High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  She sat back down in her chair. “I’m surprised. I would’ve thought there was plenty of money there. You didn’t work your way into England to race at sixteen. It must’ve been hundreds of thousands of dollars to kart, then compete in Formula Ford.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “It was.”

  “So where did the money come from?”

  He pressed his lips together. “My aunt.”

  “Right. So that’s okay, then.” He could accept money from people for his career, but she wasn’t supposed to give it for a better cause?

  “I just don’t think the support for your friend should come from me, or Belamar,” he grumbled. “There are social services or insurance.”

  She closed her eyes and summoned patience.

  He looked up. “And from what I got out of that conversation, you don’t have any money.”

  His eyes strayed to her red Prada tote.

  Brynn shook her head. This is Belamar’s genius? This man who needed a twelve-step program for money issues?

  He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Look. I understand. My grandfather sold off his ranch near Austin to developers and made a bundle. He invested some of it, but he gave big chunks to his kids—my dad and his sister. Well, my mom and dad went through millions of dollars in record time—not even six years and everything was gone. By the time I was ten, we had nothing. My grandfather wasn’t one to throw good money after bad, and my parents had no clue how to live within their means or how to manage their assets. Everything was repo’d. The bank foreclosed on the house. We moved from a mansion outside Austin to a two-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town. When I’d gotten as far as I could racing in the States, I got the attention of some folks in England. My parents had already declared bankruptcy twice; they didn’t have degrees and they didn’t have much of a work ethic, so they struggled to keep low wage jobs. We’d go to my grandfather’s country club Sunday nights for dinner and put it on his tab. I love my parents, but their inability to manage their lives, the money, made it impossible for me to respect them.”

  “That must’ve been difficult, growing up with that level of financial uncertainty,” she said.

  His lips thinned. “It was more than difficult. We lost everything. There was no security in a tiny apartment in a crappy part of town with drugs and gangs and bad schools.”

  His gaze strayed to her bag again.

  “My grandfather passed right after my thirteenth birthday. He left his estate to my aunt, who’d done a phenomenal job of investing her funds and setting up trusts for her kids. She’s the one who paid my racing expenses. Without her I’d never have gotten a shot, and you better believe I’ve paid her back every cent. I put money away for my parents, but my brother manages it for them. They still don’t know how to do it.”

  “I’m sorry. About your parents, the way you were raised. My parents were very responsible with money—middle class but solidly so.” She pushed her coffee out cup out of the way and lifted her purse onto the table. “Get a good enough look? It’s Prada. So? This is the evidence that I’m frivolous with money like your parents?”

  She stood, throwing her bag over her shoulder, giving him one last, bleak look.

  “I sent her the money,” he said, without looking up.

  “Excuse me?” she said, puzzled.

  “I sent Sheila Jamison fifty thousand,” he said, staring into his cup. “Found her, worked it out with her bank in Oakland.”

  Brynn couldn’t feel her legs, so she sat, abruptly.

  “You what?”

  Maddux looked up, his expression disgruntled.

  “I didn’t want you to ask him. To be indebted to him.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask him, I … never mind. When did you do this?” she asked.

  “Two days ago. Probably takes a few days to clear, and then it was the weekend. She should be able to access it now.” He toyed with his empty coffee mug.

  “I … I don’t know what to say. Thank you. They need it.”

  You could tell him the truth.

  “Maddux, I know you must be confused about my relationship with Belamar, but there are things I can’t tell you, not without severe penalties.”

  “What?”

  “I signed something. Does that make it more clear?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Belamar has you under contract?”

  She glanced around the nearly empty shop. “Shhh.”

  “For what exactly?”

  “Not for whatever you’re thinking by that revolted expression on your face. Unthink it,” she said, pleasantly, her fists clenched in her lap, itching to slug him.

  His brows shot up and he sat straighter in his chair.

  “Something medical?”

  She kept her face expressionless and took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

  “He can’t afford for F1 to find out, not when Villers is close to accepting his bid,” he said slowly, putting it all together.

  Her eyes met his.

  “Damn. He’s dying?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Cancer,” he whispered.

  She didn’t respond, her gaze moving past him, looking for eavesdroppers. There were better places to be having this conversation.

  “Is he going to be okay? You know, to solidify the F1 deal?”

  “Yes.” I hope.

  His shoulders slumped in relief.

  “Why would you do it? Leave your patients, spend, what, four months of your life doing this, for an old man while people are thinking … you know.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, barely missing her mug.

  “He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Cash?”

  “Can’t discuss it with you.”

  “If it’s money—”

  “Don’t. Despite what you think about me and my spending habits, you’re wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. It’s true I don’t have much money. College and medical school were expensive. Doctors barely make enough to cover living expenses during internship and residency programs, and they work us like dogs. We don’t make the real money until we’re out practicing medicine, and these days, only specialists pull in a decent paycheck.

  “But you’re a specialist, right?”

  “Yes, with a damn good earning potential and I’m not frivolous.”

  His he nodded at her purse. “Belamar?”

  “Certain things are required.”

  “I don’t like it,” he said, frowning.

  She gave a hollow laugh. “It’s not my favorite thing either, believe me. If anyone I know ever heard about this, I … it’s unthinkable. My parents are very conservative and live in a small town. If word gets out that I’m dating a man forty years my senior, they would be pariahs. I didn’t tell anyone the truth. Belamar wants it kept quiet, and I … we just need to get through the next few weeks, until the race in Abu Dhabi.”

  “Where do your friends think you are?”

  She tipped her mug and examined the bottom of the cup. “I told them I was taking a little time off, traveling in Europe with a friend. They don’t follow racing, and you know F1 coverage isn’t much in the States. It was a gamble because, you know, because if anyone finds out ... ”

  “Yeah, I imagine hearing about you dating a seventy-year-old billionaire might throw them for a loop.”

  “A loop?” She shook her head slowly. “It would ruin me. My reputation is all I have as a physician.”

  “So you are doing it for the money?” He shifted in his chair.

  “It’s more than that, but not something I can discuss.”

  “And you’re not … you’ve never … had to be with him?”

  “You can’t seriously be asking me that.”

  “Right, and you won’t be, either?”

  “Maddux!”

  She put her arms on the table and leaned over to give him the full force of her glare.

  He swept their mugs out of the way, reached across
the tiny table, and grabbed her by the back of the head, bringing his mouth to hers in a fierce, passionate, possessive kiss.

  “Worst three weeks ever,” he muttered against her mouth.

  Her pulse pounding and body tingling to life, she pulled away and gave a breathless laugh. “Nothing changes. We still can’t do that, publicly.”

  “Everything has changed,” he stated, and she felt the heat rise through her chest, and migrate into her cheeks at the intensity of his look.

  Chapter 16

  One week later, Brynn stared at the ceiling of the Austin hotel, waiting for Maddux to come out of the bathroom. To say the Sochi race had gone badly … well. Thanks to engine problems, he hadn’t even finished the race. He’d refused to see her or anyone that night, relenting only when she’d shown up at his hotel door wearing nothing but a trench coat and a ball cap. She grinned at the memory.

  God only knows what Belamar was thinking about her occasional disappearances; he never said a word. His health was neither better nor worse, but she couldn’t shake the sensation they were on the verge of a crisis. They’d wrapped up the last round and would just have to wait and hope.

  Maddux opened the door, sending a cloud of soap-scented condensation into the room as he approached their bed. “I have a sponsor event tonight, but part of the afternoon free. I made a plan for us to escape for a bit this afternoon.” He toweled his hair, looking quite cleaned up after a morning at the track.

  “You’re playing fast and loose with my time,” she said. “I’ve got to draw labs on Belamar, then run them over to Med Lab.”

  “You want to do that now?”

  “Yeah,” she checked her watch, “I told him to meet me in the room at noon.”

  “Meet me here?”

  “Why don’t we catch up in the parking garage—say 2 p.m.?” she suggested, twisting her fingers together.

  Only four more weeks of sneaking around. What could Belamar say? Ellen was here, somewhere, Brynn was willing to bet. Still, it wouldn’t help his case with Villers and the decision makers at F1 so late in the game. Belamar had said they were close to a decision, that they might make it here in Texas to generate some publicity and enthusiasm. With only three days until the race, they could make an announcement anytime.

  Two hours later she paced the parking garage of the hotel. She glanced at her watch. Twenty after two and she’d already seen a couple of Belamar’s F1 cronies drive up in a black Mercedes. God help her if someone spotted her with Maddux.

  Maddux appeared at the far end of the garage, a green canvas backpack in hand.

  “Sorry, the hotel was supposed to leave the pack outside the room at two, but they were a few minutes late.”

  “What’s in that thing?” she asked.

  “A picnic, or at least that’s what I hope is in it. I saw the hotel had these available, so I ordered one.”

  “Great, I’m starving.”

  She unlocked the rental car trunk.

  “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “Putting it in the trunk?”

  “No, I mean, why are you putting it in your car?”

  She tensed at the sound of an engine. “Maddux, get in the car.”

  “But—”

  “Now! I just saw some of Carl’s friends.” She pulled the bag from his hands and gave him a nudge toward the passenger side.

  “Brynn, you’re not—”

  “Go,” she almost shouted.

  She dumped the picnic in the trunk and shut it as a Corvette pulled down the aisle with a squeal of tires on cement. She glanced inside the vehicle, and the German telecommunications sponsor of one of the teams gave her a wave. She smiled through gritted teeth. That was close. God, she hated living this lie.

  She climbed into the driver’s seat of the tiny Chevy.

  “What is this?” he glowered, gesturing at the dash. “A joke?”

  “No, it’s a rented economy car.”

  “Really? Couldn’t you have at least sprung for the Charger?”

  “Maddux, that was thirty dollars more a day,” she said, putting the key in the ignition.

  His expression was stark. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Starting the car?”

  He laughed. “You think I’m going to let you drive?”

  She stared at him for a second, her hand on the gearshift. Then, with a shake of her head, she put the car in reverse and pulled out of the space.

  “Brynn?”

  She drove out of the garage into the sunlight.

  “Brynn, seriously, pull over. You don’t know the area.”

  “You can be my navigator,” she said calmly, inwardly amused by the panicked expression on his face.

  “No.” He gripped the dashboard with one hand as she turned out of the parking lot.

  “Put your seatbelt on.” She tromped on the accelerator and the car lunged forward, whipping them back in their seats.

  Crap. He’s making me nervous.

  He made a sound like a moan. “You aren’t driving.”

  “I drive or I don’t go,” she said, sneaking another glance at him and hiding her grin at his expression. The car lurched into gear as she merged onto the road.

  He pointed at the freeway sign. “West,” he said, scowling as he yanked his seatbelt across his body and buckled it. “In the future, you leave the driving to me, I leave the medical to you,” he said. “We stick with our own professions.”

  “Maddux,” she said, opening her eyes wide and meeting his look, “How can you say that when I let you practice your mad medical skills on me?” She merged onto the highway smoothly.

  “Let me? Try begged me and don’t remind me.” He grabbed the dash again with both hands. “Hey—traffic is slowing, Brynn. Brynn!”

  She glanced over her shoulder, then in the outside mirror before swerving out into the fast lane.

  “Christ,” he bit out. “Indicator?”

  “What?”

  “That little switch on the left hand side of the steering column. If you flick it up or down, it lets people know you’re changing lanes.”

  She laughed. “Relax. Which exit do I take?”

  Fifteen minutes of sighs, commentary, imaginary brake stomping, and dashboard grabbing later, they arrived at a nearly empty gravel lot with a small handwritten sign that said “Blue Cave.”

  “Uh oh,” she said. “I didn’t bring my spelunking gear.”

  He released his grip on the dash. “No worries. I thought we’d just picnic by the pool. We used to come here in high school.”

  “I thought you did the GED thing?”

  “Yeah, I left at sixteen, but I came here with my brother and his friends.”

  “Spencer,” she said.

  “Yep, we had some good times. There was a waterfall, but he told me last time I was home the drought had all but killed it.”

  “Thanks for bringing me to your old stomping grounds.” She gripped his hand and he held it.

  “I wish we had more time.” He glanced, ruefully, at his watch. “I’ve got sponsor events tonight—starting in about four hours.”

  Brynn switched off the ignition and Maddux grabbed the keys.

  “Maddux!”

  “I drive back,” he said, firmly, pulling the door handle and stepping out.

  He had the canvas bag in hand when she emerged.

  “So what’s in there?” she asked, as they headed down the dirt path.

  “No clue. Sandwiches maybe? I don’t remember what they said.”

  “Why am I even asking? I’m hangry.”

  “What?”

  “So hungry I’m starting to get angry.”

  “Ah. Is that the medical term for it then? Sure explains the driving,” he said.

  She giggled and gave his shoulder a shove.

  “You sure do like to be in control,” she said. “I’ve never had so many complaints about my driving.”

  “You suck,” he said. “Seriously, Brynn. You ought to consider a safe
r rental—maybe a Humvee, a tank … ”

  “Nice.”

  “Why are you such a bad driver?”

  “I’m not.”

  He stopped and turned his expression deadly serious, and put both hands on her shoulders.

  “Brynn, you might be the worst driver I’ve ever seen. The best person, but the worst driver.”

  Her insides melted at his words. Had he even realized what he’d said?

  “I haven’t needed a car for a few years,” she admitted. “I did my fellowship in New York then moved to San Francisco, and I walk to work.”

  “We’ll work on it.” He turned away and headed back down the path to where the wooded area opened up over a large pond.

  There he goes again, making references to time together we’ll never have.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed.

  “This is the best time of year since leaves are turning and it’s not overrun with kids.”

  “Is this private property?” she said, uneasily.

  “Nah. It’s some kind of preserve. There are a couple of these spring-fed pools outside Austin, but most of the others are bigger and more crowded.”

  He moved to a large, flat, gray boulder less moss covered than the rest.

  “Here?”

  Maddux dropped the pack on the ground and Brynn sat next to it.

  He stood for a moment, overlooking the green water. “I haven’t been here in years. It’s kinda sad; the water level is really low.”

  “Uh huh.” Brynn unzipped the bag.

  He looked down and grinned, then sat next to her as she unpacked two sandwiches, fresh berries, some kind of macaroni salad, and potato chips. “Nice,” she said, unwrapping the sandwich. She examined it, then looked at the other. “I think they’re the same.”

  “It’s fine. Any water in there?” he asked.

  She took a bite and put the sandwich on its wrapper to dig through the bag. Something cool and metal touched her fingertips. She pulled the can out of the bag and examined the electric blue label.

  “Fizzbang?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Her hand scrabbled around in the bag and found two more cans. Both Fizzbang.

  She unzipped the bag further and spread it open. Napkins, plastic utensils, but no water. She groaned and eyed the can.

  “No water? What’s the world coming to when the hotel picnic basket gives you energy drinks instead of water or wine,” she complained.