Braking Points Page 26

  I looked at Holly, smug in her little black dress with a blousy top and a teeny, tiny, sequined skirt. “She looks great too, don’t you think, guys? Fawn all over her a minute.”

  “She always looks like a girl. That’s not a shock,” Mike said, but they dutifully admired her before turning back to ogle me.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked her.

  “Absolutely.”

  I squared my shoulders. “Fine, let’s do it.” The four of us went in together.

  We were looking at photo displays of great moments in ALMS history in the long entry hall when Stuart walked by with the president of Kreisel Timepieces. Stuart went from walking, talking, and collected to stock-still and dumbfounded in the space of a heartbeat. The sponsor looked over, checked out Holly and me from head to toe, and put his hand to his heart. He was French.

  Stuart continued to look poleaxed. Worth the price of the dress right there. I waved at him as we made our way to the banquet hall.

  “Banquet hall” wasn’t quite correct, since the ALMS had taken over the Chateau Élan Inn for the night. On the ground floor of the three-story, glass-roofed atrium sat a stage, surrounded by more than fifty tables of ten. Each round table was dressed out in black linens, gold chargers under white plates, three sets of crystal glassware at every place, and glimmering candles.

  We dropped Holly off at her table, nearer the entry-hall side of the room, then made our way to the other side of the stage. We saw evidence of three seats claimed at a table marked for Sandham Swift, and we pulled napkins out of glasses to reserve our own spaces. Mindful of the eager fans who’d be joining us, I put myself between Mike and Tom. We headed for the nearest bar, where we found Jack talking to Steve and Vicki Royal from Active-Fit.

  Vicki and I stood back to admire the men in our group and around the room. “There’s something about a man in a suit and tie, isn’t there?” she mused.

  I nudged her and nodded at Marco Orfanelli, the gorgeous, playboy Italian driver in the Series. “Or without a tie.” Marco’s dark suit matched his lush black hair, and his white shirt, unbuttoned to mid-tanned-chest, set off the blinding white of his perfect teeth. He saw us and smoldered, pressing a hand to his heart and blowing a kiss.

  “Yum.”

  I laughed. “Stay away, trust me.”

  “Only looking. Two more handsome boys over there. Too young for me though.”

  I turned in the direction of her gaze and was startled to see the cousins, Holden Sherain and William Reilly-Stinson, holding drinks and watching us. They did look good, Holden dark and brooding, Billy fair and sunny. Both in the best-cut suits money could buy.

  They headed our direction. I told Vicki I’d be back and took off toward the stage, hoping to avoid them. They changed course and intercepted me.

  “We’d like to apologize for yesterday.” Billy smiled at me.

  Was he serious? Or worried I’d tell someone he was at Siebkens?

  “Can we offer you a glass of champagne?” He held a flute in each hand and offered me one.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “No thanks, I’m good right now.”

  He looked disappointed, but regrouped. “What do you say to a cease-fire?”

  “I say I wasn’t shooting. But you’re welcome to stop glowering at me.” I looked at Holden, whose face had returned to that state. “Or making threats.”

  Billy elbowed Holden, then spoke again. “I’m sure you can understand, we’re protective of our family.”

  “Because I’m such a menace.” I looked at Billy, then Holden, then back to Billy. “Does he speak?” I jerked a thumb at Holden.

  Billy’s laugh sounded genuine. “Sometimes. Damn, if I don’t like you.”

  “Then my work here is done. If you’ll excuse me?”

  They didn’t move. In fact, Holden stepped closer. “What do you want?”

  I met him glare for glare. “What do you think I want? More important, what are you willing to do to keep me from getting it?”

  “I knew that was your style.” He nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from getting your hands on—”

  I held up those hands. “You make nasty assumptions, and you’re wrong. I’ll tell you what I want: nothing. I want nothing of yours. Nothing from your precious family.” I stepped closer to him and shoved my face toward his, my hands on my hips. “Get that? Now stay the hell out of my life.”

  I spun around and discovered my father.

  “Katherine. Is everything all right here?”

  “Fine. We’re done.”

  Billy spoke behind me. “James, maybe you can help Kate understand—”

  I turned and cut him off with a look. “We’re done here. Would you gentlemen please excuse us?” I watched as they left, trapped by good manners. I saw Amelia watching us from the table they headed to, and I nodded to her in greeting.

  “Is everything really all right, Kate?”

  I turned back to my father. “I told them I don’t want anything from the family, and they don’t believe me. I don’t like them. Or trust them.”

  “I can’t argue or blame you.” He frowned. “Holden is the oldest of his generation, and he’s actively involved in the bank. Billy isn’t, but they’ve been best friends forever.”

  “Thick as thieves.”

  “Yes. Holden…his mother is my younger sister, and I think she and my brother passed along their fears to Holden—meaning his life has been one big competition for his birthright. He’s territorial.”

  “Is that why Billy called me an imposter yesterday?”

  “That goes back to mistakes I made when you were born.” He sighed. “Mistakes my father compounded, allowing himself to be influenced by various family members.”

  I remembered Grandmother’s caution: “Someone you can trust who won’t bow to other pressures.”

  My father started to speak again and I stopped him. “This isn’t the place or the time.” Not to mention I’m not ready for this story yet.

  “You’re right. Later. Short answer: Holden and Billy are parroting Billy’s father’s opinions—and they’re wrong.”

  I thought of the stories I’d heard of Felix’s father. Of Juliana’s mother. “Parents can really warp their children’s minds, can’t they?”

  “Much as we try not to, I’m afraid so.” He smiled and caught my hands in his. “You look lovely tonight, by the way. Stuart can’t tear his eyes away.”

  I turned and caught Stuart staring, as advertised. I looked back at my father. “We’re good? I need to get back to my team.”

  “We’re good. Congratulations on the season, Kate. Would you respond if I e-mailed you during the off-season to stay in touch?”

  “Sure, we’ll e-mail.” I got out of there before he asked for anything more.

  I rejoined Vicki in time to catch the fresh wave of gossip sweeping the room.

  “It’s about Felix,” she whispered in my ear. “Died because of something or other combined with his little blue pills. I can’t decide if the men are going to start cracking jokes about boners or take up a collection in sympathy.”

  “An erection killed him?”

  “Something like that. Isn’t that just—I mean, it’s terribly sad.” She held her composure for two seconds, before we both snickered.

  “It’s like men who die in the middle of having sex. Sad, but hilarious.”

  Vicki linked her arm through mine. “I think that’s how they all want to go.”

  We looked at each other and started giggling again.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  I had to admit, it was fun watching our two guests, Jeff Morgan and George Ryan, having such a good time at the banquet. Andy Padden presented the duo with badges proclaiming them super-donors to his charity, which meant everyone treated them well. Many a team owner had ra
ced and won championships in their day, and Jeff and George were in heaven getting insider access to a part of the racing world few fans penetrate. Their enthusiasm was infectious.

  Sandham Swift had three tables right next to each other. Our crew chiefs, chief engineer, and their wives—including Aunt Tee—shared the other two with sponsors and the 29 car drivers, Seth and Lars, plus their spouses. Joining me, Mike, and Tom at our table were our two fan guests, Steve and Vicki, Leon, and the head of BW Goods and his wife.

  I finished my dinner and slipped away to the bathroom in the hallway behind the stage. It was quiet back there, with only two other women in the bathroom touching up lipstick, and I was glad for the break from the buzz of so many people in one large room. I stepped out of the women’s lounge to find Stuart loitering in the empty hallway.

  He had his race face on: stern and businesslike. So I was surprised when he hauled me to him for a whopper of a kiss. He stopped abruptly and stepped back, leaning a hand on the wall next to us.

  “I hardly remember who I am after that, Stuart.” I wiped remnants of my pale pink lipstick from his mouth.

  “Then we’re even, because I lose my breath when I look at you tonight.”

  It wasn’t lust—or not only—but raw emotion behind those words. I touched his cheek. “Am I still welcome to stay with you?”

  He turned his face into my hand and kissed my palm, closing his eyes. It was almost unbearably sweet.

  I heard voices coming down the hall from the banquet area, and I moved back. He straightened. “Yes. I’m glad we’ll have some time. Tomorrow, then.” He started to move away, then turned back with a wicked smile. “Bring those shoes.”

  I fanned myself on the way back to the ballroom.

  As I walked around the edge of the stage, Juliana got the room’s attention, announcing ten minutes to show time and directing everyone to make their trips to the restroom or call their bookies now.

  To laughter from the room, she stepped down from the stage near where I’d paused. She smiled widely. “Holly was right, you did bring the fabulous.”

  “We can’t hold a candle to you—wow!” She wore a floor-length, flame-red, strapless mermaid gown with a wide, black ribbon tied at the waist and trailing the ground. She looked old Hollywood glamour, with smooth, curled hair, red lips, and curves to die for. “I want to be you when I grow up.”

  She laughed, and what must have been diamonds shot fire from her wrist as she pulled her hair over her left shoulder. “We have to give the crowd their money’s worth, you know.”

  “Better you than me. I’m already tired of the double-takes at my chest.”

  “Don’t joke.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m trussed up so tight in here, laughing might split something.”

  Scott appeared behind her, from the tables in the center of the room, sliding a hand around her waist. “Hello, gorgeous,” he said to Jules. Then he turned to me and his eyes widened. “Well, hello, gorgeous to you, too.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. “Thanks, Scott. Lookin’ good yourself. And great job yesterday. Any chance they’ll hire you full time next year?”

  “Nothing’s settled, but we’re talking. Thanks for asking.”

  “You’d make a good-looking pair in the pits. Put the rest of us to shame.”

  “I can’t compare to this goddess of the airwaves, that’s for sure.” Scott beamed. Why shouldn’t he? Job prospects looking up, most beautiful woman in the room on his arm. What was there to be unhappy about? But something didn’t sit right with me.

  “Follow my lead and you’ll do fine.” Juliana looked fondly at Scott. “The first step is being a sweetheart and getting me another glass of champagne while I freshen up before the show starts.”

  He departed, and I took my cue. “Knock ’em dead, Jules.”

  “I intend to.” A quick hug, and she slipped around behind the stage.

  Half the members of the audience were standing, whether stretching their legs, getting another drink, or moving to another table to shake someone’s hand. Making deals. Racers were the biggest bunch of wheelers and dealers I’d ever seen, and ninety percent of the business of racing happened at the races. The rest of the year happened in slow motion compared to what got settled at a race weekend. Tonight would be more about starting conversations than closing deals, but I imagined plenty of ventures would be conceived in the free-flowing alcohol here.

  I saw Zeke and Rosalie a few tables away and went to say hello. They both got up to hug me, and I wondered if Rosalie would be mad at Zeke for doing so. I tried not to feel awkward with her.

  “Are you having a good time?” I asked.

  Zeke nodded. “Good so far.” He looked to Rosalie, who shrugged.

  “I spoke with Ethan today,” I said. “He seems to be doing all right. I’m sorry for your family’s loss, Rosalie.”

  “Right, thanks.” She saw Zeke’s expression. “What? I’m not going to pretend we were friends. We didn’t like each other. I thought my brother could do better. And the drama she put him through…” She sat back down.

  “I heard about that,” I murmured.

  “She was your friend, right?” Rosalie asked.

  “Years ago. I didn’t know her recently.”

  “Trust me, she had issues. I always knew he’d come to grief with her.” She looked disgusted. “You’d think after I practically raised him, he’d listen to me, but no.”

  Zeke sat down and put a hand on her knee. “Rosalie was Ethan’s caretaker for most of his childhood while their parents worked. Ellie was a sore point with them.”

  Rosalie snorted. “She’s why he wouldn’t talk to me all these years.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  Zeke looked at her with concern. “At least you’re talking now.”

  Rosalie reached for her wine glass and took a big sip. She looked down at my shoes. “You even have glittery feet, Kate. You’re so dolled up, I hardly recognize you.”

  What did that mean? “You guys look great also,” I returned. True for Zeke, but not Rosalie, who looked sloppy, uncaring in her shapeless black dress.

  She took offense at something she saw on my face—sympathy? pity? concern?—and turned sharp. “This has been great, Kate. Hope it won’t be so long the next time.”

  Clearly dismissed, I made my excuses, shooting a confused look at Zeke. I saw an apology in his eyes and hurt for him, wondering where his vibrant, engaging partner had gone. I’d always admired her take-no-prisoners attitude, but she had a harsh edge tonight.

  I detoured to the bar for champagne to improve my mood, and ran into Colby Lascuola on the same errand. She was at a table near ours with her brother and his team, and when she pointed him out, he returned my polite wave with a similar lack of enthusiasm. I looked forward to keeping in touch with Colby. Dominic, I still didn’t trust.

  Before I could sit back down, our fan guests insisted on full-length photos with me. With Tom acting as our photographer, they posed with me separately, then together, each with an arm around my waist. The single camera bred more cameras, and before I knew it, Andy Padden was there taking a shot for his charity site, and a multitude of others held up phones for photos.

  “It’s like they’re paparazzi,” said Jeff. “We’re famous because of you, Kate.” He hugged me a little, leaning in.

  That was too familiar, at least while I felt unlike myself in this dress and heels. In a firesuit in the paddock, I might feel better about it. But my physical and psychological space was under attack.

  I popped out of their grasp and grabbed Mike’s arm. “Mike should be in this.”

  He got the message from my death grip and inserted himself beside me for the next round of photos.

  Before he sat back down, Jeff pulled a pen and a business card from his pocket. “Could you sign and date on the blank side of it�
��and put ‘ALMS Night of Champions’ also? I’ll frame this with our photo.”

  “Sure.” I flipped the card over and read “GMR, Geoff Morgan, Owner.” I blinked. “I thought your name was with a ‘J.’ What’s GMR, anyway?” A warning bell went off in my head. My potential stalker’s e-mail address included “gmr.” I wondered if that was Geoff. Wondered about George’s middle name. I struggled to keep a smile on my face.

  “That’s my company: Geoff Morgan Restoration. I restore antique furniture and household goods.”

  I signed and handed the card back to him. When Geoff returned to his seat, I thanked Mike for stepping in.

  He chuckled, a rumble low in his throat. “You looked wild-eyed.”

  “It’s different if these guys want to be ‘best buds’ with me than with you. There are different personal space issues because I’m female—men get more comfortable and touchy with a girl than with another guy.”

  “I never thought about that. Makes it tough, doesn’t it.”

  “To have boundaries without being offensive? Yeah.”

  Just as the room hushed, because Juliana and Benny Stephens, the booth announcer who’d emcee with her, stepped forward to the mic on stage, Geoff blurted out, “Oh Em Gee!”

  Everyone laughed, and Geoff turned beet red, waving a hand and apologizing.

  Benny welcomed everyone and introduced himself and Juliana, outlining the program for the rest of the evening. I was distracted by Geoff excitedly pointing at something being passed to me. It was his phone, displaying a photo of the three of us.

  I didn’t understand until I saw the eyeballs-in-a-car graphic sitting in the corner of the image that we were featured on the Racing’s Ringer blog.

  That son of a bitch is here tonight.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  After two minutes of craning my neck, pretending I’d recognize the Ringer by the audacity radiating from him, I gave up. I passed Geoff’s phone back and paid attention to the speeches, which were legion. Despite my best intentions—and the organizers’ best efforts to speed things along—I found my mind wandering.