Jeff assured Liz he had the utmost confidence in her. “Every time I talk to Gary, he sings your praises. And I’ll probably have to soothe his feathers when I take you off the account. But for now, just keep doing whatever you’re doing, because he couldn’t be happier, and neither could I.”
Afterward, Liz sat for long moments brooding over how she could certainly be a lot happier. Still, she couldn’t really complain. She had taken on the account determined to succeed, and it looked as though she had. It had not been in her plans to be attracted to anybody, much less the man she had to work with.
And, she acknowledged, it probably would be a good thing for her to transfer out of the account. But not till the end of the contract. She would not, by damn, let Rick Castles think he had made her quit.
She longed to take a nap, but it was time for the guys to return from the track. She dialed Mack’s cell phone, and he was delighted to hear from her.
“I was getting worried. I just knew you’d get enough of Benny, and we’d have to go pick you up somewhere along the side of the road.”
She said it hadn’t been so bad. “But if I ever do it again, so help me I won’t drink a drop of water for days before.”
“And you’ll probably take your own food and headphones to drown out that music.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m just sorry Bobby got sick. You’d have had a much better time with him.”
She did not want to dwell on the little trick Rick had played. “Say, Mack, we need to have dinner tonight if you can make it. I have to go over a few things.”
“Sure. Rick and I can meet you anytime. Right, Rick?”
She heard Rick’s voice in the car with Mack. They were on their way back to the hotel. She noted he sounded less than enthused but agreed.
“Just say when and where,” Mack said.
She picked up the hotel directory from the bedside table and leafed through it. There were several restaurants, but, remembering Rick did not like Mexican food, said, “The Guadalajara? Seven o’clock okay?”
“Yeah, I could use a margarita and a big platter of fried jalapeños and chalupas.”
When Liz heard Rick curse, she put her hand over her mouth to smother a giggle.
Rick did not want to have dinner with Liz. All the guys were amazed she’d made the trip with Benny, and he didn’t want to chance her blurting out that he’d been the one to suggest it.
But he needn’t have worried. When he and Mack walked into the restaurant, Liz was already seated in a large, round booth. She had a bunch of papers spread out around her, and it was quite obvious she had more on her mind than a miserable road trip that he had instigated.
She had already ordered a pitcher of margaritas and a big platter of chips and salsa.
Rick shoved his drink in Mack’s direction and ordered a beer. He also passed on the appetizer, just as he planned to skip dinner if there was nothing un-Mexican on the menu. He wondered if she’d planned it that way on purpose. He’d told her before he didn’t like Mexican, and there were plenty of other restaurants around she could have chosen.
So, okay, he decided, if she was trying to annoy him to get even for the trip with Benny, he would not give her the satisfaction of letting her know she’d succeeded.
But even as he sipped his beer to wash down the rising resentment, Rick couldn’t help thinking again how cute she was. Her hair was pulled back in the little-girl ponytail he liked, and she wasn’t wearing much makeup. She had on sweatpants and a T-shirt. Very casual. He thought maybe she was tired from the trip and didn’t want to dress up, so she’d chosen a restaurant where she didn’t feel she had to. Maybe she wasn’t trying to irritate him at all, and—
“What do you think, Rick?”
Mack gave him a poke in the ribs.
“Aren’t you listening?”
“I guess not,” he hedged. “I was thinking about the car.”
“Well, Earth to Rick. That’s what she was talking about—how we have to have the show car parked out front by six o’clock Friday night.”
Rick gave him a blank stare. He really had been on another planet, but he got that way sometimes when he was brooding about Liz. Which was another reason for her to go away. “So what’s all this about?”
Liz explained about the cocktail party and dinner she had so quickly arranged. “And Mr. Staley emphasized he wants the race car out front so all the guests can see it. He also wants you there to sign autographs. That reminds me…” She began scribbling in her notebook. “I’m going to need more publicity photos. We gave out a bunch in Rockingham. And I’ve got to get to the track office in the morning and try to wheedle some pit passes.”
“Sure, fine, I’ll be there,” Rick said, trying not to let it get to him how she was running her tongue across her lower lip as she wrote. He could almost taste how sweet it would be to kiss her, and…
“Great.” She said, sitting back and capping her pen. “And I think you should wear a tux instead of your drivers’ suit.”
He was quick to balk at that. “I don’t think so.”
Mack held up a hand. “Rick, if she thinks it would be best…”
“Of course, it would,” Liz assured. “This is a very formal affair. It wouldn’t do for you not to be in a tux.” She nodded to Mack. “And you, too, and anybody else on the team who wants to come.”
Actually, Rick did not mind wearing a tux. He enjoyed dressing up on occasion but wasn’t about to let her know it. “Well, if I have to,” he mumbled.
“You have to. And by the way, thanks for suggesting I make the trip out here with Benny.”
Mack, astonished, turned on Rick. “You mean that was your idea? But you knew Bobby was sick.”
“He did me a real favor,” Liz assured, noticing the sheepish look that come over Rick’s face. “It turned out great. I was able to make what I think is a nice story out of it. I ran into Larry Parks from the Atlanta Speedway in the lobby a while ago and had a chance to tell him about it. He says he’ll use it for sure in the program for the November race.”
Mack interjected, “Along with a story of how Rick is leading in points and a shoo-in for the rookie title. That’s the last race on the schedule, you know.”
“Yes, I know. And I plan to really have lots of things going for him then. His sponsorship will be up for renewal, and, of course, the agency will try for even more money next year.”
“Well, we’ll need it, that’s for sure,” Mack said. “Everything goes up. Tires are the main thing besides engines. Five sets a race. But I’d like to hire another engine man.”
“We’ll try to make it happen.”
A waitress brought menus. Rick glanced over it and didn’t see anything he liked. He laid it aside and downed the rest of his beer. “I don’t go for this stuff. I think I’ll find a hamburger or something instead.”
Liz was quick to apologize, “Oh, Rick, I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t like Mexican food.”
“No problem. I’m not real hungry, anyway. See you.”
After he’d gone, Liz dolefully remarked, “Mack, he just doesn’t like me. If I weren’t so determined I swear I’d ask for a transfer.”
“Hey, don’t you dare. You’re doing a super job. All the guys say so. And they all like you, too.”
“But Rick is your driver, and if he doesn’t want me around…”
Mack firmly said, “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about him. Even my wife, Rosie, thinks you’re great. So don’t pay any attention to Rick. He’s got a lot of old baggage he carries around. Maybe he’s taking it out on you. I don’t know.”
Liz sipped on her margarita while Mack tossed down several. And, the more he drank, the more relaxed he became.
The food was delicious and there was plenty of it. Afterward, Mack leaned back, patted his stomach and declared, “Best Mexican food I think I’ve ever had. Maybe the next time we run Vegas Rosie can come with us, too, and we’ll eat here. She’d enjoy it.”
“She
doesn’t go to many races, does she?” Liz observed.
“As many as she can, but with a couple of rug rats at home, it’s hard for her to get away. She doesn’t like leaving them with anybody, but when they’re older we plan to get an RV and she’ll do a lot of traveling then.”
The smile on his face told Liz what she already knew—he was crazy about his kids. His wife, too.
Later, over coffee, Mack seemed so mellow and willing to talk that Liz dared touch on Rick’s private life. “I can’t help wondering why he has a thing about women at the racetracks.”
“I think it has to do with his wife.”
Liz had just taken a sip of her margarita and nearly choked.
Mack patted her back as she coughed. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then swallowed a little water. “I didn’t know he was married. It’s not in his bio. If it were to come out, it would sure look funny that he tried to hide it.”
“Oh, he’s not married now. I should’ve said his ex-wife. He’s been divorced several years.”
“Are there any children?”
“Nope. No kids.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling awkward to have broached the private side of Rick, even though she longed to know more.
“Oh, don’t be,” Mack said airily. “It was one of those racing things, I guess.”
“What did his divorce have to do with racing?”
“Everything. You see—” he leaned closer, obviously not wanting anyone around to hear “—his wife walked out on him because she hated racing.”
“So he wasn’t racing when they met?”
“Oh, yes. They met at a track. But she told him later she kept hoping it was just a hobby, that she didn’t realize how serious he was about it. After they got married, she tried to get him to give up. Said she couldn’t stand having a husband gone all the time, and she didn’t like going with him. The next thing he knew, she’d run off with another man.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been terrible for him.”
“I don’t think he was all that surprised. They weren’t getting along. I know, because he’d talk to me about it and said he didn’t know how much longer he could take it. And Maggie cried on Rosie’s shoulder, asking how she put up with it like she did.”
“And because of that he doesn’t want women around the track?” It didn’t make sense.
“Oh, not altogether. He’s had other relationships, and the women go bananas when he spins out. Or they gripe about the heat or the groupies hanging around him. Then they fuss about the schedule, traveling all the time. The dirt. The noise. You name it. They bitch about it.”
Liz continued to prod. “So he won’t let his girlfriends come around the track.”
“Yeah, I guess. But he’s real tight-lipped about his personal life. Rosie and I always invite him to come by the house on off weekends, what few there are. You know, for dinner or cookouts. But he never brings a woman.”
“Well, I guess it’s lonely for him.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I have an idea he has companionship whenever he wants it. Though as irritable as he’s been lately, I’d be surprised if any woman would have anything to do with him on the track or off.”
“So he’s not always grumpy.”
“Nope. He got that way after Daytona. The guys and I were talking about it on the way out here. He’s not himself.”
“Maybe he’s just tired.”
“Could be. He’s under a lot of pressure, and lately he hangs out at the garage day and night, working on the car when he doesn’t have to. It’s like he’s got something on his mind. I’ve tried to get him to talk about it, but he says I’m crazy. Nothing’s wrong.”
Liz made little circles on the tablecloth with her margarita glass. “I really hate to see him stressed-out so early in the season. Maybe there’s something I can do.”
“I doubt it. He’ll have to work it out himself. But meanwhile, Liz, don’t take the way he’s acting personal.”
“That’s rather hard to do, when he makes no bones about the fact he doesn’t want me around.”
“He’ll get over it. Meanwhile, just keep doing your job, because the rest of us sure as heck don’t want you going anywhere.”
“I’m not planning to. Not yet, anyway. But I wish Rick would unwind a little. If he just had time for a mini-vacation.”
“That won’t happen till the schedule gives us a break between Talladega and California for Easter. Ah, but don’t worry about him. I don’t know many drivers that don’t get worn-out.”
But Rick wasn’t just any driver, Liz brooded. He was her driver, her account, and if he didn’t perform well, then it would make it hard for her to keep getting him positive media coverage.
She would just have to keep an eye on him, that’s all, yet stay out of his way so as not to annoy him. And all the while she’d be on the lookout for anything she could do to make his life a little easier…a little less stressful.
“He likes the outdoors,” Mack said, cutting into her musing. “Camping. Hiking. Fishing. Anything to be out in the wilderness. Before I got married and the kids came along, he and I used to take off for days at the time. We’d just head out and commune with nature, as they say.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said thoughtfully, the wheels beginning to turn.
They were smack-dab in the middle of the desert, and if wilderness was what he wanted, Liz just might be able to arrange it.
Rick did not like himself very much.
He was giving Liz a real hard time, and she didn’t deserve it. After all, she was only trying to do her job…make a living.
Just like him.
It was not her fault he had a thing against women being involved in the racing world.
Nor was it her fault she was so damned attractive he couldn’t stop thinking about her…couldn’t stop wanting her.
And he would not, could not, make her lose her job because of how he felt.
Neither could he draw the animosity of his crew, because he was the only one who wasn’t practically doing handstands to have her around. After all, there was no denying she was doing a super job.
He had to admire her for making the best of the trick he’d pulled on her about the ride out to Vegas. He had talked to Benny about it earlier at the track, and Benny said she’d been a really good sport.
So what to do, Rick sighed to ponder as he sat in a cocktail lounge just off the hotel lobby.
And, as he fretted, he happened to look out the door and see her walking toward the bank of elevators. She was alone, and, was it his imagination or did she look miserable, as well?
He had to get off her back. That’s all there was to it. From now on, he would do everything he could to get along, would not goad her or play tricks on her, or try to make her quit.
She had proved she had grit, and he admired her for it.
And wanting her like an itch that couldn’t be scratched was something he just had to try to get over.
“Hey, aren’t you Rick Castles?”
He glanced up and tried to see over the huge bosom in his face. “That’s right.”
The woman leaned over, and her breasts brushed against his cheek. “I thought so. You’re fantastic,” she gushed. “You’re absolutely the best driver there is, and you are the only reason me and my girlfriends are going to the race Sunday. To watch you. Oh, could I have your autograph? They’ll be so envious.” She sat down next to him without being invited.
“Sure.” He signaled to the waitress for a pen, then wrote his name on a cocktail napkin.
“Make it to Marla,” she cooed, “and write something sweet.”
He wrote “Best Wishes to Marla, Rick Castles,” and handed the napkin to her.
She squealed with delight, folded it and put it in her purse. “Thanks, Rick. Say, how would you like to go dancing with me? There’s a lounge just down the way that plays rap music nonstop.”
He gave her a polite smile as he stood. “I never could dance to rap music, and I really need to call it a day.”
She likewise rose, standing very close to him as she said, “Would you like some company?”
“Not this time, but thanks.”
He got out of there as fast as he could and did not look back.
He had to deal with how he felt about Liz, all right, but going to bed with another woman wasn’t the answer.
It just wasn’t the way to scratch that itch.
Chapter Nine
The dinner and dance was everything Liz had hoped for…and more.
The ballroom was decorated in black-and-white—colors of the coveted checkered flag in racing—with red carnations for a bright touch.
In front of each guest’s setting, there was a souvenir tote bag with a T-shirt emblazoned with Rick’s picture, a miniature replica of his race car, and a press kit.
Liz had stayed up all night writing the story of her trip west in the team hauler. By five that morning she had e-mailed it to all the major newspapers and racing publications.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Then, around three o’clock, while stuffing the tote bags, Liz remembered she hadn’t brought anything really dressy enough for the evening ahead.
Hurrying downstairs to the hotel’s boutiques, she found a gown of sparkling green sequins. It fit perfectly. Perhaps a bit too perfectly. But it didn’t matter. The only man she wanted to impress wasn’t going to give her a second glance, anyway.
At five o’clock she drove to the Las Vegas airport to meet Gary Staley’s jet, then brought him and his family back to the hotel. A quick drink in a lounge to say hello and go over a few things, and Liz was off to get dressed.
There hadn’t been time for the beauty salon, so she did her hair herself—a simple twist with a beaded comb to hold it in place.
The guests were due to start arriving at six, but just as Liz started to go down, the phone rang. It was the track’s PR office, wanting to go over the VIP list for pit and race passes that she had faxed earlier.
Race To The Altar Page 12