by Abby Gaines
“Stay on topic,” she said. “Surely yesterday’s race proved to Gil that you can focus on your driving.”
“You’d think.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Unfortunately it wasn’t enough. If I don’t make the Chase—you know what that is, right?”
She nodded. “Quinn told me.”
“Did he also tell you Rev Energy Drinks will pull its sponsor dollars and Gil’s threatened to fire me?”
“I—no! That’s awful.”
“I plan to make the Chase,” Eli assured her. “But it won’t be easy and it’s not all up to me.”
“Gil didn’t seem unreasonable,” Jen said, uncertain.
“He’s not. Mostly. But if he’s seriously ticked off, he might fire me anyway, even if another driver takes me out, no fault of mine.” Eli put his hands either side of her on the fence rail. His mouth was almost level with hers.
She diverted her gaze over his shoulder.
“Gil’s less likely to sack me if he thinks I’m doing things his way,” Eli said. “If you and I keep up our act through to at least Richmond…”
Jen snapped her eyes back to him. “That’s weeks away!”
He nodded. His expression was neutral, but she discerned tension in his grip on the fence. One thing she’d learned yesterday was that NASCAR drivers faced intense pressure. A wave of sympathy washed over her.
“Surely Gil knows,” she suggested, “those lightning-quick reactions you have on the track are the flipside of your distractibility.” She’d been amazed how Eli could seize an opportunity almost before his rivals knew it existed.
“I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning.
“And the way you kept changing strategy on the fly, all through the race. That’s part of the same quality.”
“For someone who never watched a NASCAR race before, you picked up a lot,” he said.
“I guess I picked up enough to respect what you do,” she admitted.
His eyes widened in feigned shock. “You mean, you accept that driving a stock car is a real job?”
She waggled her hand to signify maybe, since he didn’t need any more adulation in his life. “I’m not saying it’s in the same league as plumber, or cop…”
“Or chicken farmer?” he suggested.
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully as she pretended to assess him. Her scrutiny swiftly deteriorated into outright ogling of the planes of his face, his broad shoulders, the muscled physique that made him the perfect poster boy for Rev Energy Drinks. Jen drew a pleasurable breath, aware that something—the morning sun?—was going dangerously to her head. “I’m not sure you’d make it as a chicken farmer.”
That piece of nonsense somehow warmed Eli’s gaze. “Cruel,” he murmured. Then, before she could figure what he was up to, his hands went to her waist and he swung her off the fence in one smooth movement.
“Put me down!” she squawked.
He planted her in front of him, still holding her. “I like you, Jen,” he said. “You’re good company. I get that you don’t want to date a guy like me for real…”
Darn it, she couldn’t stop staring at his lips. The only consolation was he seemed to have a similar fixation with hers.
“But I’d sure appreciate it,” he said huskily, “if you’d come back to me.”
He liked her. Eli Ward had said he liked her! What if, although they’d started off pretending at romance, he really did think that kiss was special, after all? What if, beneath the NASCAR glitz, he was just an ordinary guy—no, he could never be ordinary. But what if he was a guy with a problem, just like everyone had problems? And she could help?
“What about my job, and Granddad?” she prevaricated, aware her motives weren’t entirely altruistic. The tedium of this morning’s routine had made one thing startlingly clear; she wanted to spend time with Eli.
“I’ll pay someone to help your grandfather when you’re not here. I can talk to Bob about your work.” He released her waist, and she missed his touch immediately. “Anyone else I need to convince?” he asked. “Your parents?”
She shook her head. “My parents are dead.”
“Jen, I’m sorry.” He touched a knuckle to her cheek, and she wanted to lean into his hand.
“It was a long time ago. I was only a year old, I don’t even remember them.” Which was just one of the many things she hadn’t forgiven her parents for.
“So your grandfather raised you?”
“He and Nan,” she agreed. “Since Nan died, it’s been just me and Granddad.”
“And the chickens,” Eli reminded her.
She smiled. “And the chickens.”
He kicked at a fence post. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your folks?”
She appreciated his interest. “My dad was an ornithologist—rare birds. He was on a two-year expedition, me and my mom in tow, to find a bird everyone else thought was extinct. We were caught up in flooding in Indonesia.”
“You were there when your parents died?” he asked, shocked.
“I was too young to know anything about it. But, yeah, I was one of those miracle survival stories. My parents left me with the wife of their native guide, along with all our passports and papers. My reunion with Nan and Granddad made headlines around the world.” More than enough fame for her. She bit her lip.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Me, too.” She couldn’t help the grimness in her voice. “If my parents hadn’t been so caught up in the legend of that bird…”
Eli touched her hand. “Accidents happen.”
“When people do stupid things,” she finished automatically. Her grandparents had drummed that into her over the years.
He frowned. “I was going to say, accidents happen to anyone, anytime.” The sweep of his arm encompassed the barn and the yard. “You could slip over on some chicken sh-stuff and break your neck.”
“Unlikely,” she scoffed. “If my parents had stayed at home and taken regular jobs, they wouldn’t have drowned.” Another point the passage of time hadn’t blunted, as far as her grandfather was concerned.
“Some people,” Eli said carefully, “feel that kind of life would stifle them. Like they’d die of boredom if—” He winced. “Damn, I didn’t mean…”
Too late.
Jen felt a rush of moisture behind her eyes. “It’s not boring to face up to your responsibilities.” She stomped away from him, then wheeled around. “It’s not boring to earn an honest living.” Her chest constricted as guilt and anger warred. Because even as she rejected his irresponsible attitude, a part of her agreed with him. Then she found an ultimate truth to cling to: “It’s not boring to be there for your kid, for someone you love.”
Eli raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry it didn’t happen that way for you, Jen. But you can’t go blaming your parents for living a life that made them happy. If they’d lived, you probably would have grown up with the same sense of adventure. You’d be wandering the world right now.”
His words were an assault on everything she valued: home, family, loyalty.
“There’s more to life than traveling the world with a buck and a backpack, or driving a race car in the hope of finding fame and fortune,” she snapped. “But I wouldn’t expect you to see that. Go find yourself another girlfriend, Eli. Someone less boring.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELI CROSSED THE SUN-FADED grass, then walked around the side of Jen’s house to the rutted driveway where he’d left his car. Not that he was about to “go find another girlfriend.” He had the fake girlfriend he wanted right here, and he wouldn’t leave until she said yes.
A few minutes ago, he’d thought they were in perfect accord—sexual attraction sparking like crazy, kidding around, a healthy dose of mutual liking and respect…hell, most of his real relationships hadn’t had as much going for them.
Then she’d turned all weird again. He wished to hell she’d be more predictable, like the other women he dated.
He sighed in frustration. Normally, in the rare event a woman didn’t want to go out with him, he would cut and run. But Gil liked Jen. For once in his life, Eli couldn’t just move on.
He made a sharp right turn and climbed the steps to the front porch.
“Where are you going?” Jen chased after him.
The frosted glass front door was unlocked. It squeaked as it opened. Eli walked into a narrow hallway lined with family photographs. Looking for something, anything he could use to convince her that, given how well they got along and the spark between them, faking a relationship for a few weeks should be no hardship. His life as a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series driver was at stake. The one thing he couldn’t give up without a fight.
Jen bustled in behind him. “I insist you leave.”
He stopped, and she bumped into him. Automatically he steadied her, his fingers wrapped around her slim, strong arms. Their gazes locked, and Eli’s veins zinged. Like they did when he was in a race car and the green flag was about to fall. Seize the Day.
“Jen? Is someone there?” The voice came from down the hall.
Eli let go of Jen and followed it.
In the modest living room, her grandfather sat in a recliner—one of the original models back from when those things were invented, Eli judged—in front of the TV set. Which was switched off. When he saw Eli the old man’s brows drew together, much the same way his granddaughter’s frequently did. “Who are you?” he barked.
“Granddad, this is Eli Ward.” Jen’s eyes flashed daggers at Eli as she made the introduction.
“Don’t get up, sir,” Eli said, as the old man began a laborious struggle to his feet.
Like his granddaughter, he did things his own way. He huffed and puffed until he was upright, then his left hand gripped the back of the chair while he reached his right to Eli.
“Carlton Ashby,” he introduced himself.
Eli shook his hand.
The older man looked him over. “I wondered if the TV made your hair look longer, but I see it needs a cut in real life.”
Eli nodded. NASCAR fans either loved the length of his hair or hated it—it wasn’t something he was prepared to debate.
“Not a bad drive yesterday,” Carlton commented.
“Thank you.” Eli figured it was high praise.
“You have a good day at work?” Carlton asked Jen. It dawned on Eli the old guy hadn’t seen her since she arrived home late after the race.
“Fine, thanks, Granddad.”
“Did you meet Kent Grosso?” Carlton asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
So, he was a Grosso fan. Kent, with his multigeneration family ties to NASCAR and a wife to whom he was devoted, was arguably the closest driver in NASCAR to an ordinary guy in a regular job. If you forgot he was a celebrity.
“Dennis Crane stopped by yesterday,” Carlton said. “His grandson, the boy that likes you, will be home for Thanksgiving.”
The hairs at the back of Eli’s neck stood to attention.
“That’s nice,” Jen said without enthusiasm.
“He’s a steady young man,” her grandfather pointed out.
Who Jen dates is none of my business. Eli rubbed his neck and forced himself to relax as he gazed around the Ashbys’ living room, which was as ordinary as any he’d seen. Except for that stack of accounting textbooks on the dining table.
“Those are Jen’s.” Carlton caught him looking. “She’s studying business at the community college.” He added proudly, “Gets straight As, too.”
Jennifer made a shushing motion. “Eli doesn’t want to hear about my boring degree.”
I really screwed up, dammit.
“What do you plan to do after you graduate?” Eli had to admit, an accounting degree did sound boring.
“No idea,” she said shortly. “That’s a long way away.”
“She’s taking next semester off, working extra hours at the track,” Carlton said. “But after that, she’ll be back into it.”
Money, Eli thought. Jen was probably slowing her studies so she could earn enough to support herself and her granddad. He examined his surroundings. This house hadn’t seen any attention in years. Doubtless Carlton’s arthritis chewed up a fortune in medical bills. The chicken farm was a minuscule operation, as far as he could see.
Eli had lacked family, lacked permanence in his life, but he’d never lacked money.
Money was convenient; it got things done.
Things like, making sure he had his Gil-approved “girlfriend” in Atlanta.
“Okay, I’ll go now,” he told Jen abruptly.
“But why are you here?” Carlton asked, suddenly realizing how odd it was to have Eli in his house.
“Jen thought you might like to meet me, being a NASCAR fan and all.”
Carlton’s brow furrowed. “But I like Kent Grosso.”
Eli couldn’t help smiling. “I see where Jen gets her bluntness. Thanks for letting me visit, sir.” He shook Carlton’s hand with an enthusiasm that wasn’t entirely returned.
“I’ll see you out,” Jennifer said, as he knew she would. She would want to be sure he left.
Out in the hallway, she brushed past him to open the front door. Eli was shocked at how that glancing touch made him want to try that kiss all over again.
“Goodbye, Eli.” She held the door wide open.
“Ten thousand dollars,” he said.
She stared.
Eli took the door from her unresisting fingers and closed it. “That’s how much I’ll pay you to spend the next three weekends posing as my girlfriend.”
“Are you insane?” Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Do you have any idea how much money that is?”
“Less than I make in a week,” he said calmly. It was only a small fraction of his salary, but he figured that information would outrage rather than impress. “Enough for you to pay someone to help out around here while you speed up your degree. I’m also offering you a fifty percent share of any prize money I earn during those three weeks. Though I wouldn’t count on that,” he said fairly. “I haven’t won much money this year.”
“You need to leave.” But her voice was unsteady.
“Those plans for your future that you were discussing with the chickens…” He ignored her deep flush. “Are you going to turn down an opportunity to make them reality, just because I offended you?”
JEN’S HANDS SHOOK. She wedged them into the pockets of her cutoffs. Ten thousand dollars!
All she had to do was pretend to be Eli’s girlfriend, which she’d been on the verge of agreeing to anyway, until he reminded her of the great gulf between their attitudes.
As if that mattered in a fake relationship! Which was all this would be, she reminded herself. Despite that brief hope their kiss had meant something to him, if she analyzed his words, nothing he’d said suggested they would genuinely be dating. Real girlfriends didn’t get paid!
Ten thousand dollars.
“It sounds like a bribe,” she said.
“It’s a job offer,” he corrected. “A temporary job to help secure your future. Compared with what I stand to lose, ten thousand bucks is chicken feed. Literally, in this case.”
Ten thousand dollars would bring the security she craved closer. But it would do more than that. The sooner she finished her degree, the sooner she could get a good-paying job and stop feeling as if she was missing out on life.
“Why didn’t you mention the money earlier?” she asked. “Why pretend that you like me?” It seemed her every encounter with him was designed to batter her pride.
“I do like you,” he said, without a trace of that teasing smile. “But that wasn’t enough. Then I saw you need money…I like to seize the day.”
The second time he’d quoted that axiom. Life was seldom as simple as such mottos suggested.
Could it be that simple now? Granddad would freak out at what he’d call a “harebrained scheme,” Jen posing as Eli’s girlfriend. Granddad d
oesn’t need to know. She could “work” for Eli, and when it was all over, she could date Dennis Crane’s grandson. Who was a nice enough guy…a plumber, actually.
Though she’d never felt much attraction toward him.
She thought about spending weekends with Eli. About kissing him. Which shouldn’t be on her mind at all.
But it was. And now the money gave her the excuse to do what she was dying to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARLTON ASHBY bought the story that Jen was taking a temporary job as Eli’s assistant. With no race at Bristol next week and only a local meeting the following two weekends, Bob Coffman was more than happy to release Jen from some of her hours.
There was no NASCAR Sprint Cup Series race scheduled the following weekend, either, but Eli invited Jen to accompany him to a charity gala in Charlotte. Those semisocial events were worse than races when it came to persistent fans.
Eli grinned to himself as he put the finishing touches to the BLT sandwiches he was assembling for an early lunch.
He’d met Jen at the airport an hour ago, brought her to his house on Lake Norman, settled her and her small overnight bag into his largest guestroom. Now she was perched on a bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island.
Everything was going just right. Gil had been delighted to hear Jen would be in Charlotte, and then at the Atlanta race. He’d lightened up on his scrutiny, which had given Eli the chance to meet informally with a couple of other team owners this week to talk about his prospects.
Best of all—at least, it felt best of all with her sitting right here, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that looked unintentionally sexy, as if they’d shrunk in the wash—their arrangement gave him a license to kiss her again.
“You want avocado salsa on this?” Eli asked Jen.
“Sure, thanks.”
Okay, so things weren’t a hundred percent just right. Jen had barely spoken since she arrived—where was that bluntness he enjoyed? If her nerves, or whatever it was, didn’t pass soon, their act wouldn’t be convincing.