by Abby Gaines
He’d phoned her a few days after she left Las Vegas to see how she was doing. He’d sounded so aloof that Brianna had ended the call as fast as she could. Maybe that was a mistake. Because now, she had days when she wanted to jump on the next plane and tell him…what? That she was over him, that leaving was the smartest decision she’d ever made? Or that she missed him, that she couldn’t forget him.
She preferred the days when all she felt at the thought of Chad was numbness, when she could almost ignore the nagging sense that they’d left things unfinished. On those days, she never wanted to see him again—the spirit in which she’d forged her New Year’s resolution.
Which she’d just broken. Pathetic, she scolded herself as she climbed the steps to the porch. She hugged Margaret. “Happy New Year to you, too.”
“Your father’s in his office,” the older woman said. “Go on through—I’ll bring you a shake. Strawberry?”
“Better make it tea,” Brianna said with regret. Her father considered milk shakes childish. She remembered Chad teasing her about her fondness for them, but in a nice way. Once, she’d offered to share her shake with him, and they’d made it a race to finish, seeing who could slurp the loudest. Chad had managed an impressive volume, but Brianna was the expert.
As she walked down the wide hallway, she straightened her slim, chocolate-brown wool skirt, the waistband of which had become twisted during the ten-hour drive from Miami. Although the central heating kept the house warm, she buttoned her suit jacket.
She didn’t normally dress this conservatively…but she would have no chance of making peace with her father once he started criticizing her appearance, along with goodness knew what else.
He might have mellowed since the news. Outside the study she tucked her hair behind her ears, then rapped once, sharply, on the paneled oak door before she turned the handle.
Her father looked up as she entered. His face broke into one of his rare smiles, filling her with hope.
“Dad, it’s great to see you.” She moved swiftly across the room to hug and kiss him as he rose from his seat.
He returned the embrace with his usual perfunctory peck on the cheek, then ran an assessing gaze over her. “You look good, Brianna.” A hint of surprise in his voice.
She’d passed the first test. Brianna felt her smile widen. For once in her life, she was going to play everything her father’s way.
She sat down in the wing chair Brian indicated. He sank back into his leather swivel chair a little more heavily than usual.
“I didn’t expect you until well after New Year’s,” he said. In the past, she’d been reluctant to respond to his summonses. It usually took a couple of weeks to pull herself into a state that wouldn’t attract his censure. “If I’d known all I had to do to get you to come home was get cancer, I’d have done it years ago.” He laughed at his black humor.
“Dad…please.” Just like that, she lost the battle to be as strong as he was, the only kind of strength he would respect. She laced her fingers in her lap so she wouldn’t fidget. “I’m worried about you.”
He frowned. “If you’re here because you think I don’t have much time left, you shouldn’t have bothered. Plenty of life in me yet.”
Three months, max, according to the doctor, to whom Brian had grudgingly given permission to talk to Brianna. The medic had insisted someone be informed, in case Brian became too ill to make decisions on his treatment.
“You look well,” Brianna admitted.
That made her father smile, but it faded as he ran a hand over his hair. “I won’t have this much longer. I start chemo next week.”
She heard the pang of loss in his voice. Her dad’s hair had turned silver a decade ago, but he’d always been proud of his thick locks.
“Whatever support you need, Dad, I’ll give it. My contract in Miami is up, so I’m a free agent.” She’d actually pulled out of the contract a month early so she could come here. But her father wouldn’t approve of that.
“Why didn’t they renew? Didn’t that football sponsorship deliver the returns you predicted? I told you it was risky.”
Brian couldn’t help himself—nosing out failure came as naturally to him as breathing.
“If you must know, the sponsorship exceeded expectations.” Brianna heard herself getting defensive and pulled back. “Peppers—” the hotel chain she worked for “—planned to renew my contract, but I wanted to be with you.”
“Because you think I’m dying?” he said, appalled. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need someone holding my hand.”
He didn’t need anyone, least of all his daughter.
“It’s taken me forty years to build this business to what it is today,” he said. “Forty years of damned hard work that I’m not about to give up on because a bunch of medical tests say I’m sick. Whatever those doctors think, I’m not ready to go.”
Typical of her father to believe his iron will could hold back disease. The doctor had been clear that the chemotherapy was palliative, to reduce the symptoms. Her father’s pancreatic cancer was too far advanced to hope for a remission.
Margaret came in with the tea; Brian gave Brianna a nod that approved her choice of beverage.
When his longtime housekeeper left, he said, “I’d hoped you were coming back because you’re ready to take an interest in the business that’s made this family great.” Brian was the majority shareholder, but several Hudson cousins also had a stake in the company, and family members held some of the top jobs.
“I am interested in it, Dad.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you grew out of this childish rebellion?”
Brianna’s refusal to work at Getaway wasn’t so much a rebellion as avoidance. As a child, she found that her attempts to engage her dad had at best failed, at worst irritated him. When she left for college she’d decided that, rather than continue trying to connect with him, she’d keep contact to a minimum so she wouldn’t jeopardize what little affection he had for her.
“I don’t want us to argue,” she said. Not when this was her last chance to make that connection.
“Good, because I have just the job for you.”
“Dad, I didn’t come for a job.” Her father was the opposite of Chad; he liked to hire family. Unlike Chad, he wasn’t fazed by the emotional ramifications—he simply ignored them.
“You came because you don’t want any regrets when I die.” Her father’s shrewd mind missed nothing.
“Yes,” she said.
He drew his chin back in surprise at her directness, but recovered quickly. “A couple of weeks ago, before the doctors got this bee in their bonnet, I kicked off a special project, something I wanted to handle myself. Now it seems the chemo might slow me down.”
It might.
“The project can’t wait,” her father continued. “I want you working on it for the next few weeks.”
Don’t argue, she reminded herself. She could figure out a way to refuse politely. “What is it?”
“You remember last October I told you I wanted to sponsor a NASCAR team?”
As always, Brianna didn’t like talking about NASCAR. Unfortunately her father’s interest in the sport had grown over the past year from watching the occasional race to serious fandom, so the topic came up more often than she liked. “I remember.”
“I’ve decided to go ahead,” her father said. “It’s in the budget for this year. All I need to do—all you need to do—is choose the right driver to spend the money on.”
“I’m not a NASCAR expert,” Brianna said hedging.
“You’re a sponsorship expert, or so you claim, and you knew enough about NASCAR last time we talked.” They’d spoken soon after the final race in last year’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series at Miami. Unlike her father, Brianna hadn’t gone to the race, though she lived just a few miles from the track and had been offered corporate hospitality. She couldn’t risk running into Chad. She’d watched it on TV and met up with her dad afterward.
&n
bsp; Her father closed his eyes and let out a slow, careful breath that suggested he was in pain.
“Can I get you something?” Brianna half rose.
His eyes snapped open. “You can get me a NASCAR deal. I’ve made some initial contacts, I need you to assess the opportunity and report back with a recommendation on sponsorship.”
Brianna gripped the arms of her chair as she sat back down. “Dad, you’re sick. This can’t be a priority.”
“I’m having treatment, which I expect to be successful,” he said. “The NASCAR season starts next month. I don’t want to miss out because of a glitch in my health. I want this set up in time for the race at Daytona.” He glanced at the calendar on his desk planner. “That gives you around six weeks.”
He sounded so confident of his recovery, she could almost believe him. Brianna rubbed her eyes, the long drive from Miami catching up with her. If there was even the remotest chance that her father could beat the cancer, having the immediate goal of sponsoring a NASCAR driver might help him.
But what if there was no chance?
He wouldn’t admit that, and he would fret about the lost opportunity, which couldn’t be good for his health. She could spend six weeks on the project, then still have a few weeks with her father.
No, no, no. I don’t want to get involved in NASCAR.
But this wasn’t just about her. “What team are you looking at?” She held her breath.
“FastMax. Driver named Garrett Clark. He seems to be the next big thing.”
She exhaled. If the work had to be done before the season started, she probably wouldn’t even run into Chad. “What would the assessment involve?”
Her father talked through what he had in mind, and it sounded well within her capabilities. Which was important, because if she committed to the project, she couldn’t risk failing.
“I’ll expect progress reports,” Brian said. “But day-to-day you’ll have sole responsibility.”
Despite herself, Brianna was flattered. Her father’s previous offers of work would have put her under his close scrutiny or that of one of his trusted senior managers. This project offered a level of independence.
“What you’ve described won’t take six weeks,” she said. “Two, maybe three at the most.”
“You forget,” Brian said dryly, “I always do business using the contention system.”
Her dad believed people tried harder if they had to fight for what they wanted. He’d never handed anyone anything, and he wasn’t about to start with FastMax Racing.
“You need to evaluate an alternative team, too,” her father said. “I like FastMax, but at this stage the field’s wide open. Either of the prospective drivers could win our sponsorship.”
“Is the other team Cargill Racing?” she guessed. Her father admired Cargill’s new driver, Kent Grosso.
He shook his head regretfully. “Grosso’s all sewn up. I want you to take a look at Zack Matheson.”
Her heart stopped beating; the plaid pattern of the carpet blurred beneath her feet. “Matheson?”
Her dad frowned. “You know the team—it was you who got me interested in them.” She remembered talking with her father about Matheson Racing last year, in an attempt to find some common ground. She’d had no idea it had worked. “I’ve been following their progress since then,” Brian said. “You were right, Trent Matheson is a great driver. His brother Zack is back on the team this year—he’s likely to be hot stuff, and he doesn’t have a sponsor.”
She knew that; she’d been following the team’s fortunes ever since Las Vegas.
“Chad Matheson, the team owner, seems a competent man.” High praise from her father. “The media call him the Boss. He’s earned a lot of respect.”
She knew that, too—but unlike her father, she didn’t consider the nickname something to be admired.
It would be impossible for her to evaluate Matheson Racing!
“Dad, I’m honored to be asked—” she began.
“That’s quitting talk,” her father said sharply. “The next word out of your mouth will be but.”
“However…” she said carefully.
He wasn’t buying it; he slammed his hand down on his desk with a force that suggested he was fighting fit. “Don’t give me however. If you believe those doctors, this will be the last thing I ever ask of you.”
She shot out of her seat. “That’s blackmail.”
He waved her back down. “Do you have a good reason for refusing this project?”
Not one she could tell him.
“Zack Matheson is testing this weekend at Halesboro,” he said. “I told them I’d go up there, but I canceled. You can go in my place.” He tipped his head back against his chair, and regarded her through half-closed eyes. “Do this job for me, Brianna,” he ordered. Then, “Please.”
There were so many things wrong with the scheme she didn’t know where to start. No matter what her disobedient instincts sometimes told her, she didn’t want to see Chad. She didn’t want to leave Atlanta while her dad was sick.
And she didn’t want to mess with her successful strategy of not exposing herself to her father’s criticism. Things might not have got any better between them over the years, but at least they hadn’t got worse.
But she was here to make a last-ditch effort to secure his love. And he’d asked for her help. Contrary to her earlier thoughts, he did need her, in his own way.
She swallowed to moisten her dry throat. “I’ll do it.”
Because in the big picture, her reluctance to confront Chad meant nothing.
Her father was dying, but her marriage was dead.
“YOU KNOW WHO she is, right?”
Chad’s head snapped around at the question so fast he almost collided with the shelf that hung at eye level in the lounge of the No. 429 car’s hauler. His youngest brother, Trent, continued autographing the stack of photos he’d brought with him to the track at Halesboro. He didn’t look as if he suspected anything.
Chad glanced back at his computer screen, at the lap times Trent and Zack had recorded during this morning’s testing. As soon as the lunch break was over, they’d head out of the hauler and both NASCAR Sprint Cup Series drivers would be put through their paces again. Chad forced unconcern into his voice. “You mean Brianna Hudson?”
Trent put down his pen, shook his wrist to loosen it up. “She’s Brian Hudson’s daughter.”
Relief had Chad chuckling, though humor was the furthest thing from his mind. “With a name like that, who’d have guessed?”
Chad hadn’t.
Trent rolled his eyes. “I’m saying, wise guy, that her dad can afford to sponsor ten NASCAR Sprint Cup cars. If we impress this woman, it could solve our sponsorship problems for life.” He resumed autographing. “Though, really, I guess it’s you who has to impress her.”
Maybe Trent was toying with him, after all. “How do you figure that?” Chad asked.
Trent shrugged. “Zack’s an unknown quantity—his track record is too out-of-date to tell a sponsor much. Brianna Hudson will have to buy into you as team owner and manager, into your confidence in Zack and your ability to manage his comeback.” Trent grinned. “But, hey, no pressure.”
When Brian Hudson had called a couple of weeks ago, Chad’s first thought was that something had happened to Brianna. He’d clutched the phone convulsively to his ear—but of course Hudson wouldn’t have called him about that. Then he’d wondered if the man had discovered what happened in LasVegas and was calling to tear a strip off him. The news that Getaway Resorts might sponsor Zack had been both a relief and an anticlimax.
Chad had considered turning Hudson down on the grounds he was already in discussions with two other potential sponsors.
But that would be stupid, with the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series season looming and nothing signed with either of the other companies.
So he’d expunged Brianna from his mind—it was never easy—and given Brian’s overture a guarded welcome. They’d agre
ed Hudson would come to Halesboro. A week ago, his secretary had canceled the visit without giving a reason.
Yesterday morning, she’d called to say Getaway Resorts’ new NASCAR sponsorship manager, Brianna Hudson, would attend the practice.
Chad glanced at his watch for the thousandth time. She should be here by now. He didn’t like to think of her driving in the bad weather that had hit Atlanta over New Year’s.
“Maybe she’s had an accident.” The thought chilled him to the bone.
“Maybe she’s one of those women who are always late,” Trent said prosaically.
Chad realized he had no idea if that was the case. Maybe Brianna simply had cold feet. He hoped so. Hoped her feet were so cold she’d send someone else in her place.
Was it her idea to take on the job of evaluating Matheson Racing? She’d told Chad she couldn’t work for her dad, but he’d never got to the bottom of that.
Chad’s gut told him she’d be as unhappy with this situation as he was. So there was only one way to handle it. Separate the business from the personal.
To do that, he’d have to stop remembering how she’d looked asleep in his arms.
He cursed, tried to focus on the numbers on his computer screen.
“Kelly showed me a photo of her in a magazine, at some society party in Miami,” Trent said. “She’s quite a looker.”
“If you flirt with her, you’ll be spitting teeth out the other side of your head,” Chad said. He’d intended a mock threat, but the words came out with unexpected violence.
Trent held up a hand. “Whoa, I’m an engaged man. Why would I flirt with anyone, let alone a sponsor, when I have Kelly?”
Chad snorted. Trent might not flirt exactly, but engaged or not, he couldn’t not charm women, any more than he could not breathe. Wasn’t that one of the reasons Chad hadn’t told Brianna who his brother was when they first met? He hadn’t wanted her asking for an introduction to Trent, falling for Trent…