“That’s better.” He held the frames above her head. “God, why do you hide your eyes? They’re your best feature.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, trying to snatch them away again.
“Take your hair down.”
“Ex-cuse me?” she said again.
He almost laughed. He’d never in his life done something so impulsive before, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. She was like a butterfly in a jar. He wanted to shake her up a bit just to see if she’d fly.
“Never mind.” He had to work even harder not to laugh. “You don’t have to do that, but I do have a proposition for you, Ms. Callie Monroe.”
She finally stopped making a grab for her glasses.
“What if I tell you I’ll go to your orientation in the Florida Keys, maybe even make a formal commitment to the X-TREME Racing league, if you promise me one thing in return?”
She stared at him guardedly. “What?”
“You,” he pronounced before he could think better of it.
Her hands fell into her lap.
Holy crap, what was wrong with him? He’d never had to bribe someone into seeing him before, and yet he found himself saying, “I want you to have dinner with me. In the Keys.”
“Mr. Derringer—”
“No, no.” He stood up. “It’s Derrick, and I won’t take no for an answer. Dinner. In the Keys. If you promise me, maybe, just maybe, I’ll show up.” Because if he were honest with himself she owed him some alone time. He wasn’t some backyard driver. She should wine and dine him a little.
Her mouth dropped open.
He turned away.
“No, wait.”
He spun back to face her, having to bite back a victorious smile when he spotted the look on her face.
“Just dinner?” she asked, her voice full of caution.
“Yeah. We’ll talk more about the X-TREME Racing League while we eat.”
That seemed to reassure her a bit. “Fine.”
For a second or two he considered himself a jerk for forcing her hand, but only for a moment. It was plum crazy how badly he’d wanted her to say yes.
“Terrific.” He turned away before he could do something foolish—like tell her how much he was looking forward to seeing her again.
Chapter Three
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Callie glanced up at her boss, tempted to tell her she felt the same way.
Dinner.
Would it be tonight?
She’d lost more sleep than she cared to admit over the question. At least half a dozen times she’d thought about picking up the phone and calling Derrick, but she didn’t have his contact information and she doubted he’d get the message if she simply left one at his shop. He probably had hundreds of women call him each day.
“Are you sure he’s going to be here?” Veronica asked.
“He said he would be,” Callie reiterated.
If I agreed to have dinner with him.
For a second, a brief instant, Callie allowed herself a gleeful smile—hidden from Veronica, of course. He’d asked her out, not Veronica.
Actually, Callie, he blackmailed you.
If she were honest, that secretly flattered her.
“Well, he better show up,” Veronica pouted.
They were behind the curtain of a massive stage that’d been erected in the grand ballroom of the Westford Hotel. Beyond the curtain they could hear a mass of voices, mostly male, although the odd, feminine laughter blended in every once in awhile.
Drivers.
From all walks of life. They’d spent the past three weeks combing the Internet for talent. Along the way they’d learned two things. Drivers responded better to the idea when presented by a man (which proved Callie’s long-held theory all men in motorsports were chauvinist pigs). Secondly, hiring a male representative to speak to prospective drivers had been the smartest move they’d ever made. Of course, it’d been Callie’s idea, although Veronica would undoubtedly say it was her own.
“Have you taken a peek?” Veronica asked, her red hair glistening even in the low lighting. She wore a green shirt and form-fitting pants that managed to make her look sexy and professional at the same time. “Are any of the other drivers out there?”
The others being the stars. That’s how they’d started to refer to drivers such as Derrick Derringer and James Mattos and Rick Johnson, icons of the industry. Headliners who, quite frankly, they desperately needed as a draw for race fans.
“I haven’t looked,” Callie admitted. She’d been afraid. Sure, they had dozens of local nobodies from across the country who’d agreed to come, maybe even a rising star or two, but no real headliners…unless Derrick showed up. That’s what they were hoping. Veronica knew, as Callie knew, and as their new V.P. of Public Relations, Mike Miller knew, they needed big names to attract the crowds. Desperately needed them.
“I’m ready when you’re ready.” Mike gave her a confident smile.
He was a big man. At least six-foot-one. As wide as he was tall. Not fat. Just big. They’d stolen the gray-haired man from the Indy Racing League—at a hefty price—but he’d been worth every penny. Even better, Mike believed in the concept of their racing league.
“Well then.” Mike clapped his big-as-salad-plate hands. “Let’s get the show on the road.” He gave Veronica’s hand a squeeze. Callie was pretty certain Mike had a thing for her boss.
“I’m so excited.” Veronica all but clapped her hands together.
“I can’t wait either,” He gave her a reassuring smile—completely ignoring Callie—and then turned toward the opening in the black curtain.
Applause erupted the moment he took the stage. The majority of people most likely knew who he was, either because Mike had recruited them or because they recognized him thanks to the Indy Racing League. Then again, perhaps they were merely being polite. Callie didn’t know. All she knew was suddenly her heart smashed against the walls of her chest like lifters in an engine head and she began to hyperventilate. This was it. The beginning of something spectacular…she could feel it in her bones. If only Derrick would show up. That would be a double-edged sword because she’d have to go to dinner with him then. Maybe. He might have changed his mind. He might not even come tonight.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mike held up his hands. “That’s enough.” The crowd started hooting and hollering. “I know we’re all excited about this opportunity, but we have a lot of material to go over.”
The crowd settled down. Through the parted curtain, Callie could spot faces in the audience. Just as she suspected. Mostly men. She scooted even closer, gazing around for the one pair of eyes in particular.
He wasn’t there.
Granted, the lighting in the room focused on the stage, making it difficult to identify the features of the audience, but she was pretty certain he wasn’t—
The door at the far end of the room jerked open.
Callie started. People turned, curious about who the latecomer was.
And there he was.
The crowd, which had been slowly quieting suddenly went absolutely silent. Then a murmur broke out, people swiveled forward, heads leaned close together, more than one pair of eyes glancing back to catch a second glimpse of the five-time, year-end champion. The man most of them hoped to be one day. The man everyone in the room knew.
“He’s here,” Veronica squealed.
“So he is,” Callie murmured back. Did that mean dinner?
“Welcome, Derrick,” Mike’s voice boomed over the PA. “Take a seat.”
The driver merely sidled to the left and leaned against the back wall, barely acknowledging anyone’s presence.
“Get out there and offer him a chair,” Veronica ordered.
“Excuse me?”
“Get him a seat,” Veronica repeated, her Army green eyes militant. “And something to drink maybe. Go. Make him feel welcome.”
It was on the tip of Callie’s tongue to tell Veronica to do
it herself. Honestly, her attitude had started to chafe. Callie might have been given a grandiose title—Vice President of Development—but it didn’t mean much based on the way Veronica treated her.
“Sure.” Callie slipped out from behind the stage. Dozens of people followed her progress. They were probably wondering who the schmo was in the black business suit and sensible black heels.
Just the moron who let Veronica Adams steal her idea and then claim it as her own.
And who had agreed to have dinner with one of racing’s biggest stars.
And who couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
She slowed down as she approached. Really, she didn’t have a choice because just walking up to him took a lot of courage on her part. He was so…so…damn male. That was the only way to describe him, and it intimidated the hell out of her. She’d never seen a man with a more potent mix of good looks and testosterone in her life. He knew it, but she honestly didn’t think his cockiness came from being good-looking. No. It came from being one of the best drivers in the world.
That man wanted to have dinner with her.
Settle down, Callie. For him, it’s just business.
He turned to look at her as she approached, one side of his mouth lifting. “Hey.” He nodded, stubble turning his chin dark.
Okay, this was really ridiculous, she told herself. She was a grown woman. One who should be well beyond reacting like a shy teenager when faced with a virile male.
“Hey,” she yelled.
Do you still want to have dinner with me?
She didn’t ask the question that had been hovering on the tip of her tongue for weeks. If he’d changed his mind, he’d changed his mind. She should be grateful he’d shown up anyway.
Up on stage, Mike began his presentation. Callie thought about offering Derrick a chair as Veronica had instructed, but she had a feeling he’d just decline. He liked leaning against the wall, like a man surveying his kingdom. Behind Mike a screen began to flash their newly designed logo, which was nothing more than a triangular white-and-red caution sign with a giant X in the middle. Along the bottom was a red border, and, in white letters, they’d spelled X-TREME RACING. It was eye-catching, Callie had to admit, and it’d cost Veronica a fortune to have designed, no matter the simplicity. That was just it. This whole thing was going to cost a fortune to get off the ground…still. She needed Veronica like a cancer patient needed chemo—it was painful and awful and horrible to deal with, but in the end, it was worth it…or so she hoped.
“Doesn’t it bug you?” he asked.
Callie started. “What?” She steeled herself against looking up at him. He had tawny eyes. Now that he didn’t wear sunglasses, she could study their spectacular color. Those eyes were more gold than brown, like a peregrine falcon.
“Doesn’t what bug me?”
“This whole thing being pawned off as Veronica’s idea.”
She jerked away from the wall. How…? Where…?
“People know,” he said, seeming to read her mind. “Word’s gotten around.”
“People know what?” She couldn’t believe he’d heard the truth from someone.
He shrugged. “The X-TREME Racing League was your idea, an idea Veronica Adams is pawning off as her own. Not that it makes any difference whose idea it was. It’s brilliant.”
Callie faced the stage again, feeling ridiculously giddy all of sudden.
He knew.
And he thought the idea was brilliant.
“Incidentally,” he said as Mike started showing pictures of the ten different tracks where they’d be racing next year, “why didn’t you tell me you had a degree in mechanical engineering? And that, once upon a time, you applied for a job with us?”
Us being Pendragon Racing.
She shrugged. “What use is a degree when nobody hires you?”
She kept her gaze on the projected images. One race a month, it was all they’d be doing the first year, each track in a different part of the county. They’d kick off in Monterey, California and end in the heart of stock car country—Virginia.
“I would have hired you.”
Callie suspected her cheeks became as bright as airport beacons. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously.” He leaned toward her. “I would have.”
“Forgive me if I have my doubts you would have been allowed to hire me,” she said, amazed at how easy it was to converse with him given her attraction. “That’s one of the reasons why I came up with this idea. No sexism.”
“No sex?” he asked, brows arched teasingly.
“Ism,” she added. “I said sex-ism.”
“And I said sex.”
Oh good lord. He was flirting with her.
Callie almost placed a hand against the wall in an effort to support her suddenly weak knees.
Did that mean…? Was he…?
“Mr. Derringer.” She strived for a professional tone. “There’s a lot of information we didn’t go over in California. I encourage you to watch our presentation; you’ll learn a lot.”
“I’d rather watch you.” He turned to face her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. She just couldn’t believe—she found it wildly impossible—that Derrick Derringer stared down at her with a look of interest in his eyes.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked.
A million times over the previous weeks she’d thought she’d imagined his interest in her. It struck her then that she hadn’t imagined it. She could see that now.
“You’re going to get me in trouble.” Bottom line, she worked for Veronica. As much as it chaffed, as much as she hated to admit it, she had a job to do, which meant steering clear of Derrick Derringer. Somehow.
“Callie,” he whispered softly. “Trouble is my middle name.”
“Yeah,” she squeaked, “I’ve heard.”
“What else have you heard?” he asked.
She was having a hard time breathing. He smelled…he smelled like…well, he smelled nice.
She pressed her hands against the wall after all. “That you love seducing women.” She tried not to stutter. “That you like to date one woman one night and then another woman the next. That you sometimes keep more than one motorcoach so the other woman is none the wiser. So if you were serious about having dinner, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass.”
“Who told you that?” One side of his mouth lifted in an Elvis-like manner.
“I read it online.” He didn’t answer her about dinner. Damn it. He didn’t answer.
He leaned closer. “Don’t believe everything you read.”
“Oh, I don’t. But even if half the stuff I’ve read is true, I would be a wise woman to steer clear of you.”
“But you won’t do that, will you?” The words were uttered softly. She had to strain to hear him over the sound of Mike’s voice. “You promised me dinner, and I mean to collect on that debt.”
Her heart seemed to combust like fuel in a piston chamber. “Oh, yeah?” She lifted her chin, realizing too late it brought their lips painfully, embarrassingly close together.
“Yeah.”
“You can’t force a woman to spend time with you.”
“Yes, I can,” His gaze darted over her face before fixating on her lips again. Her flesh tingled—as if she anticipated his kiss. “You need me, and if you’re not nice to me, I’ll leave.”
“No, you won’t.” He was putting her on. Playing with her for some strange, bizarre reason known only to himself. Maybe even toying with her.
“Watch me.” He stepped away and headed for the door.
“No, wait!” Callie reached for his hand. She caught it, pulled, turned him back to her. “Wait.”
“For what?”
Callie glanced toward the stage. Heads had turned. Mike had paused in the middle of his speech to stare at them. Veronica spotted them too. Even across a darkened room, Callie saw her standing there, near the edge of the black curtain, eyes glittering
.
“Don’t leave.” He was their only headliner. She couldn’t afford to have him walk out. They needed him too badly. Maybe she could humor him for a little bit. Make him think she was all for a little tryst, because there was no way he was getting more than that. Not only would Veronica have a fit, but she didn’t take kindly to be man-handled. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
“A private dinner,” he said. “Just you and me. No inviting Mike to join us. And definitely not that barracuda in heels over there.” He pointed with his chin toward the stage. “All I want is the woman who conceived the idea of the X-TREME Racing League. Alone. In my room. Is that clear?”
She nodded, straightened her shoulders, facing him bravely despite the fact her heart seemed about ready to somersault from her chest.
“Good.” He took her silence for acquiescence.
Only when he turned away did Callie realize she still held his hand. He must have realized it too, because he instantly turned back, glancing down at their entwined fingers as if surprised to see them there.
“Sorry.” She released him.
He stood there for a moment. “I’m not.” Then he looked deep into her in the eyes. “Tonight,” he repeated, stepping away. “Room 1682. Six o’clock.”
Chapter Four
She was scared. And pissed.
A part of Derrick knew he should feel guilty about that, maybe even embarrassed, but damned if he did. For once in his life, he was the one doing the chasing, and to be perfectly honest, it turned him on in a way he hadn’t felt since…well, since before he was Derrick Derringer, racing legend.
He pushed away from the meeting room Veronica-what’s-her-name had reserved for the inaugural X-TREME Racing League meeting, but it was strange. As he walked down a wide hallway and toward a bank of elevators, his feet hardly making a sound thanks to the dark maroon carpet, he found himself wishing he’d stayed around for a bit. He’d been intrigued by what he’d seen so far. Callie’s brainchild actually had him excited.
Was that why he found her attractive? ’Cause, to be honest, she wasn’t his type. Not even close. Despite that, he couldn’t deny she caused his body to get as jacked up as it was when he tested a new car. Edgy, exhilarated.
Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2 Page 3