by Abby Gaines
Brianna clutched at the fleece to stop it from slipping and murmured her thanks. They walked across the track and onto the infield.
But walking seemed a bad idea, too. Because in Las Vegas, they’d walked everywhere hand in hand. Chad had to fight the instinct to grab hold of her.
“Tell me how this assessment will work,” he said brusquely.
“I need to complete my evaluation before Daytona,” she said. The race in February was a huge media opportunity—Getaway would want its name on a car by then. “I’ll need a full briefing about the team’s finances, plus a copy of the latest audited accounts.”
“Tony Winters, our accountant, has all that. He’ll also supply the contract terms we like to use with sponsors.”
“And I’ll supply the terms Getaway likes to use,” she said. The standard terms were merely a place to start negotiating—they both knew that.
The breeze picked up. Chad said, “Maybe you should wear that fleece.”
To his surprise, she did as he suggested. She handed him her folder while she scrambled into the sweater. Chad could only take about two seconds of seeing the lift of her curves, the way her top pulled away from the waistband of her pants, revealing a sliver of midriff, before he had to turn away.
“That’s better.” Brianna smiled slightly. “I’ll also need return on investment reports for previous sponsors—Trent’s sponsors, I guess, since you won’t have anything recent for Zack. And your proposals for how we can get the most out of a sponsorship this season.”
Chad nodded. He prided himself on being measurable and accountable when it came to giving sponsors a return for their money. “These are the easy things,” he said. “What about the intangibles?”
“I’ll be looking at personality, ethos, whether the team and driver are a good fit for Getaway,” she said. “Whether this feels right.”
Trent zoomed past them on the track. Chad watched him take Turn Two with more control than he’d shown earlier.
“Those touchy-feelies, as my dad calls them, aren’t so easy to measure,” he said. He hated that they were so important, but he couldn’t deny that a NASCAR sponsorship was about much more than money. When a team and a sponsor gelled, the results could be spectacular. “Have you done this kind of assessment before?”
“Assessing and managing sponsorships was my responsibility in my last job. I haven’t worked in NASCAR, but I’m a huge fan and I—”
“Since when are you a fan?” he said, surprised.
“I, uh…” She faltered, and her cheeks reddened. She fixed her gaze on Trent’s car, a distant red blur. “My point is, I have a passion for the sport and for finding a sponsorship that will work for Getaway.”
“So you became a fan after we got married?” Maybe not only after they got married, but because they got married? Chad stopped walking, so he could process the information. He imagined Brianna seeing him on TV over the past couple of years, wondered how she’d felt.
“It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been a fan,” she said shortly. “I like to immerse myself in what I do, whether it’s watching NASCAR races or developing sponsorships. I intend to throw myself into this task 24/7.”
It sounded a lot like her views on marriage.
A lot like his views, too. On the team, at least, and on NASCAR. He could respect that kind of dedication.
“You know I’m evaluating FastMax Racing, too?” she asked.
“Yep. Garrett Clark is an exciting driver,” Chad said fairly. “But Matheson Racing has a proven track record of wins in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series and the NASCAR Nationwide Series. My father is widely respected throughout the sport—the Matheson name carries cachet. One of those intangibles you were talking about.”
She nodded.
“So long as we’re being open,” he said, “you should know I’m talking to two other potential sponsors.”
“Country Bread,” she guessed. She or someone at Getaway obviously had an ear to the ground.
“That’s one of them. The other company’s interest is confidential at this stage.” Delacord Theaters certainly seemed serious about a sponsorship. If he could firm up them or Country Bread in the next week, he could tell Getaway thanks, but no thanks, and Brianna could leave.
They’d reached the infield care center, where drivers were treated on race day after a crash. They stopped in the shelter of the concrete block structure. He said carefully, “You mentioned earlier that you didn’t choose to do this project. Will our past history affect your ability to be objective?”
Her eyes sparked. “You mean, you can keep your business and personal lives separate, but you don’t believe I can?”
“Brianna,” he said, “that’s why we split up.”
Damn, what happened to not talking about that?
There was a charged silence. Then she turned away.
“My assessment will be made on a purely professional basis,” she said. “I’m looking for a driver who’ll deliver the media impressions we want, and a team that’s closely aligned with Getaway’s values. Nothing else matters.”
“Loyalty, teamwork, service.” He’d read the values on the company’s Web site; he pounced on the chance to return the conversation to a business footing. “Matheson Racing believes in those things, too.”
He touched her elbow to indicate a change of direction back toward the hauler. They were walking into the wind now; Brianna hunched her shoulders.
“Chad,” she said, “if Getaway were to sponsor Matheson Racing, I’d be looking for better teamwork than I saw today.”
Chad bristled. “NASCAR’s an emotional sport. My brothers yell when things get tense, but they get along just fine.”
“The problem,” Brianna said delicately, “wasn’t your brothers.”
Chad frowned…and then it hit him. “Me? I’m the problem?”
She sidestepped away from him. “To me, control is the opposite of teamwork. What I saw today was a dictatorship, and not a benign one.”
“Teams need leadership,” he said tightly, “and that’s what I give. To survive the long haul in NASCAR, you need discipline. If I don’t clamp down on those guys, they’re out of—” He broke off.
“Control?” she suggested. Her tone said I told you so. She walked on ahead, leaving Chad fuming. Then she turned and said, “If we’re talking about why we split up, maybe it was because I didn’t believe you meant your offer to compromise. What I’ve seen today says I was right to doubt you. Here in your world, it’s your way or no way.”
The blood roared in Chad’s ears. “This teamwork garbage isn’t about how I run Matheson Racing,” he accused her. “It’s about us, our marriage.” He caught up to her. “In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one who said you couldn’t compromise.”
“Not on that one, fundamental issue,” she said. “On anything else…try me.”
He picked up his pace. “I suggest we end this discussion now.”
“Because it’s getting too personal?” she taunted, slightly breathless from hurrying to keep up. “Just like our marriage?”
How had a conversation that had started with audited accounts and contract terms ended up with a dissection of his faults? Would every conversation do the same?
Not if he could help it.
They’d almost reached the pits; Chad could see the hauler beyond. Deliberately he flexed his fingers at his sides, stretched them apart. “Okay, you want to talk? You want closure? We’ll have dinner next Tuesday back in Charlotte.” Too bad if he sounded every inch the tyrant she’d accused him of being. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at seven, and we’ll hash this out so it doesn’t get in the way of our work.”
And if she thought that his deciding when and where they would have dinner was in any way dictatorial, she should never have married him in the first place.
As they climbed over the pit wall, tension, confusion and anger milled inside Chad, obliterating the calm he strove to bring to his job.
This meeti
ng wasn’t professional, it wasn’t strictly business. Everything about Brianna was painfully, perilously personal.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRIANNA CONSIDERED standing Chad up for their dinner on Tuesday night, to show him the error of his high-handed approach. But she’d asked him to talk and finally managed to goad him into it. So if she went to dinner, she might have a hope of doing her job without being assailed by emotions—and an instinctive attraction that was purely the result of a lack of closure.
She applied lipstick in a bolder shade than usual, checking her reflection in the mirror of her suite at the Charlotte Getaway. She looked her best in the slim-fitting, green wool dress, and her best was pretty good. So why did her hand tremble so much that she had to wipe off the lipstick and start over?
She and Chad had been together as husband and wife for a whole sixteen hours—it couldn’t be that difficult to hash it out, as Chad put it.
The room phone rang—it was reception, telling her Chad was waiting.
“I’ll come down.” She didn’t want him in a hotel room with her. That would bring back way too many memories.
Downstairs she saw Chad before he saw her. He wore a sports jacket, dark gray, with a black polo shirt and black pants. His brows were drawn together in a frown; he looked about as communicative as a concrete wall.
Then he said mildly, “You look nice. Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to eat?”
Brianna burst out laughing and felt an immediate lifting of the strain that had dogged her preparations for tonight.
“What?” he demanded, those brows knitting more tightly.
“You can’t tell me you haven’t already made a reservation,” she said. “Admit it—it just occurred to you that you could score a point by asking me where I want to eat.”
The severe line of his mouth yielded to a reluctant smile. “It’s hard to get into the best places without a reservation.”
“I don’t mind where we go,” she said, “so why don’t we follow your original plan.”
“You promise you won’t call me a dictator?” he asked as they headed through the automatic doors and out into the cold evening.
He sounded almost as if she’d hurt his feelings—but even the media had nicknamed him the Boss. No way could Brianna’s words have come as a surprise.
“I promise,” she said. And that sounded so weirdly like a marriage vow, even though the words were different, that she shivered.
“Would you like my jacket?” Chad was already shrugging it off.
At her insistence, he kept the jacket on. The valet had his Viper Coupe waiting, so they hit the road.
They drove maybe ten blocks, into the heart of uptown, before Chad began to look for a parking space on the busy streets. Obviously the Boss vibes were in full working order, because the second he murmured, “Here would be good,” a car in front of them vacated its space.
“How did you do that?” She watched the taillights of the receding car. “How did you make that car leave?”
“Mind over matter.” He grinned as he slipped into the almost too-small parking space with ease.
As she unclipped her seat belt, Chad said, “Damn! There’s my dad.”
She glanced around. “Where?”
Before she could figure out which of the male pedestrians on the sidewalk might be Brady Matheson, Chad had pushed her head down below the level of the door.
“What are you doing?” She struggled under his grip.
“I don’t want Dad to see you.” Perhaps aware he was pressing on the sensitive skin at her nape, he loosened his hand.
Her head still on her knees, Brianna said, “This is crazy. I’m going to sit up.”
“Don’t!” Chad said sharply. “Remember, Dad had a heart attack recently.”
She twisted her head to face him. “And seeing me in your car will give him another one?”
“He’s worried about me, and—” Chad broke off. “I haven’t told him Getaway is a sponsor prospect. I don’t want to get his hopes up, then have him upset if it doesn’t work out.”
His words kept Brianna in her place. Was there something wrong with Chad that made his dad worry about him? Or was this just Chad deciding what was best for his father, the way he did for his brothers, the way he’d wanted to do for her?
“Ah, heck,” Chad said, “he’s seen me.” He let go of Brianna, buzzed down his window and called, “Hi, Dad.”
“Son.” Brady Matheson’s voice was gruff, but pleased.
Brianna sat up slowly, certain her face was red from the blood that had rushed to her head. Her hair must be a mess. She ran her fingers through it.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” Chad asked.
“I’m not an invalid.” Brady sounded annoyed now. “I had a drink with a friend. Club soda,” he said in a resigned tone that suggested he was getting the information in before the inevitable question was asked.
Her hair more or less restored, Brianna turned to look at him. The man outside the car was Chad twenty years on. Brady Matheson’s hair was almost entirely gray, and his blue eyes had more laugh lines around them than Chad’s—a lot more—but the resemblance was amazing.
“Who’s this?” Brady asked.
“Dad, meet Brianna Hudson,” Chad said.
“I, uh, dropped my earring.” Brianna fingered the pearl stud in her left ear. “I found it on the floor.”
Brady Matheson was all smiles as he leaned in the window to talk past his son. “Nice to meet you, Brianna. I didn’t know Chad was seeing someone.”
Get yourself out of this one, Chad.
He looked torn, as if he couldn’t decide which was the lesser of two evils—letting his father think they were dating or admitting a working relationship. With a sigh, he said, “Dad, Brianna’s a colleague. She works for Getaway Resorts.”
Brady processed that. “You’re Brian Hudson’s girl?”
She nodded. He sent his son an inquiring glance.
“Getaway is possibly interested in a NASCAR sponsorship,” Chad said. “Brianna and I are having dinner to talk about what that might involve.”
Brady didn’t look as if the news was about to trigger a coronary. His eyes, so like Chad’s, gleamed. “Maybe I should join you. I know more than anyone about what this team can do for a sponsor.”
“It’s just a casual chat,” Chad said firmly. “Besides, don’t you have to meet Julie-Anne?”
Brady had been scowling at Chad’s dismissal, but now his face brightened and he glanced at his watch. “You’re right, I’m late. We’re eating at Chez Pierre. How about you?”
“I have a reservation at BamBam,” Chad said with evident relief.
“Nice to meet you, Brianna.” Brady reached across and shook her hand.
This is my father-in-law. The thought was unexpected—she hadn’t thought of Zack and Trent as her brothers-in-law when she’d met them. Briefly she tightened her grip on his hand. “You, too,” she said.
“If you want a team to sponsor, you can’t do better than Matheson Racing,” Brady said. “There’s not a tighter-run ship in NASCAR. They call Chad ‘the Boss,’ you know.”
The Boss groaned softly, and Brianna almost felt sorry for him. “I’ve heard,” she said.
BamBam, Chad’s chosen restaurant, was very hip, white-on-white decor, with a circular, neon-lit glass bar in the middle of the room. Tables surrounded it like satellites.
Brianna’s seat gave her a view of the entire place, and she smiled her thanks at the maître d’ as he handed her a menu.
“Your dad seems nice,” she said after the man had gone.
“He’s a good guy,” Chad said.
“Who’s Julie-Anne? He looked excited at the thought of seeing her.”
His mouth tightened. “She’s Dad’s secretary—and his fiancée.”
CHAD KEPT his face neutral as he talked about one of his least favorite topics. “They got engaged right after his heart attack.”
“You don’t approve,” Brianna guessed.
“Let’s just say I don’t think it’s a good idea to rush into marriage.”
That probably fell into the category of inflammatory remarks, given their circumstances.
But Brianna didn’t rise to it. “Your parents are divorced, right?”
“That happened years ago,” he said. “Mom married a diplomat who was posted to Eastern Europe back in the Cold War days. She wasn’t able to keep us boys with her.”
Her eyes warmed. “You must have missed her.”
“I was too young to remember her well. Dad married Rosie, his second wife, right after. They got along much better than he and Mom ever did.”
Her answering murmur sounded suspiciously like sympathy, which he didn’t need. Then she dropped her gaze to her menu, giving him a chance to observe her. He hadn’t let himself peruse that figure-hugging green dress earlier.
He kept his inspection to a minimum, just enough to note that she looked great. Because even though tonight was personal, not business, he didn’t want her to stir his interest. He wanted to wave the checkered flag on their marriage once and for all, and if Brianna preferred to use a New Age term like closure for it, then she was welcome.
She closed her menu.
“You’ve chosen already?” he asked. It was a long menu.
“I saw the scallops right at the top.”
Did she always jump into things without weighing all the options?
Chad read the menu thoroughly before settling on the beef daube—if they’d called it a stew they couldn’t have charged such an extravagant price—with candied parsnips. The waiter took their orders, and Chad requested a bottle of cabernet. Brianna liked red wine.
“Let’s talk about your dad, instead of mine,” he said. “How did you end up coming here in his place?”