Start Your Engines

by Jim Cangany

  • • •

  As he gripped the steering wheel so tight his fingers hurt, Brad thought back to the exchange. No regrets. He had no idea how Gabrielle would react to his unannounced arrival in London, but if he didn’t try to talk her out of signing that contract, he’d regret if for the rest of his life.

  He’d been right when he wished her all the luck in the world. He’d been wrong when he told her she was better off without him. In mere months, she’d changed him from a brooding loner into someone who smiled, patted friends on the back, and found joy in the little things in life. If she could do all that in less than a year, the implications of what more she could do for him, and what they could do together, as a team, were staggering.

  As he pulled into his garage, Edward waved at him. “I was just going in for a piece of pie. Join me.”

  The clock was ticking, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn down his dad. A snack wouldn’t hurt, as long as he kept the visit brief. Brad was on his second bite of pie when his phone went off. He checked the text message. It was short and to the point.

  It’s not over.

  He stared at the Rafael’s message so long, his vision blurred. Rays of hope were breaking through the clouds of gloom.

  “Son, are you okay?” Edward’s brows were furrowed.

  “Yeah, but I need to get going.” He got up.

  Brad was at the door when Edward caught him. “Where are you going?”

  “England. It’s like you said, no regrets. Wish me luck.”

  With his father’s well-wishes echoing behind him, Brad sprinted as fast as he could to his apartment. Quicker than a drive around the Crossroads Motor Speedway track, he was back outside with his car keys in one hand and a bag in the other.

  He jammed the accelerator of his Mustang to the floor, flinging gravel everywhere as he tore down the driveway. Under normal circumstances, it took Brad forty minutes to get from his apartment to the airport. Today, it took twenty-five.

  He bumped and weaved his way around travelers who were probably too frightened by his crazy-man demeanor to protest his behavior. It wasn’t until he was in the main concourse that he skidded to a stop.

  He hadn’t booked a flight.

  He needed to get to London, and right now, but from Indianapolis? This wasn’t like the movies, where he could charge up to a ticket agent and demand a flight to England and be on a plane within minutes.

  Thirty agonizing and bank account-draining minutes later, Brad plopped into a chair. He had another hour to wait for a flight to Chicago. After a mercifully short layover, it was destination London.

  He sent off a text to Rafael asking if he knew when Gabrielle was supposed to sign the contract. Rafael’s response made Brad’s heart beat faster. He could make it, but the margin was razor thin. If a flight was delayed or if he got stuck in traffic or lost after he landed, he was toast.

  He laughed at the realization that the timeline didn’t frighten him. It was actually freeing, in a way. Things like flight delays and customs backups were beyond his control, so he’d simply have to go with the flow.

  The fact that he was so willing to roll with the daunting circumstances was a testament to the woman he was hoping to reach. For one thing, if it wasn’t for Gabrielle, he wouldn’t be sitting in an airport watching the clock tick down until he could go to her. If not for Gabrielle’s return to his life, and her willingness to show him a different path in that life, he’d probably be sitting in his apartment working on a sketch.

  It was a pleasant enough scene, but one that lacked direction. It was static. He’d been driving around in circles for the better part of ten years until Gabrielle, his angel from Fort Lauderdale, arrived. From that moment in Barbara’s suite, Gabrielle had been the driver, piloting Brad away from the endless circles and onto a winding road that disappeared under a setting sun almost too far away to see, that promised plenty of thrills along the way.

  Brad wanted, needed, to be in the passenger seat, holding hands with Gabrielle, as she guided them through that thrilling journey.

  When he turned on his phone after landing in Chicago, a voice mail was waiting for him. Bridget wasn’t happy.

  She didn’t even say hi when she picked up his return call. “What the heck is going on? Amy and I come to visit, and Dad says you were having a snack and the next thing you’re running out of the house shouting something about no regrets.”

  Brad shook his head at the absurd scene. “You won’t believe where I am.”

  Bridget kept quiet while Brad told her what he was attempting. “I still have no clue how I’m going to pull this off, but I have to try. I was an idiot for not telling Gabrielle how I really feel. I need to do that now.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Bridget chuckled. “I have to hand it to you, bro. When you and Gabrielle are involved, there’s no shortage of drama.”

  “At least this is good drama, right?” Just then an airline employee announced his flight was boarding. “Time to fly. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “Do you want me to text her?”

  “No. I still might not make it in time, and I don’t want her thinking about me at all if I don’t.”

  • • •

  Gabrielle ran a brush through her hair one final time and checked her watch. The Jensen representatives were due any minute. Despite Rafael’s insistence she spend her free hours shopping for a new outfit, she was in her trusted charcoal business suit and flats.

  Her hosts had been friendly enough during the two conference calls Meg had arranged, but she still hadn’t a clue how they would react to her in real life. Two soft taps on her suite door from Rafael meant it was show time.

  Rafael introduced their hosts, two men and a woman. After a round of handshakes and small talk, the woman, a short brunette named Lizzy, gestured toward the door.

  On their way to the car, Lizzy handed a two-inch binder to Gabrielle. “We’re absolutely thrilled to have you here. Inside you’ll find information for everything you’ll need during your visit, including a schedule for today and tomorrow. I’ll be your liaison, so all of my contact information is on the top page.” She leaned in close. “I rather despise the term liaison. I prefer tour guide, but the powers that be want to impress you with fancy lingo.”

  Gabrielle smiled. She liked Lizzy and appreciated that Jensen had at least one woman working in their operation. Her anxiety melted away on the ride down the elevator as Lizzy talked about London and Premier League football. The woman didn’t utter a single word about racing. If it was designed to put Gabrielle at ease, it worked.

  As their driver assisted her into the car for their trip to the Jensen headquarters, a sense of confidence took root in her heart. Yes, I can do this. The thought was immediately followed by one that shook that confidence.

  But what if I don’t want to?

  “If you’ll open your binder, I’d like to review the schedule with you.” Seated next to Gabrielle, Lizzy already had her binder open. It was filled with multi-colored highlighter markings and too many Post-It Notes to count.

  Gabrielle opened the binder and stared at a photograph in which an image of her was Photoshopped next to a Jensen A-1 race car. Both the racing suit and car bore the famous green and silver Jensen color scheme. They’d even managed to inscribe her name on the suit.

  “Wow, you guys think of everything.”

  “Mr. Jensen hoped you’d like that. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  It took all of two seconds for Gabrielle’s mouth to go dry. Sir Kenneth Jensen was a legendary figure in motorsports. After winning three A-1 championships as a driver in the early seventies, he’d spent the last four decades as a team owner. Away from the racetrack, his business empire touched every continent, except for Antarctica. If that wasn’t enough, his circle of friends included Paul McCartney and Patrick Stewart. He was also a knight, having been appointed to the Order of the British Empire in 2001.

  The man sitting
across from her in the limousine raised a glass of sparkling water. “Rumor has it the old man is planning on breaking out his OBE medal to impress our young guest.”

  Lizzy laughed. “Stop it, Charles. We should maintain a sense of decorum.”

  “At least until the ink is dry on the contract, yes?” He winked at Gabrielle. “The drive will be another three quarters of an hour. Fancy a drink? I’m afraid all we have is boring, nonalcoholic fare.”

  “Good Lord, you’re utterly hopeless.” Lizzy popped him on the knee with her binder. “Behave or you’ll leave me no choice but to subject you to discipline.”

  “Well, if the discipline involves black leather, I’m afraid good behavior is out of the question.”

  Gabrielle burst out laughing. “Are you dating or something? Because you sure act like it.”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “She wishes she were so lucky.”

  “Please ignore him for the rest of . . . well, forever.” Lizzy put her hand up like a stop sign. “We’ve worked together for fifteen years. Let’s just say I’ve grown accustomed to Charles’s quirks.”

  “And I’ve grown accustomed to bearing the cross that is serving as Lizzy’s assistant.” He sat back and took a drink of his water, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he did so.

  Gabrielle wasn’t certain what she’d expected of her first in-person contact with Jensen Motorsport, but this wasn’t it. She’d been prepared for the cool efficiency that symbolized A-1 racing, not the joking and sexual innuendo that symbolized a late-night sitcom. Lizzy and Charles were much more irreverent, and entertaining, than she would have ever imagined.

  During the rest of the drive, the trio went over Gabrielle’s schedule for day one of her visit. First there was a meet-and-greet with the Jensen racing staff. She had to take a drink of water when Lizzy told her in an offhand matter there would be over a hundred people in attendance.

  After the meet-and-greet, there was a tour of the facility, followed by interviews with the other drivers on the team, the team director, and Mr. Jensen himself. The day was scheduled to wrap up with a dinner overlooking the team’s test track.

  “Don’t let the interviews concern you. Mr. Jensen considers them a mere formality. You’re our girl. He just thinks it’s a good idea to chat face to face before we ask you to sign on the dotted line,” Lizzie said.

  “In blood.” Charles covered his mouth. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

  They had another good laugh, and the conversation changed to the differences between living in England versus the United States.

  When they passed through the security gate, Gabrielle asked a question that had been bothering her for days now. “What if Mr. Jensen doesn’t like me?” She’d chatted with a number of officials and team members during her previous Skype sessions, but never with the big man.

  Lizzy glanced from Gabrielle to Charles while she bit her upper lip. After a moment, she let out a long breath. “Between us, you have a better chance of being eaten by a shark while you’re here. Mr. Jensen has had his eye on you for years. He’s thorough and methodical. Basically, if there were any concern about that, you wouldn’t be here.”

  They came to a stop in front of a gleaming, polished steel and glass building. Gabrielle stepped from the car and was awestruck. The name of every Jensen driver, along with the years he drove for the organization, was etched in the glass to the right of the main entrance.

  “Wow.” She used her hand to shade her eyes as she observed the stunning three-story structure. The familiar high-pitched song of a racing motor floated across the carpet-like green lawn, causing goose bumps to break out along her skin. “Am I in heaven?”

  “No, and it’s not Kansas, either.” Charles opened the front door. “Welcome to Oz.” With a smirk, he bowed and gestured for her to enter.

  Hours later, an exhausted, but equally exhilarated, Gabrielle dropped into a chair in her suite. A dull ache had taken up residence at the base of her skull, but she didn’t mind. The information overload headache would dissipate soon enough. The excitement from the day would last a lifetime.

  “How was it?” Rafael handed her a glass of water and ibuprofen. “I got to tour Stamford Bridge, and they even let me walk out onto the pitch, thanks to your hosts. Can you beat that?”

  “I don’t know.” She told him everything, from the entertaining drive to the tour of the massive facility to the interview with Mr. Jensen to the trackside dinner. “They had a four-piece jazz band, and the wineglasses were real crystal, and the fish was unbelievable, and, I almost forgot.” She showed off the photo of her in the Jensen colors. “Check this out.”

  “That’s pretty boss.” He gave her a fist bump. “Not as flashy as your AES livery. Has a certain classic coolness to it. Makes me think of James Bond.”

  “Sir Kenny said that’s exactly the look he was going for.” Her visit with the team owner had been shockingly informal. Instead of sitting in an imposing, wood-paneled boardroom, they’d gone for a walk and spent most of their chat leaning on a chain link fence, watching test drivers negotiate the track. “It’s weird. You’d never expect this giant of racing to be so casual and down to earth.”

  “I guess a net worth of four billion dollars lets you act however you want.” He paused and studied his fingernails for a moment. “So tomorrow’s the big day, huh? Any nerves?”

  “A little. I’m hoping I don’t do something stupid and misspell my name when I sign the contract.”

  “Yeah, that would be bad. I did that once on an apartment lease. Pretty embarrassing. Maybe you should practice writing your name. You know, just to be on the safe side.” Rafael grinned while he handed her a pen and paper. “When do you get to drive a car?”

  “After I sign the contract. It won’t be a perfect fit, and it’ll be a backup instead of a primary car, but it’ll still be awesome.”

  He got two beers from the minibar. “Well, cheers to you.” They clinked bottles and drank. “I’ve been putting this off, but I have a request for you.”

  “Anything, dude. Fire away.”

  “Do yourself a favor and don’t sign unless you’re a hundred percent all in. No regrets. No looking over your shoulder because, in a few days, all of this excitement will wear off. Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can. What are you worried about?”

  Rafael took a long pull of his beer. “It’s not what I’m worried about. It’s who I’m worried about.”

  It took Gabrielle only a second for Rafael’s request to hit home. And home was right in the middle of her heart, where Brad still resided.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The alarm went off only minutes after Gabrielle fell asleep. That’s how it seemed, at least. Between the transatlantic travel and the epic day at Jensen headquarters, she should have slept like a rock. Instead, thanks to Rafael’s request, she’d tossed and turned all night long.

  She dragged herself from the king-size bed and down pillows and made her way to the exercise facility, yoga mat in one hand and earbuds in the other. A workout would get the blood flowing and help clear her mind at the same time.

  She hoped.

  She found a note from Rafael on the coffee table. He’d gotten up early to take a train to Cardiff and the Doctor Who Experience. So much for him giving her moral support after dropping his bombshell question on her.

  No matter. He was right to force her to think long and hard about what she was about to do. The obvious conclusion was that it was time to move on. Once they’d gotten past the awkward reunion period, she and Brad had developed a relationship for the ages. And then, when she gave him the news about the Jensen deal, he’d been supportive and kind. If he’d pulled back, who could blame him?

  He’d offered his heart to her, and she’d left him behind like an empty soda pop can tossed along the side of a road. To his credit, he’d taken the high road and wished her well.

  If only he’d asked her to stay.

  But he hadn’t, so the least she coul
d do was make him proud.

  When she returned to the suite, soaked in sweat but invigorated, a text from Lizzy was waiting for her. She would be by in an hour to take Gabrielle to brunch and then to the Jensen Center for the contract signing and test drive.

  She went to the window. London was already bustling as pedestrians dodged automobiles and horns honked in response. On the other side of the street, a couple, walking hand in hand, made their way to a shaded table near a fountain. The man pulled out a chair for his lady friend and kissed her when she was seated.

  Gabrielle let the curtain fall back into place.

  • • •

  A groggy Brad unbuckled his seatbelt as his plane taxied to its gate. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as reality hit him like an out-of-control car into a fence.

  He’d never been to London. He had no idea where Gabrielle was. He had no idea whether or not he was too late and his efforts were all for naught. He had no backup plan.

  It didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered.

  Gabrielle.

  The first thing was to assess the situation. He punched Rafael’s number.

  “Dude, I just landed. Where’s Gabrielle?” He wanted to keep the panic out of his voice but couldn’t do it.

  “I’m not sure. She was supposed to meet the racing people for brunch, then have some kind of signing ceremony and take a test drive.”

  Take a test drive? In an A-1 car? How am I supposed to compete with that? “Okay, um, would you be able to come with me? If I’m not too late, I could use a little moral support.”

  Rafael sighed and told Brad where he was. “I took a few notes in case you made it.” He gave Brad the Jensen Center’s address. “Good luck.”

  Brad didn’t get farther than ten steps when he slapped his forehead. He had fifteen bucks in American dollars, but no British money. The last thing he could afford was to get a taxi and then have to get back out when the driver couldn’t accept his credit card.

  After a frustrating wait at currency exchange, Brad sprinted to the taxi area and gave the address to the first driver he saw.