“Mr. Bates? Will you come with us? Carl Belamar would like to see you over at his hotel.”
He’d been waiting for this, and it couldn’t have come on a better day.
“Just a sec,” he said, walking back into the room for his shoes.
“This way, sir,” the man said, escorting him through the lobby. Maddux glad-handed and smiled at a few people along the way. It felt good to be on top again; even if he wouldn’t win the championship, he’d end his season on a high note. And now Belamar would make him an offer.
Four blocks later, the man opened the door to the Four Seasons Governor’s suite. “In here, please.”
The man handed him face mask.
“You need to put it on to see Mr. Belamar.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Sir, you need to put on the mask.”
Maddux took it, pulling the elastic behind his ears.
“Now these.” The man handed him plastic gloves and draped a gown over his arm. “Is this all really necessary?” Maddux pushed his arms through the thin sleeves of the yellow robe-like garment and pulled on the gloves.
“Yes, sir.” The man tied it in the back. He stepped around the front of Maddux, and fussed with the mask on his face.
“Okay, now.”
Maddux opened the door to the massive master bedroom. A dark-haired woman sat with a laptop in a chair by the bed, garbed in the same equipment he was. There was an IV stand, an ECG, and oxygen machine pushed against the far wall. As for Belamar, he looked ill.
Very ill.
So Brynn hadn’t been lying about that.
How was he going to make good on his new F1 team? The woman looked up and Maddux did a double take when he recognized Ellen Carstairs.
He nodded at her.
She stood and rested a hand on Belamar’s shoulder to wake him. The man’s eyes opened; they were bloodshot but oddly acute.
Carstairs helped him sit up, then she indicated the chair she’d been using. She silently collected her laptop and exited the room, leaving them alone.
“You’re looking at the owner of the newest American F1 team,” the old fossil said, beaming.
But for how much longer? He looked to have one foot in the grave.
“Yeah, congrats.” To hide his enthusiasm, Maddux gestured to the equipment. “Does Villers know?”
The older man shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter now. We signed everything Wednesday.”
And then the next day the photographers had caught their tryst. And Brynn had blown up his contract with Supernova. Interesting timing.
“Brilliant race,” Belamar said, indicating the chair.
“Thanks,” he said, remaining standing.
“I was never more impressed with your driving than today. Given all that’s transpired, you kept your head in the game and your foot on the pedal. Impressive.”
Maddux inclined his head, but his eyes narrowed at the oblique reference to the scandal they were both involved in.
“I want you to drive for me.”
“And you figure I’ll say yes.”
“I know Supernova will be letting you go at the end of this season. What choice did I leave them?”
What choice indeed.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to drive for you after the two of you set me up,” he said, evenly.
Carl Belamar shrugged. “You have no drive. I’ll have a team next year. You want an American team almost as badly as I do.”
“After today, Pantech might be replacing Lichens.”
“He’ll drive for Supernova in your spot next year,” he agreed.
“I just want to know why. What could you possibly have over her that would make her do that?”
“Do what? Play the role of my girlfriend?”
“All of it.”
“What do you think?”
“Money,” he said.
“There was money involved.”
“How sick are you?”
“I’ve contracted pneumonia, slight setback, but I’ll live long enough to see my legacy. No one better count me out yet, and you have no other options, son.”
That “son” bit grated. Most of his rage and disgust was focused on Brynn, but there was some left over for Belamar.
“I’ll let you know,” Maddux said. What choice did he have? Still, he’d pretend to think about it. He left the room, stripping off the gown and mask.
Ellen Carstairs sat, composed and calm, typing on her computer on the couch. No one else was in the suite.
“So, are you Belamar Racing’s first driver?” She stared at him, her face expressionless.
“Is he dying?”
“No, but he’s had a crisis.”
“Was Brynn taking care of him or something more?”
“She was his doctor.”
“Why’d she do it?”
“Why do you think she did it?”
“Money,” he repeated.
Carstairs stood. “It’s amazing,” she said, “how we project our issues onto others.”
“Then why did she do it?”
“I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll figure it out.”
He scowled. “Stop playing games. Tell me what went on.”
She raised a brow. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
He paled. “You’re involved with him, can you?”
“Are you implying there was something sexual in their relationship?” She shook her head with a laugh. “You certainly don’t deserve her. I spent a week finding out everything there was to know about Brynn Marie Douglas from the shampoo she uses to the names of her childhood pets. I know her, Mr. Bates. You do not. I used my knowledge to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.”
“You paid her.”
She waved a hand. “She didn’t adhere to the terms of the contract. She’ll get nothing.”
“Nothing?” he said. “No great loss, she’ll go back to her practice—”
The woman let out a tinkling laugh completely at odds with her no-nonsense persona. “Dr. ‘Anna Nicole’ Douglas at the prestigious Gates Institute? Think again, Mr. Bates.”
A hollowness settled into the pit of his stomach.
“She’s not back in San Francisco?” he said hoarsely.
“They wouldn’t have her.”
Maddux took two steps toward the woman. She toyed with the reading glasses in her hand.
“Why did she take the job? Why did she betray me?”
“She took the deal because his treatment couldn’t be delayed.”
“And there was no monetary compensation?”
“I didn’t say that. We tried to sweeten the deal by offering to pay off her loans, give her a salary. We offered $1 million per month to the non-profit of her choice if she stayed through the end of the season. Four million dollars, Mr. Bates. She still turned us down.”
His feet were rooted to the floor, heart hammering away.
“It wasn’t until Carl told her he had to delay treatment to finish the F1 season that she acquiesced.”
“What difference would a few months make?”
“With multiple myeloma? Why, all the difference in the world with regard to life expectancy. She knew that.”
He had screwed this up royally.
Ellen Carstairs was practically gloating.
“Let me get this straight. You used her in every which way as your dupe?”
That laugh came again. That tinkling little laugh that made him itch to wrap his hands around her thin throat.
“Oh, you give me too much credit. Those photographs, that drink? All engineered by Carl.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “He’s remarkable. He killed your contract and hers with one photo.”
Maddux clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to punch holes in the walls. He wanted to break every bone in the old man’s body.
“I’d like to kill you both,” he spat.
“But then you wouldn’t be able to drive for him,” she sai
d.
“I wouldn’t drive for him now—”
“Unless he honored every item in her contract?” she put in, her expression innocent. “Unless he made you a partner? Unless he named you the successor to Belamar F1 Racing when his … time runs out?” she continued.
He froze.
“None of those things would make up for the insult to her reputation, of course, and you know that’s the thing that really matters to her.”
He marched over and flung open the doors to the bedroom.
Belamar met his furious stare, then looked past him.
“Ah, Ellen,” he said, sadly. “What have you done?”
“You son of a bitch, you ruined her,” Maddux said.
“I did? What do you think will have the more lasting impact, Maddux, my betrayal or yours?”
“Go fuck yourself,” he said hoarsely.
“She knowingly voided the contract when she left before season end. No one else will touch you now—not with the reputation you’ve earned with your sponsors. I’m your only shot at a ride next season.”
As he stared at the old man sitting in the bed, Maddux found clarity. Belatedly. But it was finally there. Screw his ride. Screw Belamar Racing. Screw Formula One. When had he stopped paying attention to his inner voice? When had he become so caught up in the F1 machine that he didn’t know right from wrong, up from down?
“Then I won’t drive,” he said. He turned and stepped around Ellen Carstairs, who was looking at him with something approaching respect.
Chapter 20
Ellen Carstairs had known where to find her of course. It might have taken him days or weeks to track her down otherwise.
Brynn was in Washington, DC. It took him six hours to get through security in Austin and fly to Dulles airport.
He was supposed to be flying to Sao Paulo.
Instead he was on his way to beg her forgiveness.
How could he have believed her capable of that level of betrayal? His Brynn. She had layer upon layer of character and integrity. Nothing would’ve incited her to set him up.
And he’d been so blinded by rage and injustice and his growing feelings, he’d wanted to believe it. He couldn’t get that expression she’d had while listening to him rant and rave out of his head: shock, pain, and finally anger. She hadn’t defended herself. Hadn’t dignified his accusations with a response.
Of course Brynn hadn’t betrayed him for money or anything else. It wasn’t in her to do that. She’d had feelings for him—maybe not as strong as his, because when he’d thought she’d set him up on that picnic, the world tilted and sent him spinning into some very dark places. This sport required continual navigation of those dark places—rage, jealousy, betrayal—and now he’d let those things eke into his private life and destroy something real.
After what he’d accused her of, he needed to come up with something. Some grand gesture to get through to her.
He stepped out of the airport into chilly East Coast temperatures. It was only two days before Thanksgiving and already there was the nip of winter in the air. There were plenty of customers hailing cabs at eleven thirty on a Tuesday night at the airport. He gave the driver the address for the townhouse in trendy Dupont Circle.
Forty-five minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of a beautiful four-story brick townhouse on R street. Maddux paid the man, collected his bag, and climbed out. The car drove down the quiet neighborhood street under the canopy of trees. He took in the perfectly manicured shrubbery flanking the entrance to the building. The townhouses on either side were just as carefully landscaped.
She’d certainly landed on her feet. These houses in this area of downtown had to be a cool million at least.
He pushed the thought away. Why was he always assuming the worst?
Though it was late, there were lights on the second floor. Maddux grabbed his bag, marched to the front door and knocked.
Moments later the porch light went on, the door opened, and a red-haired man about his height stood looking at him.
“Maddux Bates,” the man said.
Who the fuck was this guy?
“Yeah, and you are?”
“Andy Jepps. Come on in.” He held the door wide open, stepping behind it. The entryway was odd. Half underground, it led to a curved staircase at the opposite end. “This way,” the man said. Maddux followed him, passing several closed doors and a host of modern paintings to the second floor.
“You can set your stuff down,” he said. “Join me in here for a drink.” Maddux walked into the living room, where neutral seating blended with more of those stark colorful paintings.
“Be right back,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Andy returned moments later with a beer in each hand. “Figured you for a beer guy,” he said, handing the cold lager to Maddux, “but I’ve been known to be wrong about these things.”
“Thanks.”
“Please, sit,” he said, indicating the sofa as he lowered himself into a chair.
“Where is she?” he asked, still standing.
“Sleeping.”
“In your bed?”
The man laughed. “Is your gaydar malfunctioning this evening?”
Maddux frowned. “She’s here though, right?”
“Yes. And I’m trying to decide if I made the right decision letting you in and will I have to throw you out.”
Maddux raised a brow. “Good luck with that.”
“You don’t deserve her, you know,” the man said conversationally.
“I know, and you’re the second person today to remind me of that.”
“Well, as long as you’re aware.”
Maddux took a sip of the icy beer. “How is she?”
“Devastated.”
“Fuck,” he said hoarsely, putting the beer on the coffee table in front of him, but he never dropped his eyes from the other man’s. “I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t,” Andy said, quietly. “Her reputation has been shredded. It’s not too often one of our sort—”
“Your sort?”
“Hematologist oncologists are a fairly bland group. We don’t show up in the tabloids, unlike the plastics guys or the psychiatrists. What we do isn’t sexy.” His eyes narrowed. “And we don’t take too kindly to some hotshot driver humiliating our Brynn. She’s good people.”
“I know that. It was a mistake—”
“I heard the whole story.”
“A terrible mistake,” he said dully. “And I’m not sure how to fix it.”
“It wasn’t just you, if that’s any consolation,” the other man said. “Sounds like Belamar had a pretty good hand in the whole fiasco. I think she could’ve survived that—the tradeoffs she made for his health and her future.”
“Why did she come here?”
“We’re close, and she knew I was one of the few people who wouldn’t rail at her. I thought I might be able to get her in with us while we’ve got a physician out, but my partners are too worried about what their powerful political patients will do if we hire her, even temporarily.”
“What about her folks?”
Jepps shook his head. “They’re disgusted with her and pulling no punches.”
Maddux, bleary eyed, ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t slept since the race and he was exhausted. “Listen, man. I’ve got to get on a plane to Brazil tomorrow. I have no time to make this right with her, but I’ve got to try. Where is she?”
The man nodded at the ceiling. “Next floor up, back of the house.”
Maddux took the stairs two at a time until he stood outside the closed door. What the hell was he going to say? Was there any way to make this right?
He twisted the knob and walked into the room, closing it gently behind him. It was pitch black, as dark as any hotel with room darkening drapes. His eyes adjusted, taking in her still form—a lump under a quilt. There was a suitcase open on the floor and a chair in the corner of the room next to the bay window where he grabbed a sea
t, watching her sleep. His brain ran through endless loops—apologies, excuses, he discarded them all.
After what seemed like hours, he went over to sit on the edge of the bed.
She shifted from her side onto her back, eyes open.
“Brynn, it’s Maddux,” he whispered.
“Yeah, Andy’s not the type to sneak into my room,” she whispered back. “He’s the knock politely kind.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She scooted up, pushing the pillows behind her, leaning against the headboard.
“Oh,” she replied.
“That’s it?”
“I can’t really blame you,” she said wearily, her hands compulsively folding the corner of the sheet, avoiding his stare.
“Yes, you can—and should. I was a complete asshole. I should’ve known you weren’t capable of doing that.” Why wasn’t she screaming at him? He’d misjudged her in an unforgivable way. This defeated woman in front of him wasn’t his Brynn.
“Why?”
“Whaddya mean ‘why’?”
She sighed. “Maddux, I can’t blame you for thinking I was capable of betraying you. Not after I betrayed myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I lied and pretended to have a relationship with Belamar, I traded in my integrity for money, and—”
“Not just money … scratch that, not money at all.”
Her fingers moved to the quilt where she rubbed the raised fabric, tracing the diamond pattern. He captured her hand, hating the hollowness in his chest. Of all the do-or-die moments in his life, of all the adrenaline-fueled races, it all came down to this—and the only thing that mattered.
“I know why you did it, even if you don’t—and the loans and the salary were nowhere near the top of the list. You did it because you knew he would delay treatment, and you knew what that would cost him, longevity wise. You did it for the $4 million for cancer research. Screw what anyone thinks, Brynn, you did it for the right reasons.”
“What difference does it make now?” She dashed a hand across her eyes. “I’m infamous. Have you heard what they’re calling me?”
He gave a slight nod and she gestured to the front of her nightshirt. “I mean, she was a stacked stripper, right? I mean, really?”
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