Qualify: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by TL Mayhew

  I’m not stupid, I know why they’d turned me down and it wasn’t because of my experience. No harm, no foul. Dad said it wouldn’t be easy. But this one, waiting for me on the other side of the door, is the job I’ve been waiting my whole life for.

  The chance to pit for one of the Kingston racing teams, especially Kye’s, would be a dream come true.

  According to my research, he’s not just a pretty face with soft lips I’d love to kiss all day. He really is a great driver.

  Four times he’s placed in the top five runners-up of the Indianapolis 500 and he’s won the cup twice. That in and of itself is a major accomplishment.

  I’d watched a few of his races last night. He does take more chances than a more seasoned driver might. But it’s got him to where he is today, which is just shy of being in the top one hundred drivers of all time.

  The last video I’d seen was a news report, indicating Kye is taking his talents to NASCAR. If he does well there, it’s where he’ll spend the rest of his career until he retires. And with his success this far it, wouldn’t be surprising if that happened before he turns forty in five years.

  A switch in cars is the only reason he has an opening on his pit crew. There’s more than enough talent on his present crew, but he’s bringing on two more who have experience or can be taught on a NASCAR Cup Series car.

  It’s the same kind of cars my brothers’ race and that my dad was the pit crew manager for. Which is what I learned and helped work on all through my teen years. That’s why I’m perfect for this job.

  Those thoughts give me the boost of confidence I need to make my arrival known, and I tap my knuckles firmly against the door.

  Male voices mumble from the other side, increasing in tone and clarity, as I wait for someone to answer.

  The knob turns and the door swings open. “Thanks for coming in, man. It was nice catching up with you.”

  I lift my eyes prepared to introduce myself when my breath catches in my throat at who is standing only a few feet away. Beckett Daniels.

  He meets my wide eyes and his brows furrow momentarily before his face softens and a huge grin spreads across his face. “I’ll be damned, Berkleigh Shaw!” he drawls, extending a hand and giving me a quick once over. “The last time I saw you was what, six years ago?”

  Star-struck is the best way to describe my state of mind as Colton Donavan’s crew chief stands before me in the flesh. Although I’m unable to form words, I take his offered hand and give him a nod in return.

  He must be used to this reaction because he doesn’t call me out, instead he turns to the man I’m here to interview with. “This is Nolan Shaw’s kid. You remember him? Crew chief from Sullivan racing?”

  A single nod is the only acknowledgment Beckett gets.

  As soon as my dad’s name left his lips, my confidence from earlier deflates into thin air. I realize the name Shaw would’ve called attention to me, but I was hoping this would be the one time someone wasn’t familiar with our family. I wanted to do this on my own, not on the coattails of my father.

  “How is your dad anyway?” Beckett asks, clearly interested in how he’s doing but digging the hole my chances of getting this job will be tossed in deeper.

  “Um, he’s doing good.” My response barely a whisper as I chance a glance at the annoyed face of a man I’ll be alone with shortly.

  “He’s retired now, right?”

  Hell, if he’s going to keep digging, I might as well stop acting like a kid with her hand caught in a cookie jar. Straightening myself, I respond as though I would to a best friend. “Yeah, he’s retired but still likes to run things when it comes to my brothers.”

  Beckett tips his head back and belts out a laugh. “I’m sure that’s like rounding up a herd of bulls,” he says, chuckling some more.

  Mr. Anderson pins me in place with a narrowed stare. And at this moment I can guarantee I’m not getting the job.

  Beckett’s clearly unaware of why I’m here but when he speaks again, he turns the tables back in my favor.

  “You’d better watch out for this one,” he says, looking at me but talking to man I assume is ready to get me in and out of here so he can get on with this day. “She knows her way around a car. Probably more so than some men I know.” He offers me a wink and a flashy smile before patting me on the shoulder and brushing past. “Berkleigh, it was nice seeing you again. Tell your dad and brothers I said Hi. Anderson… I can’t say it was as nice seeing you. Catch ya later.” With a quick wave he disappears around the corner.

  “Asshole,” Mr. Anderson says under his breath, shaking his head and turning his straight face on me before waving me into his office. “After you.”

  I step farther in the room and my jaw drops at the luxurious masculine design. It’s a far cry from the modest furnishings of my childhood home in the Midwest. We weren’t hurting for money by any means, but what we did have was spent on the five thousand square foot garage and the cars held within.

  Here it’s like an episode of The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Dark hardwood floors flow throughout the large space, mirroring the trim around the windows and ceiling. One wall to my left is covered in bookshelves that consist of automotive books, racing pictures signed by many famous drivers, and a trophy cup—or ten—placed strategically on individual shelves.

  To my right is a red leather couch and love seat topped with checkered flag throw pillows. In any other setting it might come off as too novelty but here it ties in well with the racing theme.

  I’m tempted to drop my ass on the sofa just to see if it’s as comfortable as it looks, and I even take a step in that direction, but something hanging on the wall catches my attention. As soon as I realize what it is, I freeze.

  “It was the day he won the Indianapolis 500. That son of a bitch had the photo enlarged to actual size and gave it to me as a consolation prize,” Mr. Anderson says, moving next to me.

  His words insinuate he’s offended at the gesture of the driver in the photo, but his tone holds a fondness as he speaks of Kye. I, on the other hand, feel as though the breath has been stolen from my very lungs at the sex appeal it gives off.

  Kye is half in and half out of the car, sitting on the edge of the welded door. His helmet’s been removed, and his hair is a tousled mess, but those piercing hazel eyes and that fire suit send the butterflies in my stomach fluttering.

  I knew he was hot as hell, but this life-size version of him in his element, with that glorious smile and a hand in the air waving to his fans is worthy of its larger size.

  Mr. Anderson clears his throat from across the room and my cheeks heat from embarrassment at being caught ogling the man in the picture. There’s a minute chance he could end up as my boss.

  It takes more effort than it should, dragging my eyes away from him. After a beat I compose myself, straighten the hem of my shirt, and approach Mr. Anderson’s desk. Stopping just shy of the chairs placed in front.

  “Have a seat,” he instructs, waiting for me to do so before he takes his own and pins that same hard stare from earlier on me. “I’ll be honest, I had no intention of taking a second glance at your résumé, Miss Shaw. We’re not in the practice of hiring anyone just out of college with no real-time racing experience.”

  I slump in my chair. This is it, he’s going to give me the same song and dance as the others and then he’s going to send me packing. Just like they did.

  He must sense my reaction because he lets out a deep sigh. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through. This industry isn’t always kind…” He pauses, glancing back at his desk, his meaning clear.

  Disappointment comes out on my own deep sigh and I rise, preparing to leave.

  This draws his attention, and his eyes snap to mine. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought…” My brows furrow in confusion. “I thought you were telling me in some roundabout way, there’s no reason to go any further.”

  He offers an apologetic smile. “I apologi
ze if I gave that impression. It wasn’t my intention. I have daughters.”

  He says that as though it should mean something to me. It doesn’t. I place a hand on my hip, waiting for his explanation and wondering if he’s preparing me for “the speech.”

  “It’s just, I wouldn’t want them having to go through what you are now. In a way, I’m thankful they’re not interested in racing, other than to hang out in the stands and pick up men their father most certainly doesn’t approve of.”

  This makes me chuckle and my thoughts instantly go to my own dad and my brothers.

  It was so bad that on race day I was forced to stay in the garage, right up until just minutes before whatever brother was racing and they were lined up on the track. And even then, we would sit up in the VIP box, away from anyone who might catch their sister’s and his daughter’s eye.

  Those days in the garage are what got me here though. Another rejection and a huge opportunity is about to force me straight out the door.

  “Ahem.”

  My attention goes back to the man looking at me with a curious arched brow and I wonder if I’ve missed something. Did he already give the speech and is now wondering why I’m still standing here? Unsure what he expects, I assume the worst. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Wasting my time? We haven’t even started yet. I was just asking if you were planning on standing there all day, or if you were going to have a seat so we can begin.” He smiles as though my inability to pay attention is humorous.

  In an instant, I’m dropping back in the chair and my focus is only on him. It earns me a deep chuckle from the other side of the desk. A key ice breaking moment.

  From then on, our conversation is easy, and the interview moves along quickly.

  I fill him in on my experience and he gives me more detail on the role they’re hiring for. There’s nothing he’s asked that I can’t or feel uncomfortable answering. His mechanical questions are easy. As are the simple “where do you see yourself in five years” type questions but then the questions just stop.

  There’s no sign they’ll be calling me later and letting me know if I got the job, or that they’ll be calling me back for another interview. Instead, it’s just a lengthy awkward pause.

  I can’t stand the silence any longer. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  Leaning forward on the desk, he steeples his hands and pins a hard stare on me. “You’re very well versed in the mechanics of a stock car and I’m impressed by what you know, but it raises a question for me. Why aren’t you pursuing a career as a driver?”

  That’s a curveball I wasn’t expecting. All the other interviewers hadn’t even hinted at this question. It just shows me Mr. Anderson is someone who isn’t afraid of a woman on his turf. I let out a puff of air and pause before answering.

  It’s obvious he doesn’t know my dad. My dream of feeling the vibration of a well-maintained piece of machinery at two hundred plus miles per hour beneath me was shot down on my fifteenth birthday. It was where my dad drew the line. The reason went something like, I was his only little girl and there was no way I was risking my life on the track.

  I fought it hard, more so than I did about college, but in the end, he won out. He always did.

  “I’d considered it. But it was just never in the cards for me.” I shrug and slump back into the chair feeling defeated all over again.

  Mr. Anderson offers a sympathetic nod then stares at me for a moment longer before rising from his chair. “Well, Miss Shaw, that’s all the questions I have. I’ll review your file with the corporate folks upstairs and then the team. You can expect a call from me sometime this week with a decision either way.”

  This is a good thing, I think. It doesn’t sound like he’s completely ruled me out as a candidate. Rising to my feet I reach for his outstretched hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Grady,” he corrects.

  “Pardon me?”

  “You can call me Grady. Mr. Anderson sounds so formal.” Lines crinkle around his eyes as he offers a warm smile.

  I return my own and release his hand. “Thank you for your time…Grady. Looking forward to talking with you again.” As I turn and head toward the door, I can feel his eyes on me. Unsure if he’s checking out my ass, I concentrate hard on keeping my pace professional and fighting the urge to sway my hips, as I might’ve done had it been Kye on the other side of that desk.

  “Where did that come from?” I murmur once I’m on the other side of the door.

  Chapter 9

  As I was leaving the interview, I’d called Josh just to check in. He’d said he was giving me the rest of the day off because Andre was working a full day. Plus, the caliper for the van wasn’t in yet so there wasn’t much to do.

  Three times I’d asked if he was sure. His reply was that if I came in, he’d send me home, or have me arrested. His dry sense of humor is sometimes eye roll worthy.

  I drop my keys on the counter and head into the living room where there’s a plush couch calling my name.

  Once I’m seated, exhaustion weighs heavily on my eyelids, and I close them, leaning my head on the back of the couch. Normally the echo of torque wrenches, and clanging metal tools would ring in my ears, but not today. Instead, my thoughts drift back to the interview and what it might be like working for Kye.

  Unfortunately, ever since the simulation room, work isn’t where my mind goes when it comes to him. Imagining soft lips and the deep timbre of his tone are what consume my thoughts.

  Whenever he’s around, my past and present collide, but instead of an explosion they evaporate into an energized air around us. He was and still is my knight. A knight with hazel eyes and a smirk that could melt the panties right off a nun.

  He’s slowly breaking down the barriers I hadn’t realized I’d built so long ago.

  Sure, I’d tried dating a few times but there would always be something holding me back. A certain glance, a forceful touch, or the worst of them all… an ultimatum, dragging me straight back to the professor’s office.

  It’s part of the reason I’d moved out to California. A fresh start of sorts. The fact I’d ended up in a place so near Kingston Corp wasn’t entirely by fate either.

  My dad had given me a choice of places I’d like to go and at the time I’d thought about Kye’s safety lecture. Even though I hadn’t called him, I had glanced at the business card he’d left. When I saw his racing team was in California, the more The Golden State appealed to me.

  It was the only time I’d stood my ground with my dad because staying in Kansas wasn’t a choice, not for me.

  “You can have a decent job right here,” he says, pacing the floor. “And it doesn’t have to be working with your family, as you’ve made it clear that’s not what you want.”

  I let out a frustrated huff. “It’s not that, Dad, and you know it. I want… bigger, better opportunities, the kind I’ll never get in Kansas.” It’s a partial lie, I do want those things, but I also want out of this fucking state. “I’d think you’d want those things for me as well.”

  Those last words are what does him in. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he takes a seat, defeated. “Fine. You get two options, make them good, Berkleigh, because you only get one chance at this.”

  The ring of my cell pulls me back to the present. I consider not answering, but there’s a good chance it could be Grady.

  Swiping it off the table I glance at the screen, disappointed it’s not someone about the job. “Hey, Dru.”

  “What’s the matter with you? You sound so, glum,” he asks.

  Shit! I’m not ready to tell them about the interview yet. I pull the phone away from my mouth and a whole lot of random things I could tell him enter my mind. None of which sound believable, so I settle with something a bit vague. “Umm… it was just a busy day today.”

  “Mm-hmm. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sister,” he retorts.

  I choke on a gasp at his choi
ce of words. It’s the same phrase used by another man who’s constantly invading my thoughts. Not wanting those thoughts to come across over the phone I shake them from my mind. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, brother?”

  “A little birdie told Elliot, who told Dante, who told me, you had an interview today. How’d it go?”

  What the ever-loving… How in the hell did they find out? The only people who knew were, Grady, Mrs. Kincaid, and… Josh! “When did Elliot talk to Josh?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad. Elliot tried calling you earlier. When he couldn’t reach you, he called Josh, and I guess it just slipped out when El asked where you were.”

  “Fucking Josh.”

  “Hey! Language. No one has told Dad, but you know he’ll be pissed as hell if he finds out and you haven’t told him yourself.”

  What a freaking mess. I hadn’t planned on telling Dad yet because I know, even if I tell him not to, he’ll make a call and I’ll miraculously get the job. There’s not much I can do about it now. “Fine, is he there?”

  “Well, it just so happens he is. Here talk to Dex for a minute…”

  There’s a shuffle on the other end and Dru’s twin comes on the line. “Hey, Berk… you seen any big shot celebrities yet?”

  “Not unless you count Beckett Daniels as a big shot celebrity.”

  “You met Beckett?” he shouts into the phone, and I pull it away from my ear, so he doesn’t burst my eardrum. “Like the Beckett Daniels? Colton Donovan’s, who is a total rock star by the way, crew chief?”

  I hear a faint “Who’s a rock star?” in the background and I instantly recognize Dad’s voice. They have their own back and forth conversation about how I’d met Beckett and how much Dex wants to come visit before Dad says something to him.

  Shortly after, Dad’s stern tone filters through the line. “Hon, that’s great you’re meeting people, just remember where your focus should be and the reason you elected to go out there in the first place.”

  “Yes, Dad. In fact, that’s the reason I asked Dru to put you on.” I take in a deep breath then let it out giving him the news. “I had an interview today.”