Joy Ride

by Lauren Blakely

  The one that ticks to the talk. Sooner or later, we need to discuss how this is going to work. I need to tell her about Creswell’s interest in having me do more work for his network shows. It only feels fair to tell her, even though it might upset her. But that’s part of what we’ll have to sort through. As I think on what to say, she peers at her phone for the first time in a while, and it occurs to me that she’s cut back in that department during the last several hours, and I couldn’t be happier.

  She’s been happier. She’s been less tense. Though, let’s be honest, multiple orgasms probably do that to her, too. But as she scans her messages, a harsh sigh sounds. She purses her lips and stares out the window.

  “Hey. Is that your business deal?” I ask, rubbing her knee.

  She nods and bites her lip. “It’s my attorney. He says he’s going to call me in thirty minutes.”

  “I hope it’s good news.”

  She turns to me as the city rumbles by. Her eyes are big and earnest. She takes a breath and squares her shoulders. “Max, I’m trying to buy into John Smith Rides. To become a fifty-fifty partner with him.”

  My jaw comes unhinged. I rub my finger against my ear. “What did you just say?”

  She clasps her hands together as if in prayer. “Please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t tell you because I signed an NDA. My lawyer made it clear this had to be completely confidential or it would fall through, but I hate keeping this from you now that we’re . . .” She trails off as if she’s afraid to say what we are.

  Maybe I am, too, because I open my mouth to supply the answer—together—but nothing comes out. I’m too shocked. I never expected her business deal was this big, this competitive, this direct. When she mentioned she was working on one, I figured she was reeling in a huge new contract with a high-roller client. Never did I think she’d be getting into bed with my biggest rival.

  I try to say the word once more—together—but it sticks in my throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and something like guilt passes over her eyes, as if she’s done something wrong. “I know this comes as a shock, and you probably think I’m sneaky and underhanded, but you have to know I was forbidden from telling anyone. And I didn’t think it would matter anyway. Besides, when we worked on the car for the show, we never traded secrets or discussed business, and John checked out the work. The only deal that ever came up between you and me was the Bugatti zombie guy,” she says, rattling off the facts, and I can tell by the speed of her words that she feels horrible. “But you mentioned him in an offhand way, and I already had a meeting with him, and it was just one of those things. You need to know I’m not trying to go after your business, but now that you and I made it official, I couldn’t keep this from you, Max.”

  She reaches for my hand and takes it in hers, then locks her gaze with mine. At this moment, she looks so young and innocent, but earnest, too. Gone is that hard edge. Absent is the chip on her shoulder. All that’s left is honesty, a wish to do the right thing.

  Tension tightens my body from the force of habit. If I was concerned before about how we’d navigate our relationship and business, I should be a hell of a lot more concerned now. And yet, is there anything wrong with her not telling me? I’ve kept business details to myself, and all things being equal, if I were buying into another shop I wouldn’t tell a soul either. Especially if I’d signed an NDA. What kind of man would be pissed at his woman for wanting to buy a business? She couldn’t tell me because she couldn’t tell me.

  And yet, here she is, telling me. Because she didn’t want to keep it from me.

  I barely deserve this woman.

  I squeeze her hand, and all the tension subsides. “Don’t feel bad, tiger. Am I thrilled you’re buying into my rival? No way. But I respect you and I respect this choice. You were already working for him, so I suppose this is no different. We were going to face this issue. Now we’re just going to face it when you’ve got more skin in the game. Fact is, I’m fucking proud of you. For going after what you want. For pursuing it. And then for telling me.”

  She clasps her hand to her chest. “Oh my God, I’m so relieved. I felt awful. I didn’t want to keep carrying this around, and I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I reasoned that you’d learn soon enough. But we’ll figure this out. I mean, Venus and Serena Williams have played tennis against each other, and certainly there have been other competitors who find a way. Prosecutors and defense attorneys, actors vying for roles…”

  She looks so hopeful that we’ll pass our first test.

  That’s what this is. The chance to see if we can make it all work.

  Even though I’m shocked, I have to believe that we’ll be fine. “Whatever happens, we’ll be good. And I hope it’s a good deal for you, Henley.”

  “I hope it goes through. Smith and Marlowe,” she says proudly, like she enjoys the sound of it. “It’ll be my chance to grow and expand in New York. I’ve been working so hard on it.”

  As the train slows near Grand Central, I figure her honesty is reason enough for mine. If she has the guts to serve up something this big, the least I can do is let her know the truth about Creswell. The truth I should have told her last night.

  “Listen,” I say, squeezing her hand. “When you asked me what Creswell wanted to talk about, I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “You weren’t?”

  I shake my head. “He told me last week he wants to talk to me about doing more work, and last night when he pulled me aside, he was following up on it.”

  “Oh.” Her voice sounds empty.

  Briefly, part of me wonders why I’m telling her. We can’t just serve up every possible business deal to each other on a platter, can we? And I don’t plan to share every business deal with her in advance. But since I kept the truth from her, this seems to be one I should share. “I’m telling you because this is part of what we need to figure out—how we’re going to deal with the fact that we’re going after the same business. Even though I suspect most of the time we’ll need to keep things quiet.”

  “Right,” she says, taking her time with that word. She points at me. “Except you weren’t honest.”

  I wrench back. “What was I supposed to say?”

  “I don’t know. But maybe not a lie? Maybe not ‘it’s about a monkey.’ You could have said you were discussing work possibilities down the road.”

  “Then you’d have known, and you might have gone after the work,” I say matter-of-factly.

  Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline and she recoils. “Excuse me? You think it takes me hearing about work to go after it? I’ve been talking to him, too, trying to win work. If he wants you, that’s great. But my pursuit of his business has little to do with you telling me he might have work. My job is to go after potential work—not to sniff around and hope you’ll drop a hint that there’s business to be had.”

  “Fine. Then why are you upset?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Duh.”

  “Duh, what?”

  She taps her chest. “Because I was honest with you. I told you yesterday I was working on a business deal, and I had to keep it quiet. Then I told you the whole truth just now. But you flat out twisted your story and lied to me.”

  When she puts it like that . . .

  My shoulders fall. “Shit. I messed up. I’m just trying to figure all this out, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t truly know what was happening between us either.”

  She shakes her head and crosses her arms. Then she stares out the window for a second. She snaps her gaze back to me, then finally, her expression softens. “Look, it’s fine. I get that it will take time, and there will be stumbles.”

  I breathe more easily. I don’t have the moral high ground on this one, and she’s granted me a reprieve. That’s all I can ask for. I take her hand. “Yes. Let’s keep figuring it out together.”

  When we exit the train and walk past the big clock in the station, her phone ri
ngs. She zooms back into all-business-Henley mode. “My lawyer,” she says, and then stops in place to talk to him.

  I do my best to keep busy by checking my own phone and giving her some space, but I can still make out her words.

  “That’s it?”

  She’s quiet.

  “Just like that?”

  More silence as she listens.

  “There’s nothing we can do?”

  Another pause.

  Then her voice starts to break. “So, the deal is just off? Did he say why?”

  The longest pause in the history of pauses comes next.

  Her knees buckle, and she grabs at a sign.

  45

  Henley’s to-do list

  * * *

  —Don’t cry.

  * * *

  —Don’t cry.

  * * *

  —Don’t cry.

  * * *

  —Go invest in tissues since you’re crying.

  46

  “What the hell just happened?”

  I set my hands on her slim shoulders to steady her. She’s shaking. Her right hand covers her mouth and her lip quivers. She blinks back tears. My poor girl. She’s trying so hard to be tough.

  She shakes her head.

  “Tell me. Let me help you.”

  A sniffle is my answer.

  “Henley,” I say in a soft but firm voice, “was that the deal to partner with John?”

  She nods and swipes a hand roughly across her cheek.

  “And he nixed it?”

  She nods and gulps.

  “Because of?” I ask, though I think I know the answer already. I dread the answer. Because it’s everything she’s tried to avoid.

  She closes her eyes, and jams a fist against one, rubbing away a rebel tear. She opens them. “He pulled the offer,” she says, forcing out the words in between tears. “He said he’s worried I won’t look out for his best interests.”

  A new emotion digs into my bones. Anger. I grit my teeth, then ask carefully, “Because of us?”

  She nods. “He thinks since I’m involved with you that means I won’t put Smith and Marlowe first,” she says, then she waves her hand like a fan across her face. “Who am I kidding? There’s no Smith and Marlowe.” A sob bubbles up.

  “How does he even know about us? Did one of the guys say something?” For a second, I think of Sam and Karen. I never asked Sam to be quiet, but maybe something came up inadvertently? I’m sure it didn’t take rocket science for Sam to put two and two together. Hell, if Creswell and David thought we had chemistry, maybe it’s not that hard for anyone to tell.

  “He asked Friday night, and I told him,” she says, her chin up high. “He saw us at your garage. He watched all the web promos. You don’t exactly look at me the way you look at Sam or Mike, and I don’t exactly look at you like you’re Mark from my shop or one of the guys. I didn’t want to lie, and I also knew what was happening between you and me was real, and it was going to come out one way or another. So I told him.”

  I’m torn inside between the utter awesomeness of her faith in the two of us and my frustration for her and her deal falling to pieces. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.” I feel like I’m failing, just fucking failing at saying the right thing to her. This is all new to me. Relationships. Managing a woman’s emotions.

  “I wanted this so badly. I’ve been working so hard to make this happen,” she says, her voice wobbly as the Grand Central clock ticks toward one in the afternoon.

  “I know, tiger. I know you have. But fuck him. He’s a dick.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. This was my job. I came back to New York for this. We talked for months about me becoming his partner. The deal was I’d be his lead builder, and if it worked out, I’d buy in as a partner and he’d cut back his own hours and let me do more. Now that’s gone,” she says, slashing a hand through the air, as if she’s swiping the dishes off a table. “It’s just gone. And just like there’s no Smith and Marlowe, I don’t even know if there’s a Marlowe. I don’t even know if I still have a job.”

  That’s when the waterworks unleash. Tears leak from her eyes and spill down her cheeks. As I tug her in close, shielding and protecting her, those tears dampen my shirt.

  I stroke her hair, trying to comfort her. In the span of twenty-five minutes, I’ve gone from shock that she was partnering up with my biggest rival, to accepting that we’d work through it all, to reassuring her that somehow she’s going to be okay even though the rug has been cruelly yanked from under her.

  I’ve got to figure this out for her. “Henley, let me help you.”

  She pushes her hands against my chest and raises her face. Her eyes are nearly black. They’re hard, like she’s wearing armor. “And you,” she hisses. “You don’t even believe in me. You always underestimated me. You thought I couldn’t even get the work with Creswell unless I fucking snooped on you.”

  I recoil, not so much from the accusation, but the swear. She’s serious. Holy shit. She’s serious.

  “That’s not true,” I say, but I sound as if I’m backpedaling.

  “It is.” Her voice splinters again, and another round of tears fall. “And you lied to me.”

  “Henley, stop. I’m trying to help.”

  “I was under NDA,” she says, stabbing her chest. “And I still told you because I wanted to be honest with you. And you—you were just trying to protect a deal. You could have said ‘Just discussing some business with him’ and left it at that the two times I asked about what Creswell was talking to you about. But both times, you said your conversations were about something else. How does that make me feel?”

  I heave a sigh and try to right this ship that I’ve sunk through my own jealousy. “Terrible?” I offer.

  “It makes me feel like you don’t trust me. But I trusted you, Max. I wanted to come to you. I wanted to ask your advice on this deal because I knew on Friday night it was starting to unravel. When I met with him after the dance class, I could tell John was getting cold feet.” Her pitch rises, and her eyes are like pistols, aimed at me. “I had to fight a battle with myself to honor my commitment to confidentiality, but all I wanted was to come to you. I’ve always admired you, always wanted your insight, and you—you couldn’t even give me the truth. And now what do I have?”

  “Henley,” I say, imploring. “Let’s work this out.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait,” I say, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t go. Let’s talk.”

  She shakes her head. “I need to try to figure out what I’m doing with my life at this point. But before I can do that, I’m literally going to spend the afternoon crying, and I’d rather you not see it.” She raises her chin, that defiant, proud chin, and then she turns on her heel and leaves the train station.

  47

  As I pace around my garage, talking on the phone to a guy named Leon who runs the best auto repair shop in the tri-state area, I know Blue Betty is in good hands.

  “It’ll take me some time, but I can absolutely fix this baby for you,” Leon says in his gruff, no-nonsense tone as he details the bodywork that needs to be done. “That must have been a hell of a tree.”

  “Stubborn motherfucker, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, if you’d hit the deer, the car would be worse, probably.”

  “The deer probably would be, too,” I say, deadpan.

  Leon laughs lightly. “True, that.”

  I hang up the phone, check my messages, and then I kick the wall.

  Slamming the toe of my work boot against the concrete of my shop doesn’t magically deliver a message from Henley to my phone. Nor does it get her to pick up when I call. Every time I try her, it goes straight to voicemail. I’m not sure if she’s ignoring me or if her phone is off.

  I’m not sure of anything, especially what to do or say to help her.

  This isn’t the engine in a Challenger. This isn’t a set of spanking new features on a Lamborghini. And this sure isn’t
Livvy’s old Rolls restored to tip-top condition.

  Hell, this is more like my Triumph, bent so far out of shape that even I had to send it to an expert. I know how to fix cars, but that sort of repair job is for someone who specializes in mangled beasts. I build and refine. I don’t pull snarled cars off the side of the road and untangle their broken parts from their whole ones.

  I pace around the garage as night falls, wishing I had another vehicle to work on, something to shape from the ground up. Something I know how to do. I don’t know how to make things right with Henley.

  I putter around the shelves with my tools for another hour, cleaning and polishing and generally making sure everything is spit-shined. But when I’m done, and she’s still not answering, it’s time for me to get serious.

  I lean on the hood of a car and dial my sister’s number.

  “Hey, you,” she says on the first ring as the honking of a horn sounds close to the phone. “I’m almost late to a business dinner. I need to be there in one minute.”

  I curse under my breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I square my shoulders. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Max,” she says, chiding. “Is it Henley? Did you tell her how you felt?”

  “That’s not entirely the problem.”

  “Then what is entirely the problem? Give it to me in twenty seconds.”

  “She lost a huge business deal because of me. Because of us. She’s not talking to me right now.”

  “But she’s in love with you, too?”

  “What? I didn’t tell her I was in love with her.”

  Mia sighs then laughs. “Seriously. It’s like you never learn. Now listen, I need to go, but I’m going to tell you what to do, and if you don’t follow my instructions, I will beat you up with my furious fists and powerful muscles, like I did when were kids.”