick to respond to Mack. “I disagree, because when I tell the sponsor what a jerk your driver is, they’ll rethink things and probably withdraw.”
She was bluffing, because she doubted she had that kind of clout. Besides, if she told Jeff she detested Rick Castles, he might pull her off the account and give it to someone else. She did not want that…did not want to fail at anything in her career again…especially because of a man.
Mack said to Liz, “Hey, please don’t do that.” Then he grabbed Rick’s shoulder and shook him. “Listen, man, we need that sponsorship money, and you know it. So apologize and call a truce.”
Liz folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot as she waited for Rick’s response. So what if she was trying to pull off a bluff? It was important to establish some ground rules here, or he’d walk all over her. And she couldn’t have that. He had to know who was in charge when it came to public relations, and, by golly, she would not stand for him being unfriendly to fans, regardless of whether some of them were what he so scornfully referred to as groupies.
Rick started picking up tools that had scattered when he came out from under the car so fast. “I don’t see where I did anything so terrible.”
“You lied,” Liz coldly pointed out. “And it most certainly was my business to know who you were.”
“Yeah, if you’d told me who you were instead of playing coy.”
“That’s beside the point. You were rude, and you don’t treat fans like that.”
“Okay, hold it.” Mack got between them. “So you two have gotten off on the wrong foot. Suppose you start over. Liz, I’m afraid Rick acts off the track like he does when he’s on it—he never gives an inch.”
“That’s called being stubborn,” she said. “And maybe it works when he’s racing but not now.”
Rick ignored her as he went about his business.
Mack allowed, “Maybe so, but that’s how he is. And who’s to know how it would’ve been if you’d introduced yourself in the beginning? I don’t think he’d have jerked you around like he did.”
Liz stared at Rick’s back as he bent beneath the raised hood of the car. His T-shirt was stretched tight, and she could see the ripple of his muscles as he worked.
Her mind danced back to when she had fallen in his lap and he had instinctively put his arms around her to keep her from toppling backward. In that briefest of moments, she had felt a swirl of desire sweep over her and actually wondered what it would be like if he pulled her tighter and pressed his lips against hers, and—
She gave herself a mental shake. She had just met the man, and he had acted like a clod, and here she was thinking how great it would be to have him kiss her. She had to banish such ponderings from her mind or she’d wind up right back in the situation she swore never to find herself again—helpless and made to feel like a fool because her body, her heart, had betrayed her.
“Well, Mack,” she said stiffly, angry at herself and directing it at Rick, “I’m afraid he’s going to have to get down off his pedestal or it’s not going to work.”
Rick withdrew from beneath the hood to turn on her. “Who are you talking about being on a pedestal? You’re the one trying to take over the team all of a sudden.”
“That’s enough. This is getting ridiculous.” Mack had lost patience and was getting mad himself. He motioned Liz to stand back and told the rest of the team to get to work changing the tires. Then he drew Rick to one side.
Liz couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mack was right about one thing—she and Rick had gotten off on the wrong foot, all right. And now she feared her job was going to be even harder than she’d thought.
Pete Barnett walked up just then to ask if she were ready to have the pictures taken. “We’ve got time before the drivers’ meeting. Where’s Castles, anyway? I’ve never met him.”
Liz cocked her head to where Mack and Rick were still in close conversation. “That’s him on the right.”
Pete frowned at the sight of Rick in his greasy clothes and dirty face. Loudly, he said, “Well, he’d better hurry up and change. You sure don’t want to shoot him looking like that.”
Rick heard and coldly demanded, “What is it now?”
Liz stonily answered, “It’s the photographer I’ve hired to take your publicity photos, but I’m not sure we’re going to need them now.”
At that, Mack hurried to her, waving his arms. “Oh, now wait, Liz. We can work this out.” He shot a pleading glance at Rick for confirmation. “Can’t we?”
Rick did not have to think about it, even though he had let Mack argue on and on as to why he should apologize and cooperate. He knew they needed the money if they were to make a serious run for the rookie title. The smaller sponsorships weren’t enough. Sure, they could sell ads on the lower quarter panels for twenty-five thousand dollars, and on the front fenders for thirty. But that was a drop in the bucket. Tires alone were over three hundred and fifty apiece. Depending on conditions, they might use six to twelve sets each race, which meant they’d have to spend nearly twenty thousand. And they just didn’t have it. They wouldn’t have even been able to come to Daytona if not for the new sponsorship, and, waiting for the first check had been tough, because they couldn’t buy tires needed just for practice.
He stared thoughtfully at the car. He and Mack were co-signers on a banknote to buy it for one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.
He had even had to borrow against the farm his grandmother had left him in the Georgia mountains to pay some bills. So he really couldn’t afford to walk away from Big Boy’s Pizza just because he didn’t want to work with a woman around a racetrack.
“Come on, Rick,” Mack urged, sounding desperate…which he was.
Pete asked what the problem was, and that moved Rick to do something. He well knew how motor journalists gossiped among themselves. The last thing he needed was for rumors to start flying that there was sponsorship trouble before the first race, especially over a female. It would make good copy for the sidebars that writers needed when there wasn’t much to write about.
“Let’s talk.” He motioned to Liz. And to Pete, he said, “There’s no problem. We’re just discussing maybe making the logo a little bigger. Chill out, and I’ll be ready before you know it.”
Pete looked relieved, glad he’d be making some more money that day after all and set about getting his equipment ready. He told the crew where to roll the car for the best light and background.
Meanwhile, Rick walked to a pavilion nearby where there was a water fountain. Mack started to go with them, but Rick waved him away. No one else was around, and that’s the way he wanted it.
Rick took a paper cup from the holder and filled it with water. Then he politely handed it to Liz and began. “All right, let’s get something straight. We both know I need the sponsorship, but I’d rather work with a guy.”
She smiled. “Of course, you would. I know your type. You feel threatened by women.”
At that, he threw back his head and laughed, slapping his hand against his forehead. “Give me a break.”
“So tell me what you have against working with a woman?”
“Honey, I’ve raced against women, and—”
“Don’t call me honey.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I just don’t think women are cut out for this kind of sport.”
He had positioned himself on the other side of the water fountain. He didn’t like being close to her, didn’t like the woman scent of her.
Her hair smelled like sunshine, and touching her was like holding a moonbeam—so fragile, yet supple and longing to be caressed. When she had fallen on top of him, he had actually had to fight the impulse to kiss her…to taste her lips, her tongue, and then trail his mouth down her throat and on to her breasts and…
Liz was irate over how
he was taking up so much time when they had little to spare. The photographer was waiting, and Rick still needed to change. “Will you get to your point?”
“I just said it was a job for a guy.”
“No,” she corrected. “You said women weren’t cut out for it. There’s a difference. But it happens to be my job until my boss assigns me to another account. So you are going to have to let me do my job. Otherwise, you leave me no choice but to go back and report you won’t cooperate. Then, it’s up to the sponsor what to do next, and you can believe they won’t be happy campers.
“PR, in case you don’t realize it,” she went on, trying not to think of warm mocha coffee as she fought to keep from drowning in his gaze, “stands for public relations, and what that means is having relations with the public. Good relations. And with your attitude, I’m not sure that’s possible. Now I think you should know there are several other rookie drivers that were being considered.” She didn’t know if that was true. She was merely trying to scare him into shaping up to make her job easier. She had no intention of quitting or reporting problems.
“In case you don’t realize it,” he said with a mocking twinkle, “the team has a contract with Big Boy’s. We haven’t violated any of the terms of that contract at this point. Just because you don’t like me—”
“No. You don’t like me. And Mack’s right. We did get off on the wrong foot, and it wasn’t my fault, and I’m not sure we can ever get along.”
“So what difference does it make if we don’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got your job. I’ve got mine. Stay out of my way, and we’ll get along.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. I’ll cooperate. I’ll go right now and take a shower and put on my new blue uniform with the gold stripes and the Big Boy’s logo. I’ll shave and comb my hair and give you a big smile for your photos. But I don’t want you hovering around while I do it.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to get used to my hovering—as you call it—because I plan to be around most of the time. You see, part of my job is to make all travel arrangements for the team. And I go with the team and attend all the races.
“In addition,” she went on, not failing to notice how his smile had abruptly disappeared, along with his cocky air, “I arrange your press parties and interviews. I do anything and everything I can to get you public exposure. I expect you to be on time and be cordial. And your first one is tonight.”
He quit leaning and stood to tower over her, anger rushing back. “No one told me anything about having to make an appearance tonight. This is short notice.”
“It’s not an appearance. I’m taking you and the crew out to dinner.”
“Mack and I always take the guys out the night before qualifying.”
“Well, surely you don’t mind me joining you and picking up the check. I’d like to get to know everybody. Besides, we’ll be doing a lot of things together from now on, so get used to it. I’m part of the team now.” She held out her hand. “What do you say we shake on it and try to start over?”
Rick knew he really had no choice.
Beyond her, he saw Mack motioning for him to take her hand.
The photographer was also watching and, worse, raised his camera and took a picture. No doubt he’d like his own sidebar to go with it to say trouble was brewing on the Castles team before the first race of the season.
Rick shook her hand. “Okay. We start over. But I still don’t want you hanging around any more than necessary.”
“Fine,” she said, biting back a sigh of relief. She did not want him to know she had been worried he wouldn’t cave. Actually, he hadn’t. Rick, she could tell, was a very dogged kind of guy. But he was willing to try, and, for the time being, that’s all she could hope for.
She urged him to please hurry and change for the pictures, then turned and walked back to the garage area.
Rick watched her go, her high, rounded hips swaying as she walked. He cursed himself as another heated wave rolled over him.
He had not been bragging when he’d talked about the groupies and how they came on to him. It was a known fact that some women were attracted to professional athletes, and race car drivers were included in that group. And, being single, he’d had more than his share chasing after him.
But, focused as he was on his career, he ignored all the women he came into contact with, from groupies to fans to beauty queens.
But not this one.
He wanted her.
Badly.
And he could never have her.
Therefore, she had to go.
And the way to do that, he decided as he headed for the drivers’ lounge and the showers, was to find a way to make her quit.
He figured it shouldn’t be too hard. After all, she didn’t look like the type who could take the extreme heat at certain tracks during the year, or the dirt and noise for very long.
Besides, it was hard living like gypsies, traveling to a different track almost every week. The NASCAR schedule currently consisted of thirty-four races, and sometimes a few got rained out. That meant running the next clear day, then heading for the next track right away.
One day he hoped to be successful enough to afford his own plane to travel the schedule like the hot dogs—a nickname given to the top drivers. Or at least a fancy motor home that could be used at the track.
If he could win the rookie-of-the-year title, good things were sure to follow. Other big sponsorships would come in, and there would be money for better engines, better parts. He could really be competitive, maybe even one day win the big one—the NASCAR championship. Then he could write his own ticket and never have to worry about money again. After all, there was not only money to be won but endorsements and his share of sales of licensed products bearing the likeness of him and the car.
For the time being, he and Mack were owners but knew—and hoped—success would bring a real team owner, or that they would be taken on by a sponsor fielding several teams. Life would be a whole lot easier. As things were, they worked on the car themselves at a rented garage just outside Charlotte, North Carolina, the acknowledged hub of the stock car racing world.
Rick had wanted to race since he was a kid. Now, with no family except a sister up north he seldom saw, he was truly on his own and really didn’t mind being a kind of gypsy. Sure, one day he’d like to be married and settle down, but everything had to happen according to plan. He could not let anything get in his way, especially a beautiful redhead that made him want to kiss her till they were both breathless.
He quickened his pace toward the lounge, because right then a cold shower was what he needed more than anything else.
Later he would figure out how to make Liz Mallory quit.
Because he’d be doing both of them a favor.
“I’m just real sorry things happened like they did,” Mack said to Liz while they were waiting for Rick. “He’s really a nice guy.”
“Till it comes to women at a racetrack,” Liz said. “And he has got to stop thinking that every woman who approaches him wants to go out with him. There are plenty of genuine female race fans who aren’t romantically interested in the drivers, though I realize it must be hard for someone as egotistical as Rick to believe that.
“And I mean it when I say he’s got to be polite to everyone,” she added firmly.
“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that. Maybe you were coming on too strong, because you wanted to find out as much as you could about Rick and about the team. Ever think about that?”
She hadn’t, but, now that she did, allowed that perhaps Mack had a point. After all, Rick had been working, and she’d tripped over him, causing him to bump his head. No doubt, that had put him in a bad mood. Then she hadn’t gone away when he told her to. “Okay.” She managed a smile. “I’ll agree maybe I came on too strong and let it go.”<
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“Good. And welcome to the team. Things will be okay, and we’ll all enjoy working together.”
“All set?” Pete called from where he was standing with the camera ready. “The light is good, so I hope he’ll hurry up.”
Suddenly Liz remembered to ask Mack, “Did the new uniforms arrive?”
“Yeah. For the whole crew, too. I have to tell you, we’re going to look good tomorrow. Those are sharp outfits.”
Moments passed. Liz kept glancing at her watch. They were still okay for time but would not be for long.
The noise in the garage area was deafening as drivers pulled off the track. Practice was over. Soon it would be time for the meeting.
“I’m taking everyone out to dinner tonight,” Liz told Mack once things quieted down so he could hear. “It will give us a chance to get to know one another.”
Mack frowned. “Well, that’s nice of you, Liz, but have you told Rick? I mean, he and I are partners and we’ve been the ones to foot most of the bills since we started the team. It’s always been sort of traditional that we take the guys out for steaks the night before qualifying. I don’t think they’d like to change to pizza.
“Oh, not that they don’t like pizza,” he added quickly, eyes worriedly searching Liz’s face in hopes he hadn’t said the wrong thing. “Especially Big Boy’s. That’s one of the reasons we were so tickled when they offered sponsorship, because it’s always been our favorite, and…” He drifted into silence, obviously embarrassed for going on so.
Liz understood and cheerily assured, “Hey, I understand. And there’s no rule that says every time I take the team out we go for pizza. I’ve got an expense account, and steaks work for me. The only thing I’ll change about your tradition is paying the bill. How’s that?”
Mack said it was fine, but Liz knew it wasn’t, because she could tell Rick hadn’t wanted her tagging along. Well, that was just too bad. He was going to have to get used to having her around, as well as her calling the shots on lots of things from now on.
Gingerly she suggested, “Mack, I think you and I should get together for a meeting, just the two of us, and go over a few things. I realize this isn’t a big operation, like Hendrick Motorsports and the Pettys and a lot of others, so there’s not a team manager to really run things. But I can make things a lot smoother by taking care of motel and travel arrangements, in addition to overseeing the budget for expenses connected with team operations in general.”
Race To The Altar Page 3