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Moments later, Blake came into the room, and I eyed him warily as he sat. He was dressed formally in a suit and tie. I hadn’t gotten the memo and was in a floral summer dress and a pair of sandals. At least they were more upscale than the Birkenstocks I’d considered wearing.
“Sorry I was late. I was meeting with sponsors. They want to know where I’m driving next year,” he said, taking his seat.
“And what did you tell them?” I asked. I felt bad for Pedro Martinez. If this went through, my brother’s second would be without a seat next year. He’d been a good driver for the team, loyal, and hardworking, but Rafe couldn’t pass up having Blake Carlton drive for Perez.
“I told them things were up in the air, but there was little chance I would be with Roche next year. Not with the terrible engines. I’ve made my position clear.”
“Then the possibility of driving with Perez is looking like a sure thing.”
“Anything could happen. I don’t want to make any promises just yet.” And then he fixed those blue eyes on me again. I was a sucker for them. “Did you tell Flynn?”
“No, not yet. He’ll find out when everyone else does. I’m not breaking confidentiality to tell him, and he would understand that.”
“He’s not going to like it.”
Now those blue eyes were laughing. Blake was going to revel in the news.
“He’ll deal with it.”
We ordered dinner. Blake ordered a bottle of wine, and we shared it, not that I needed more alcohol.
“I did something you told me to do,” I said, feeling my body growing warm and light from the wine. A very bad sign that could get me in serious trouble. Aside from business, this was the reason I’d wanted to get him alone.
“What was that?” he asked, running his index finger around the rim of his wineglass.
“I looked up my dad on the internet.”
“What did you find?” he asked cheerfully.
“I found some conspiracy theories. Apparently, there are people out there who think my dad’s death is shrouded in mystery.”
“There are also those quacks out there.”
“I also found pictures of my father dying. His head blown up like a balloon, blood all over his face.”
The smile on Blake’s face slid away. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly.
“Do you know what happened next?”
He shifted in his seat. “No, what happened?”
“I went to the Bahamas and sunbathed on the beach.”
There was a level tone in my voice that I knew sounded dangerous, one Blake hadn’t experienced before. “That’s not funny.”
I felt surprisingly calm. “No, it’s not. It’s also not very funny to tell a person to seek out information on her father when you know very well what she may find. And don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what happened. You did call yourself The Grandfather, didn’t you? You don’t get that name for nothing.”
His pained expression caught me off guard. He seemed to genuinely care. “Luna, it never occurred to me that that’s what you’d find,” he said apologetically.
“You’ll forgive me for not believing you.”
My accusation seemed to wound him. “I would have never told you to do it if I knew that’s what you would find.”
“I had a meltdown. It frightens me what happened that day.”
“I’m … I’m sure it was something very difficult to look at.”
“It was. I fear that is the way I will always remember my father now. His mangled face, not his legacy. Not my memories of him.”
