“Sweet!” I tease. Stop it, Whitney!
The beer must have worn off because my nerves are back with a vengeance thanks to this nerve-racking close encounter. He turns on the television with a series of remotes, and the screen comes to life. Then he switches on the game console, and NASCAR Unleashed brightens the screen.
“A video game? Ryan, you’re not serious,” I say in horror.
Ryan laughs and takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. “Yep! This is as real as it gets besides being in the car. It is amazing the technology of these things nowadays. I can log in and race people all over the world. And what’s funny is that they don’t even know that it’s me. It is almost as good as the real thing.” He laughs to himself.
Ryan purposefully chooses the track that he will be racing at on Sunday. Then he gives me a series of instructions on how to operate my car by using the controller. We are all set to battle on the Xbox. I am horrible at it, of course, but he is a champion in virtual reality too. Ryan was right! It does give me a good insight into what it’s like in the car and on the track.
Ryan coaches me through the track specifics of the Sonoma speedway. He talks incessantly about the road course track, qualifying times, and pit regulations. My brain is piled high with information that I can’t even begin to process. I need my iPad to take notes.
Ryan is in his element, although I have crashed my car for the third time and given up. I set my controller down and continue to watch what he is doing. I lay my head back and curl up on the comfortable brown leather sofa. I can barely keep my eyes open as he continues to pump me with information about the track, pit stops, and other drivers.
“Whitney? Are you getting all this?” he questions me quickly, but returns his attention back to the virtual track.
I nod quietly as I struggle in vain to take in all of the specifics, but my mind begins to drift. My efforts to stay awake give way to the overwhelming exhaustion that has engulfed my body.
Chapter 13
Iam warm and strangely comfortable. My eyes slowly open, and I am slightly disoriented, but only for a moment. It takes me only a second to reconcile that I have fallen asleep on Ryan’s sofa. I sit up and look around the great room. The television is still on, but muted and tuned to ESPN’s SportsCenter. And asleep on the opposite end of the couch is the one and only Ryan Carter.
I shift from my contented position on the couch and realize that I have been covered up with a blanket. Wow! That was thoughtful. I am shocked! I stand up to gather my faculties. I walk over to the kitchen to find my iPhone and my bag. What time is it? A steady rain is falling, and the cloud cover makes it impossible for me to even estimate what time it may be.
I find my belongings and glance at my phone. Then, all hell breaks loose!
“Ryan!” I scream.
He awakes, jumps up and off the couch like he has been attacked. “What the fuck, Whitney?” he yells back, out of breath. “It’s almost nine a.m.!” My whole body shakes. “I am so freaking late for work!” I pace the kitchen floor in a full-blown anxiety attack. “What am I going to do?” I wail with my head in my hands.
Ryan is watching my meltdown with wry, sleepy amusement as he stumbles back to the couch. “What time is it?” he says as he yawns sleepily.
I completely ignore him as I pick up my phone and stare at it, hoping that it has some unforeseen powers to turn back the clock. I notice two missed calls. Oh shit! Both of the missed calls are from the office, and I start to hyperventilate. Fanning my face, I can’t breathe. I check my voice mail icon, one new voice mail.
I continue to pace the floor as I press the play button to listen to the voice mail. “Hi, Whitney! It’s Jerri. I noticed your car in the parking lot but can’t seem to find you in the building. I know you were here late last night, so I was worried. Call me, please.”
“No, no, no!” I cry out. “This is not happening!” I sit down on the couch beside Ryan, who still looks half asleep, but amused from my morning meltdown.
This is so unprofessional and possibly career ending. I put my head in my hands and run down my laundry list of problems in my head. Let’s see…my car is still in the parking lot at the office. How the hell will I explain that? How am I going to get back to the building? I can’t walk from Ryan’s house. And he damn sure isn’t going to drop me off. There is no time for me to go back into Charlotte to my apartment. I haven’t had a shower. My hair looks like hell. And Oh! My! God! I have no clothes. I’m going to have to take the walk of shame into my office wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday. Please God. This is not happening.
Ryan calmly says, “Just call Jerri and tell her you overslept. She knows you have been working late hours.”
I snap my head back in his direction. Wait! How does he know that?
“We will figure out the rest,” he says as if he already knows my list of crises.
We! Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Everyone at the office is going to think I slept with Ryan! Oh dear God!
I try my hardest to get control before I call Jerri. I count to ten slowly in my head and take a deep breath. “Jerri, hi, I’m soo very sorry, but I overslept! No, ma’am! I…” I steal a look at Ryan, who bids me to continue. “I stayed with a friend last night. She picked me up from the office. Yes, ma’am! She is going to drop me back off in a few minutes. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am, I am fine. Again, I am sorry, but I am on my way. Yes, ma’am, thank you.” I hang up, mortified. I am a terrible liar. “Ryan! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
He shrugs at me with a yawn. “You looked…I don’t know…I could tell you were exhausted, and you seemed peaceful. So, I didn’t want to disturb you,” he fumbles. What?
I begin to pace the floor again. “Yeah, well, I don’t look peaceful now, do I?” I snap.
“Whitney, you have got to calm down!” Ryan pleads with me, stressing his point. “Do you need coffee or something?”
Yes! It appears that I need a new brain. Thank you very much!
Ryan is right, though. I do need to calm down. I don’t want him to see me like this. Southern girls are famous for their hissy fits, but most of us throw them internally to maintain our strong, solid façade.
I let out a huge breath. Coffee would be a start. “Yes, thank you!” I gladly accept his offer.
“I’ll go fix a pot, a strong one!” He smirks as he strides his sexy smart-ass into the kitchen.
“This is not funny, Ryan fucking Carter!” I shout, following him into the kitchen in exasperation.
Ryan laughs and sets out my plan of action. “Go take a shower in my bathroom. It’s down the hall, to the right. Take a shirt from my closet. There should be several in there that you could wear with those slacks. Then you should be good to go.” He commands with full authority.
Then another load of bricks hits me from behind. He is so calm because he has done this before. I am so freaking stupid. How did I let this happen?
Begrudgingly, I head down the hall to Ryan’s room. I open the door to find another atypical room that is immaculately decorated. The bed is even made.
“What the what?” I murmur to myself as I pass through to his bathroom. It is fabulous, with wall-to-wall limestone and granite countertops. It looks like it has never been used. Mr. Arrogance must be OCD as well.
I emerge from Ryan’s oasis in record time. It’s a shame that I didn’t have more time in there. His shower with those double spray heads was magnificent. It did wonders to calm my nerves. I take a towel from the rack outside of the shower. As I wrap myself in it, I can smell Ryan. His smell completely paralyzes my body causing my muscles to clench down deep. What is that about?
I walk to the bathroom counter to find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me. When did he come in here? Did he see me naked in the shower? I shake my head. Bad thoughts, Whitney! The coffee is scorching hot. The first sip burns my tongue, but it is made just the way I take it. Good guess?
I open the door to Ryan’s bedroom and stick my head ou
t to make sure that he is nowhere in sight. Confident that I am alone, I pad across the bedroom, still naked except for the towel that I am wrapped up in, to find Ryan’s closet. The first door I try opens up a labyrinth that should not belong to any man. It is another phenomenon. His closet is huge. The man has more clothes than I do. They are all arranged by type, style, and color. I run my hands over his neatly pressed clothes that look like they came straight from the dry cleaner. Ryan’s wonderful smell rises from the material. It is now forever burned on my brain. Sweet Jesus!
I find a plain white button-down shirt, which I secretly love, from what looks like the casual section. It is a shame for a man to have that many clothes, I think as I shrug it on his shirt and head back into the bathroom. I manage to brush my hair into compliance. I am tempted to search the cabinets for a straightening iron. I know there is one here. But then again, I don’t want to know whatever else I might find in those cabinets either.
Thankfully, I find some makeup in my bag. I look myself over in the large mirror of Ryan’s bathroom. This isn’t my best, but it is far better than I had expected. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I have to face Ryan again.
I walk back into the kitchen with my empty cup of coffee. Ryan is sitting at the counter with his own cup. He works me over with his intense blue eyes, and it makes me uncomfortable.
Ryan says smugly, “You had to pick my favorite shirt, didn’t you?”
I smile sarcastically in return. “You may not get it back either.” I wink. Whitney! Stop!
“I’m glad to see that you calmed down.” Ryan rolls his eyes at me and takes my cup from hand to refill my glorious concoction. I watch him with anticipation as he adds milk and cream. I realize I am holding my breath just watching him do this mundane task.
“Thank you!” I say too loudly but appreciatively. “It’s just how I take it!”
Ryan hands the cup back to me and smiles wryly. He turns back to the counter and opens a cabinet drawer. “Here!” He slides a set of car keys across the counter to me.
“What’s this?” I say, confused.
He replies calmly, “The keys to the Camaro.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee.
“Excuse me…what?” I exclaim with a laugh. I shake my head and speak again before he can respond. “I am not driving your car to the office!”
Ryan snaps at my hardheadedness “Yes, you are, unless you want me to drive you back to the office on the golf cart!”
I guffaw at him. He knows that isn’t an option.
“The car was just delivered to me yesterday, and only my business manager knows about it,” Ryan says, deadpan.
Dumbfounded, I look at him.
“I will get it later. Just leave the keys in it.”
I am in shock. “Uhh…I…OK,” I stutter.
Ryan raises his eyebrows at me and ushers me down the hallway to the garage. He opens the back door and presses a small white button on the wall. The garage door opens slowly and quietly. The rain is still falling outside. I pause and watch Ryan as he crosses the garage floor over to the Camaro. He turns back to me with a weird, almost angry look on his face.
“And just so you know, I haven’t even driven the damn thing yet. And Whitney, so help me God, I will lose it if you get as much as a scratch on it!”
I raise my eyebrows at him because I have no doubts.
“I cannot believe I am even doing this.” He shakes his head at me while he opens the door to the car.
I smile broadly, pleased with myself. Sweet! Too bad I don’t have farther to drive. I walk to the beautiful piece of machinery and gently place my bag in the passenger seat. Ryan takes my coffee cup from me.
“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”
“You are now!” Ryan says authoritatively. I frown. I guess he is a control freak about his vehicles too.
I walk around to the other side of the vehicle. Ryan opens the driver’s door for me, and I slide in. I run my hands around the steering wheel as I take in the new car smell. This car is phenomenal.
Ryan gives me some basic instructions as if I have never driven a car before. I nod amenable even though I am annoyed.
“I have been driving since I was fifteen. I think I can handle this,” I say as a matter of fact.
“It’s custom,” he says proudly. “It has a Z06, LS7, V-8 engine.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What?”
“It is the same motor setup that is in a Corvette. It was custom built just for me.” He beams with his trademark arrogance.
I laugh mockingly, antagonizing him.
“Just be easy with the pedal, Whitney.”
“Hmmm…” I mutter while taking in all that worthless information, and before my brain can stop my mouth, I say, “Why don’t you have a Corvette?”
The look on Ryan’s face is priceless, as I recall the cool state-of-the-art interior of Colton’s car. It is smooth just like him. Ryan opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He looks conflicted or maybe even angry. I am not sure which. But I am sure that he is wondering who I know that has a Corvette. He only shakes his head and doesn’t say a word.
“Just be careful. The roads are wet. And this car can get away from you quickly,” Ryan warns as he moves to shut the door.
“Wait!” I stop him from closing the door. “How do I get back to the office?”
“Whitney, get serious!” he shouts at me.
“What? Until yesterday, I had no clue that you even lived behind the office.” I smile sweetly at him and say sarcastically, “So, yes, I need to know how to get back to the office parking lot, pretty please.”
Ryan hesitates.
“Surely, you don’t want me to drive through the path?”
Ryan runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, but then begins to laugh at me. “Whitney, what in the hell am I going to do with you?”
Chapter 14
My plane lands in San Francisco with ease. I quickly exit the airport to find the courier who waits to take me into Sonoma Valley. I am in the land of vineyards and spas, which would be any gal’s dream vacation, but no. I am here on business, and for a NASCAR race at that. Yay for me, I think sarcastically.
I laugh at my own thoughts as I slide into the car with the courier, who is less than friendly. I take out my cell phone to check in with Brooke. No answer.
I arrive at a quaint little boutique hotel about twenty minutes from the track. When I reach the check-in, a young guy who I suspect is gay gives me the once-over. I smile as I give him my name, “Whitney Parker.”
He responds coolly as he types away into his computer, “I don’t have a reservation for that name.”
I take a step back. Damn! I forgot to change the name from Annalise’s reservation to mine. After the week I have had, I probably can’t even spell my own name.
“I am so sorry, but I meant to go through the proper channels to change the name on this reservation,” I say. The attendant raises his eyebrows at me. “Miss Martin no longer works for GCR Racing. I am her replacement.”
My explanations are in vain because Mr. Rules and Regulations, who is not convinced, lays out a sermon on the proper procedure on changing reservations. Finally, after I produce my driver’s license, my GCR identification, race weekend corporate credentials, and the company credit card, he grudgingly changes the name on the reservation.
“Will you be taking over the complete itinerary for Miss Martin?” he asks.
Ummm, yes! I scream to myself. She no longer works for GCR.
I fight my sarcastic tongue and mutter a polite, “Yes!” What itinerary could she possibly have outside of the track? I shake my head. When it comes to her, there is no telling whatsoever.
As I arrive in my room, my cell phone begins to ring. I fumble with my bags, then finally drop them to the floor to retrieve my iPhone from my purse. It’s Brooke!
“Hi!” I say, out of breath, and collapse onto the fluffy bed.
“Did you make it?” Brooke asks.
“Yes. I just had to go through an act of Congress to get checked in, but I am here.” Just as I complete my sentence, there is a loud knock on my room door. “Just a sec, someone is at the door.”
I lay the phone down on the bed and bound over to the door. I open it and am almost knocked over by a room service attendant with a rolling cart. I stand back, stunned. What the hell? The cart is filled with a bucket containing a bottle of chilled champagne, a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a vase of pale pink roses. I stand shocked in disbelief. Colton? The attendant politely shoves a white folder at me with Annalise’s name on it. My stomach rolls with nausea as I read her name. It’s not for me.
After he retreats, I remember—Brooke! I amble back to the bed and sweep up the phone to my ear. “You there?” I exclaim.
“Yes!” she responds, irritated.
“A waiter just brought in a whole spread of champagne, flowers, and chocolate-covered strawberries.
Brooke gasps, “From who? Colton?”
I take a moment to think. My stomach rolls again remembering my own display of pale pink roses from Colton. No, couldn’t be, or could it?
“I don’t know…Wait…The waiter handed me a folder. No, it’s not for me…” Then I remember it is still in my hand. I am so confused. I open the folder, and several papers fall out. “Damn it! I just dropped everything. Hang on.”
I kneel down to find Annalise’s itinerary spread out on the floor of my hotel room. I browse the documents. Most of them are hotel accommodations, but then I hit the jackpot, a letter from the concierge.
Dear Miss Martin,
It is our pleasure to accommodate you and your guest during your stay with us. If you have any further needs, please contact me directly. Also, please find the attached documented itinerary for your spa and dining appointments.
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