“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I’m not used to.” Sadly.
He looks like he’s going to say something but bites it back and cracks the door open, checking the hall to make sure there’s no one there.
“You’ll need these.” I grab the loafer I kicked under the bed, find his other one nearby, half hidden by the dust ruffle, and hand them to him.
“Thanks.” He slips them on and does one last hallway check before stepping out of the room. “Call or text if you need me.”
There he goes again, stirring up all the feels. Seriously, what did I do to deserve this man?
“I will,” I lie, knowing full well that hell would have to freeze over before I’d drag him into my mess. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”
I use my workout to try to get my head on straight, but to no one’s surprise, breakfast is still a goddamn disaster. It’s a miracle I get anything down. Even worse, my father insists on accompanying me to the track and sitting in on our strategy session, and no one—myself included—has the balls to say no to him. From the look on Ben’s face, he’s ten seconds away from killing him, but we manage to get through the meeting without any bloodshed.
“Grady,” Ben says as the group starts to break up. “Can I speak to you for a minute. Alone.”
He shoots a pointed look at my father, who glares back. They stay that way for a long moment, locked in a silent battle of wills as the room empties out. It’s my father who finally gives in and breaks eye contact, his angry gaze shifting to me.
“I’ll see you in the garage,” he says, pushing his chair back from the conference table and standing.
“No, you won’t,” Ben counters, rising with him. “LaRue Motorsports policy. Only team members in the garage on race day.”
“Since when?” my father snaps.
Ben folds his arms across his chest defiantly. “Since I took over as Grady’s race engineer.”
“Rest assured that Jacques will be hearing from me about this.” My father starts toward the door.
Ben shrugs. “Go right ahead. He and I are in total agreement on this. We both want what’s best for Grady.”
“Who the hell are you to say what’s best for my son? You have him driving like a pussy. He needs to be more aggressive if he wants to win. Push harder into the first corner. Wait longer before braking. Take the outside line, forcing your opponent to run out of track.”
“Dad—” I start, but Ben cuts me off, taking control of the conversation.
“I’m his race engineer, that’s who the hell I am. And when it comes to strategy, Bernie and I are in charge,” he says sharply, referencing Bernadette Buscombe, the team’s chief strategist. “No one else.”
“We’ll see about that.”
His parting shot fired, my father leaves, slamming the door behind him. The hollow sound echoes in the conference room like an explosion.
“Holy shit,” I say once I’ve picked my jaw up off the floor. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone stand up to my father like that before.”
“You’re not mad at me?” Ben asks. He’s playing with his watch band again. He may have been able to face my father without fear, but now, with me, he’s nervous. “I was worried I might have taken it too far.”
To hell with his no touching at work rule. The man needs reassuring, and I’m damn well going to give it to him.
I cross to him and put a hand on his chest, right over the logo on his LaRue polo shirt, which, of course, is right over his heart. Its steady thump radiates up my arm, settling in my own chest like a warm cloud.
“Are you kidding?” I ask huskily. “It was hot as hell.”
“Save it for after the race,” he chides, pushing my hand away. But there’s no bite to his words or the push, only affection. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of a hope that, like me, he’s starting to feel something more than physical attraction.
Then again, that last part could be wishful thinking on my part. That idea sobers me. A change of subject is most definitely in order.
“How did you convince Jacques to ban my father from the garage?” I ask. He was always allowed in there before. Marcel practically shit himself with excitement whenever he set foot inside. I haven’t seen that much ass kissing since Dwight Schrute onThe Office.
“I didn’t,” Ben admits sheepishly.
