by Ava McKnight
He was a wealthy, successful businessman and off-road racer, and I’d told him my mother and I had needed food stamps and that I’d dropped out of school when I was sixteen?
I groaned inwardly. I was such a loser.
When I’d thought he was a mechanic for the team, I’d believed we were on a more even playing field. That he’d probably understand about where I’d come from and how much of a struggle it had been. I’d confided in him because he’d been easy to talk to, not intimidating…though he certainly was now, what with his millions of dollars and rich-boy toys.
I sat at the picnic table for close to two hours, agonizing over how utterly foolish I felt. When a roar of excitement came from the track, I saw a truck cross the finish line. And knew it was Ky’s. That was my surprise—and the bonus for my article.
I stayed where I was as the buzz of activity ensued. He’d taken the checkered flag and his fans and team engulfed him with congratulatory hugs and pats on the back I witnessed from my vantage point on a low slope above the track. He signed autographs and let the media take pictures of him as he stood next to his truck. While the insanity continued, he looked around and I knew he was searching for me.
Moving away from the crowd, he scanned the area until his gaze finally landed on me. With that soul-stealing smile of his, he dodged the onslaught of people still wanting to congratulate him and joined me at the table. He’d left his helmet with his truck, but still wore a blue fire suit with the name of his racing team printed across his chest. He stripped off his gloves and dropped them on the scarred wood.
He said, “I was hoping you’d be a little closer to the finish line when I crossed it.”
I reached for the magazine I’d pushed aside during my ruminations and countered with, “It’s not like you told me you’d be driving the truck you’d led me to believe you worked on.”
“I do work on it. I built the damn thing. Giselle, what’s wrong?”
I let out an exasperated sigh as I flipped over the magazine and pointed to the cover.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? Really, Ky? ‘Two-Time Best Dirt Driver of the Year’?”
He glanced at the book and shook his head, then shrugged a shoulder. “What’s the big deal? I renamed the team and took over driving after my dad died.”
I stood and thrust the team jacket at him. I said, “I don’t need a souvenir of my night with you.”
A hot flash of tears burned my eyes as I turned away. But Ky was quick to take my arm and whirl me back around.
“Hey,” he said as he tossed the jacket on the table. “Who cares about the title or the fact I own the team? That doesn’t make me any different a person today than I was last night. Still the same guy, sweetheart.”
“Please, don’t call me that,” I said as I glanced around and found many pairs of eyes on us.
Ky didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care that we had an audience. “Okay, I should have told you. But it sounds more like bragging than anything else to me, and the last thing I wanted was to come off as some cocky hot-shot racer. That’s not who I am, but it’s easy to misconstrue the facts. What we talked about yesterday were all the things that are important to me. Things I wanted you to know about me. Things that matter in order for us to get to know each other.”
“But I told you about my mother,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I told you about how we lived. And that stupid chocolate story…” I said this under my breath, not wanting to share it with the masses.
He let go of me and crossed his arms over his chest. We stared at each other for several tense moments. The bystanders didn’t inch away. We had a captive audience, though they tried to keep from making eye contact. As if that were discreet enough to excuse them from eavesdropping.
Finally, I said, “You should have told me.”
“Would it have kept you from telling me the things you did last night?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell you.”
“Ky!”
He laughed unexpectedly and threw his arms up in the air. “Are you listening to what we’re fighting over? So I’ve got some family money. Big deal! You’re going to have to get over the fact I have a small fortune if we’re going to be together. Because if things work out between us, babe, that fortune’s yours too.”
I gasped. So did a few other people. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking—”
“That far ahead?” he interjected. “Why not? Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you didn’t fall a little bit in love last night? Because I did. More than a little, actually.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded and dazed. What was I to say to that? I’d already said so much… So much that made me sound as though I was a complete loser in front of a man who had it all—looks, heart, success and money.
I didn’t want him to possess the latter, I realized. I could live with the first three, but not the fourth. It made me feel small and inferior and…so ridiculous.
I turned to go.
“Giselle, come on,” he said on a sharp breath.
Over my shoulder, I told him, “I have an article to write.”
The crowd parted for me and converged on him, asking for autographs and making it impossible for him to follow me. I walked briskly back to the casino, just barely keeping my tears contained until I shut the door to my hotel room behind me.
I packed my bag and checked out early. On the drive home, I focused solely on mentally composing my feature, not thinking of the time I’d spent with Ky. Or how crazy I was about him.
Instead of obsessing over my humiliation, I threw myself into my work. I had the article cranked out in two days, spending Monday and Tuesday at home to complete it, since I was so sick to my stomach, I didn’t want to go into the office. By Wednesday, however, my boss, Melodie Hartman, was worried about my absence and I felt compelled to come in so she could see I was okay.
Although, that went disastrously.
I’d barely set foot in the newsroom and hadn’t even made it to Melodie’s door when Taylor descended upon me.
“Holy hell,” she muttered, her voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong with you?”
I’d never worn jeans and sneakers into the office. My hair was pulled back in a high, tight ponytail. I hadn’t bothered with makeup—what was the point? Random tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes and I couldn’t control them. I was miserable with a capital M, but what could I do about it except suffer through my personal embarrassment and never-ending desire for Ky?
Taking me by the hand, Taylor led me over to my desk. I plopped into my big leather chair and let out a frustrated sigh as Cherish rushed over.
“My God, Giselle,” she said. “What happened to you?”
This grabbed Claire’s attention and she joined us.
“What happened to me?” I pulled the internet up on my computer and went to the Off-Road Rally website. A thumbnail of Ky’s issue was posted along the menu bar on the left and I clicked on it. When the full picture came up, I turned the monitor to face the girls. “This is what happened to me.”
Claire whistled under her breath. Taylor leaned in for a closer look. Cherish practically swooned.
She said, “Now that’s a man I’d get dirty with.”
I caught her double entendre and groaned. “Yeah, me too. I slept with him.”
Taylor’s gaze snapped to me. Taking in my disheveled, forlorn look, she demanded, “This was consensual, right?”
“You think I kidnapped him and forced him to have sex with me?”
She smirked at me.
I shook my head and let out a hollow laugh. “Please. Do you really think he’d have to force himself on a woman? Look at him, for Christ’s sake. I wanted him the second I heard his voice—I hadn’t even turned around to see how drop-dead gorgeous he is.”
“So what’s the problem?” Cherish asked, her eyes narrowing on me. “Not so hot in the sack?”
/> I groaned. “Words cannot describe how amazing he is. And not just sexually. He’s the nicest, most grounded man I’ve ever known. Aside from my father, of course.” That sentiment made me throw my hands up in the air, then drop them to my desk, where I bent my head and buried my face.
“Um, I’m confused,” Claire ventured.
“Yeah, so what gives?” This from Taylor. “I mean, he’s hot, nice and the sex was amazing. So… What’s up?”
“Shit,” Cherish chirped in the delicate voice that went with her very delicate body. “He’s married, isn’t he?”
I shook my head without lifting it.
“Bi?” Taylor asked, a cringe in her tone.
Another sharp shake of my head.
“Unemployed?” Claire ventured. “Well, honey, it doesn’t matter what the bank statements read when you’re in love, right?”
This made my body snap to attention. I jumped out of my chair and threw my hands up again. “Yes, it does! I think I’d prefer it if he was unemployed and penniless!”
“Oh, now don’t say that,” Taylor warned as the three women stared at me in horror, as though they were afraid to make any sudden movements that might make the nut job lose it completely.
“He’s rich,” I told them. “Loaded. A multimillionaire with a yacht and a helicopter and a million-dollar Trophy Truck! And get this—he’s crazy about me! Me!”
“Oh, well, sweetie,” Cherish said as she reached for one of my hands and patted it gingerly. “We’re all a bit crazy about you, no need to get worked up. You’ve got a killer sense of fashion and a wicked pen.”
“And a very pretty smile,” Claire added in a maternal tone, which had recently developed in conjunction with her impending wedding.
“Yeah, so,” Taylor stepped in, “if the two of you are so enamored with each other, what’s the problem?”
I knew she and Cherish would understand, even if Ky and Claire couldn’t because of their financial status.
“I told him about my mother. About how I was raised. Where I lived. How we lived. I told him I hadn’t even graduated high school and that I buy all my clothes and shoes secondhand.”
Tears flooded my eyes again and I was glad I’d skipped the mascara this morning.
Taylor and Cherish both gasped. Claire stared at me, befuddled.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
Taylor came instantly to my rescue. “There’s nothing worse than telling a wealthy man you were once on food stamps.”
Claire’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that sort of shallow? I mean, on the guy’s part. If he can’t deal with a shocking reality a lot of people face… Is he really worth it?”
“I don’t think Ky gives a damn that I don’t have money,” I explained. “Everything I told him, he understood and accepted. He didn’t pass judgment, nor did he throw his upper echelon status in my face.”
“So, again…what’s the problem?” Claire asked, genuinely confused, by the look of her.
“It’s just not something you really want to admit to the man of your dreams,” I told her.
She quickly countered with, “Then how will he ever get to know you, Giselle?”
I turned away. “That’s exactly what he said.” I splayed my palms against the brick wall and mocked banging my head against it. “The thing is, when you meet someone as fantastic as Ky, you want to be perfect for him. You know, not have all this dead weight you’re carrying around.”
Claire placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “The dead weight is what makes you who you are. Yes, you can cut it loose when the time’s right, but until then… It’s learning from your past and getting over it that shapes who you ultimately become. And something tells me this person saw exactly who you are and he’s happy with what he sees. Just like the rest of us when it comes to you.”
The tears ran much faster and I had to fight back actual sobs.
Claire said, “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Giselle. In fact, now that I know about your past, I respect you even more for what you’ve accomplished and who you’ve become. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.”
Her hand on my shoulder made me turn back to my friends. And to one tall and devastatingly handsome man. I bit back another sob when I saw Ky, standing with Taylor and Cherish, that lazy grin I loved on his face.
I swiped at the tears rolling down my flushed cheeks as I asked, “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t get the chance to answer, because Taylor swooped in. “Nice to meet you, Ky. I’m Taylor.”
“Cherish,” said my other friend.
“Claire,” echoed my third gal pal.
“Nice to meet you all.” His smile was genuine, as was the look in his eyes.
“Well, we have work to do,” Claire said as she shooed the others away and they melted into the background.
I stared at Ky, shocked to see him in front of my desk. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“Because when I try to rationalize why you were so upset at the race, it doesn’t compute.”
He stood with his hands behind his back in an unassuming stance. He wore a white dress shirt with black jeans. Sexy, yet still casual. My stomach rioted with a dozen different emotions I couldn’t reconcile. Excitement. Fear. Arousal. Humiliation. I had no idea how to get a grip on them, or my thundering heart.
“Look, it’s just—”
“You told your friends you want to be perfect for me,” he interjected. “I heard that when I walked in. The thing is, you are perfect for me. In every way.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the prickle again as the drops threatened to pool.
Ky said, “Claire was right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. In fact, you should be damn proud of yourself, Giselle. For who you’ve become.”
I shook my head slowly as I opened my eyes. “I haven’t done anything.”
“No?” One hand moved from behind his back and he placed a shopping bag on my desk. It was delicate and sophisticated, with Fran’s embossed across the front.
I buried my face in my hands as emotion washed over me. I groaned and said, “You went to Seattle to buy me chocolates?”
He so didn’t get me! I was shocked, really. Deep down, I’d thought he’d understood, on some level, what I’d said about my past.
Staring up at him, I told him, “You missed the whole point of my story.”
His grin was slow and easy. “No, I didn’t. I had them FedEx me the gift bag. Look inside.”
Skeptical, I stepped closer to the desk and peered inside the bag. A back issue of Scottsdale Live rested against one interior wall.
I frowned, perplexed.
Ky said, “Look at all the things you’ve achieved. You came from nothing and made something of yourself, without compromising your principles and beliefs. You dress impeccably—”
“It’s all secondhand, I told you that.”
“So what? You enjoy your clothes and you look great in them. Who cares if someone owned them before you? You make the style your own. And for a girl who dropped out of high school to now be getting her master’s degree… Jesus, isn’t that something?”
“I made a promise to Melodie.”
“And you’re doing it for yourself. To better yourself. That’s amazing, Giselle. Hell, you’re more successful than I am.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, yeah. I can totally see that.”
He smirked at me. “Think about it. I was given a company to run. I was born into money and that’s how I can afford a race team and a bunch of toys. I didn’t have to get my master’s degree. A bachelor’s is good enough when you’re the sole heir to an empire. My mother wanted nothing to do with the business or anything associated with racing. She took a lump sum of cash and off she went, leaving me with everything else.”
I resisted the urge to grind my teeth. “You’re on the cover of a magazine.”
He yanked Scottsdale Live from the chocolate bag and thrust it at me. “You’re in
a magazine. Every month!”
I opened my mouth, thinking I had some sort of contestable retort, but he gave me a challenging look and I suddenly grasped what he was saying to me. What he was trying to make me see.
But I needed him to see something in return.
“I liked who we were at the race,” I told him. “We were comfortable with each other, without any airs or pretense. I haven’t had that since I moved here. I’ve dated…all the wrong men. Ones who expect me to look and act a certain way. To always say the right thing and know which fork to use. I always felt put on the spot, you know? And then I met you, and I wanted to tell you all the things I’d kept inside. I wanted to feel all the wonderful things I’ve waited my entire adult life to feel.”
“Tired of being someone you’re not?” he asked in a low voice.
I nodded. “Yes. The clothes and shoes are nice, but I’d forgotten how much I missed tennis shoes,” I said as I lifted a foot to show him mine.
“Well, darlin’,” he said with a smile, “this is about as dressed up as I prefer to get. I’ll wear a suit or a tux for you, if you ask me to, but I like my jeans.”
“I like you in your jeans too,” I admitted. “And out of them.”
He chuckled. Then he came around the corner of my desk and sat on the edge of it. In a serious tone, he said, “There are a few concessions I can’t make for you.”
I eyed him curiously, wondering what the deal breakers were, and hoping with all my heart they were insignificant. Because he’d been right the other day. I had fallen a bit in love with him that night we made love. More so since he’d arrived at my office.
“Such as?” I ventured with bated breath.
“Well, for one,” he said in his sexy Southern drawl. “I’m not givin’ up the boat.”
I laughed, my heart lightening instantly. “How can I argue with that? It has sentimental value to me.”
“Good. I’m partial to the helicopter and the truck too.”
“Part of your racing team. I can certainly live with those things.”
“And this?” he asked as he flipped open the issue of Scottsdale Live he’d taken from the gift bag.
He handed over an envelope tucked between two pages and I couldn’t even begin to fathom what was inside. I folded back the flap and found an airline boarding pass inside.