Читать книгу Race To The Altar - Patricia Hagan - Страница 12

There were two days left before the big race. Liz was sequestered in her hotel room going over her notes to make sure she had not forgotten anything. Gary Staley’s jet would arrive just before lunch, so she had plenty of time.

Jeff was coming in on a commercial flight and had said he would meet them and take them to lunch. Liz had made reservations at an upscale restaurant and planned to join them there.

The press kits had been completed by midweek. She was very proud of them, and several journalists had complimented her on a great job. She had thanked them without explaining they would be even better once she had time to write some feature articles on Rick herself. But she could not do that till she got to know him a little better, and since the humiliating incident in the press box, she had avoided him as much as possible.

A week had passed since his performance in the qualifying races had given him a little more than fifteen minutes of fame. He had been the subject of several stories the following day in newspapers all over the country. He’d also been interviewed for radio and TV.

Liz had planned to play it for all it was worth, but the next day a well-known driver had wrecked his car in practice. The car was nothing but crumpled sheet metal, and she could not believe anyone could have survived such a crash. The driver had to be airlifted from the infield medical center to a local hospital, mercifully with no life-threatening injuries, but, of course, the media focused on him.

The day after that, something else had happened, and so it went. The sportswriters were constantly looking for new subjects to write about, so no one driver stayed in the limelight for long. Still, Liz had stayed busy trying to drum up interest in Rick. She had wanted to have a big story in the Sunday paper to impress not only the sponsor but her boss, as well.

She was sprawled on the bed, wearing shorts and a T-shirt with Rick’s picture on it. The tees had just gone on sale at the track concession stands the day before, and she was anxious to find out how they were selling. But first things first.

After lunch, Jeff was to drive the VIPs to the track, where Liz had arranged for them to have passes to the pit area to watch the last practice session. However, the crew was taking a day off. Their families had arrived, and they planned to relax at the beach the rest of the day.

She picked up Rick’s folder and began leafing through it. She knew it by heart. He was thirty-two. Older than the other rookies in their mid-twenties. But his had been a small, cheap operation. It had taken a lot of work and time on a very small budget to finally catch the eye of a sponsor willing to back him on the NASCAR circuit.

It had also taken skill as a driver, which Rick obviously had. He and Mack were longtime friends from a small town in Georgia. They had formed the team and run the short tracks all over the Southeast. Rick had won several local championships, made a name for himself and now he had been given a chance to run with the hot dogs.

Liz made a face to recall her humiliation in the press box. Though sorely tempted, she’d not said a word to Rick and spent little time in the garage, instead focusing on the press kits and getting them distributed, as well as trying to line up publicity for him.

She had approached him only when she needed to talk to him about something specific—like the autographing he’d done earlier in the week at a nearby mall. She had been quite impressed at the crowd he’d drawn. He was obviously popular with his fans, and she hoped to make him even more so and win new ones.

She read in his bio again about his degree from Georgia Tech in automotive engineering. He had probably commanded a high salary in that field before giving it up to go into racing full-time.

She took out the color photos from the press kit. She especially liked the one of Rick beside the race car. He made wonderful pictures, his dark, rugged good looks coming through on camera.

As always, Liz found herself wondering about his personal life and what he would be doing on a day others were with their families. Someone so handsome was bound to be in a relationship, which would explain his ambivalence to the beautiful young women who flocked around him at every opportunity. If so, it was an admirable trait. She liked loyalty in a man…something she, unfortunately, had yet to experience.

But she did not envy Rick’s girlfriend his archaic views toward women. Maybe she never showed up at the track because he made it clear he thought it was no place for females. Probably he kept her in what he considered her place—at home.

That would never work for Liz. But it didn’t matter. She was hoping if all went well, Jeff would move her on up the ladder to bigger accounts. So it wasn’t as if she would have to remain Rick’s PR rep for the duration of his sponsorship with Big Boy’s Pizza.

She wondered about her own schedule. The next race was in Rockingham, North Carolina, in only a week. Qualifying would begin midweek, which gave her just a few days to return to Charlotte and settle into her new apartment. She’d rented it on the Internet and hoped it would be okay. It really made no difference, though, because with a thirty-four-race schedule to follow, she’d hardly be home long enough to unpack, do her laundry, then throw everything back in her suitcase.

A glance at the clock told her she still had plenty of time to get dressed for lunch. Still, a long, soaking bath would be nice.

She was about to step into the tub when the phone rang. It was Rick, and he sounded annoyed.

“I need your help.”

She went into her public relations mode, sounding cordial but all business. “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

“Meet me in the parking lot. We need to get to the track right away. I’ll drive.”

“But—”

He hung up before she could begin firing questions, such as how long did he need her…and for what? Maybe she should have told him earlier about her luncheon appointment with his sponsor, and then he would’ve known she didn’t have time to ride out to the track.

She tried to call his room, but there was no answer, which meant he was on his way to his car. She had managed to get a room at the same motel as the team for convenience sake. Now she wondered if that had been a smart idea.

She yanked on her sneakers and hurried downstairs. She wasn’t thrilled over anyone seeing her dressed as she was, but she was in a hurry to let Rick know he had to find someone else.

Pushing through the doors to the outside, she saw him parked at the curb, the car’s engine running.

She opened the passenger door and leaned in. “Listen, I can’t go,” she began. “I forgot to tell you—”

And that was all she had time to say before he reached to grab her arm and pull her in. “Sorry, but there’s nobody else. The guys are at the beach.”

“But I can’t go. I’ve got an important lunch date.”

He squealed tires leaving the parking lot. “Your boyfriend can wait.”

“It’s not with a boyfriend.” Liz was having a hard time getting her seat belt fastened as he hurtled through traffic. “And I wish you’d slow down. You’re going to get a ticket.”

“Sorry.” He eased back on the gas. “I’m just in a hurry to get to the track and get started.”

“Doing what? And by the way, the lunch date is with your sponsor. The VIPs are coming in, as well as my boss from New York, and—”

“Your boss can handle it. Isn’t your job to help me?”

“Yes, in PR matters, but I can’t think of anything going on at the track you need me for.”

“It’s not PR. And I hate asking you to do it, but it’s got to be done, and I can’t trust anybody but you.”

“Sounds real James Bond,” she said, annoyed, “but I still need to make that appointment on time.” If he needed help, and she could provide it, she supposed that was part of her job. After all, if he was stressed, it could not only affect his driving but the persona he presented to the public as well. “How long will it take?”

“Don’t know yet. Don’t even know if it’s going to be necessary, but I can’t risk not checking it out.”

“Well, can’t you tell me what it’s about?”

“It’s about the team maybe getting fined anywhere from twenty-five to fifty thousand dollars.”

Liz nearly choked on a gasp. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid not. There have been a lot of violations lately, and somebody just called to tip me off that NASCAR is going to do some surprise inspections of fuel tanks late this afternoon. I need to make sure ours is okay.”

“Well…well, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Everybody is supposed to run the same kind of fuel, bought at the track. But there’s always somebody trying to find a way to cheat.”

Liz flashed him a look of disgust. “Like you were obviously planning to do, and now you’re scared you’ll get caught.”

“Not exactly. Mack was telling me somebody has come up with an oxygen enhancer. It’s an improper additive. We didn’t plan to use it, but Mack did say he got hold of some and thought about testing it out in practice just for the fun of it, to see if it worked. Nothing wrong there, but—” he paused for emphasis “—if it’s still in there when NASCAR does a check, they aren’t going to believe we never intended to use it for the race. So I need to make sure everything is okay.”

“By doing what?”

“By draining the fuel out and putting the right kind back in.”

“And what do you need me for?” Liz didn’t like being a part of it.

“To keep an eye out for any NASCAR officials roaming in the garage till I can get rid of it. But it may not be in there. Mack might have been running his mouth. Who knows? But I can’t take any chances.”

“Well, he never should have put it in there to start with, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Though it was not in her job description, Liz knew when she saw Mack she’d say something to him about even toying with anything illegal. The sponsor would be furious if the team were caught and fined.

“Okay, so maybe we do need to check, but I’m not dressed for this,” she grumbled.

Rick was pleased she wasn’t. That would add to her misery. It was a hot day, even for Daytona in February, and the humidity was so thick you could almost slice it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some overalls in the truck. You can wear those.”

“As hot as it is? I’ll die.”

“Can’t be helped. They’d never let you through the garage gate wearing shorts, even if you do have a pass.” He stole a look at her legs. Nice and shapely. And if he ran his hand across her thighs, her skin would probably feel like satin—

Perspiration beaded his forehead, and he knew it was not from the heat outside.

“Overalls.” Liz sank down in the seat looking as if she wished she were anywhere but there. “I hope this won’t take long.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. She had been doing a great job. The guys liked her, but, more importantly, the press seemed to, also. He’d never dreamed of having the exposure he’d gotten in the past week. He could tell his number of fans was growing by the attendance everywhere he had gone to sign autographs.

All in all, Liz was pleasant to work with. And if she were a man, he’d be tickled to death. But she wasn’t. And she didn’t belong.

Not at the track.

Not in his dreams.

And she sure as heck paid him a nightly visit in those.

Turning into the speedway entrance, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was cute in her shorts and T-shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And even though she wasn’t wearing any makeup that he could tell, she was still gorgeous.

She hadn’t told him about meeting the VIPs. If she had, Rick would probably have changed his mind. He had chosen this afternoon, because he knew the guys wouldn’t be around. But maybe it would even work out better that the big kahunas were around. They’d be annoyed she didn’t show up for her appointment. And they would also raise eyebrows to see her in greasy overalls. He, of course, would give the impression—when Liz wasn’t around, of course—that she had insisted on getting deeply involved with the team.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” Liz protested as they walked toward the garage. “Even if we left right now, I’d never get to the restaurant on time.”

He kept a tight hold on her arm. “This is more important.” Actually, his conscience was really starting to bother him. He only wanted to make her ask for another assignment. Not get fired.

“I don’t even have my credentials with me,” she pointed out. “I didn’t plan on coming with you.”

“Doesn’t matter. We can go to the NASCAR office and tell them you forgot. They’ll issue temporaries.”

When they reached the garage entrance, the guard on duty stepped out of the booth and held up his hand. “You can’t go in there like that.” He pointed to the open-toed sandals Liz was wearing, then raked her legs with an appreciative glance. “And you can’t wear shorts, either.”

Liz, not wanting the guard to think she didn’t know any better, attempted to explain. “I didn’t intend to come dressed like this, and—”

Rick cut her off. “I’ve got overalls in the truck she can wear. How about giving us a break? And I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Come on, we don’t have a lot of time, and there’s something I need her to do.”

The guard scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t know…”

“I told you I had overalls for her.”

“Oh, all right.” Frowning, he waved them on their way as he said to Liz, “If you’re gonna work around a track, learn how to dress.”

“This wasn’t my idea,” she called over her shoulder.

Rick gave her a tug. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Liz was mad all over again. He seemed to have a knack for humiliating her. The guard would probably laugh about how Rick Castles’s PR rep was such a rookie she showed up wearing shorts and sandals. And, once again, she’d be the butt of jokes and snickers. All week she’d had to put up with writers making cracks about how she should bring them a hot dog when she went into the garage. She wondered how long it would take to live that down.

The overalls had long sleeves, was way too big for her, and Liz was sweltering before she even got it buttoned. Perspiration made her eyes sting, her ponytail hung limp, and she felt like a wilted dandelion.

She was exhausted from the hectic pace she had been keeping. Working on the press kits had taken a lot of time. Then there were all the parties she felt obligated to attend to meet everyone involved in corporate sponsorships, as well as speedway personnel. After all, racing was like one big family, everyone traveling together from track to track throughout the year. And she wanted to be a part of it, to be accepted.

She had also been busy with Rick’s activities, making sure he got where he was supposed to be on time and connected with his fans.

Once she got the hang of things, Liz was sure she’d be well-organized and have plenty of time for everything. But for the time being, she could only stumble through and do the best she could.

Rick could see how her impatience and annoyance was building. He decided to make it even worse. “Listen, I think it’s time you realized that PR work in racing is different. Real different. It’s not a nine-to-five job.”