lucky.
The corner arrived, and neither would back down. The gasp of the crowd could probably have been heard miles away. It was begging for another accident, as had happened almost every single time they’d gone wheel to wheel. Only this time it was different. She kept her line and left him room, and he, with the marginally better line but the harder job, swept majestically around the outside, braking into the slow corner that followed and taking the lead.
It was a moment of absolute trust, not just in each other’s abilities, but in each other’s intentions.
“Nice move,” she said to herself.
Time was running out for Callie. It was time to get her head down and focus, not let him get away, but he was in his rhythm now on a circuit that favored him. Callie could only watch, frustrated, as he slowly eked out a lead, enjoying an advantage over her that he deserved for a change. She hated losing — despised it — but at least it wasn’t married up to the burn of injustice for a change.
Daniels celebrated on the podium, and understandably so — the victory kept him in with a real chance of winning the title. All three were all on even points now — whoever won in the final round would claim the title.
As they stood on the podium waiting for the ceremony, she turned to Drake.
“What made you change your mind?”
“I just thought...” he struggled to find the right way to put it, before settling on something far simpler. “It was wrong. You deserve better. Hell, I deserve better. It’s not the way I want to race. And it’s definitely not the way I want to live.”
He looked deep into her with those baby blue eyes, and some part of her melted.
“I’ve got to hand it to you,” she said, “that was a great move. Well, you know, an okay move. It’s a shame, obviously, because I’m going to whip your ass in the next race.”
“Maybe I’ll whip your ass,” he said with a glint in his eye. “And maybe I won’t even wait until the next race.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes, mutual admiration shifting into something more basic — pure, visible lust.
Sam Daniels wasn’t quite in the same mood as them. “Get a room!”
“We should wait, shouldn’t we,” said Callie. “We’re professionals.”
“I suppose so,” said Travis, lust still dripping from his facial expression.
“‘Professionals,’” said Daniels, using his fingers as quotation marks, but the two were too busy devouring each other with their eyes to pay much heed.
Callie and Drake’s gaze was broken as they both noticed Travis standing off to one side with aggressively folded arms and a face like a storm. This whole thing wasn’t over yet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Travis Hutton, manager of Travis Hutton Racing, the team he’d started sixteen years ago, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“The thing is,” said Bill, “I’m paying you, my good man, for my driver to win the title.”
“He beat his teammate — what more do you want?”
“He was lucky. I want there to be no luck involved, as we agreed.”
“Well there’s not much I can do if he doesn’t want to take advantage of his preferential treatment, now, is there?”
“Oh, I think he does, Travis. I just don’t think he realizes yet,” said Bill, fiddling with his bow tie.
They both stared at each other a while. Travis was an old hand, and knew when to keep a strategic silence.
It fell to Bill to break the silence once again. “Drivers should know their place. They’re not the real players, after all. They’re just pawns. But I can hear what you’re saying — ultimately, you’re not in control of your own employees.”
“Are you trying to manipulate me, William?” said Travis. He liked using the longer version of Bill’s name; he felt like it shifted the power subtly in his direction.
“Not at all!” he said, affecting a look of mock-annoyance. “How could you ever imply such a thing?”
“Firstly,
The corner arrived, and neither would back down. The gasp of the crowd could probably have been heard miles away. It was begging for another accident, as had happened almost every single time they’d gone wheel to wheel. Only this time it was different. She kept her line and left him room, and he, with the marginally better line but the harder job, swept majestically around the outside, braking into the slow corner that followed and taking the lead.
It was a moment of absolute trust, not just in each other’s abilities, but in each other’s intentions.
“Nice move,” she said to herself.
Time was running out for Callie. It was time to get her head down and focus, not let him get away, but he was in his rhythm now on a circuit that favored him. Callie could only watch, frustrated, as he slowly eked out a lead, enjoying an advantage over her that he deserved for a change. She hated losing — despised it — but at least it wasn’t married up to the burn of injustice for a change.
Daniels celebrated on the podium, and understandably so — the victory kept him in with a real chance of winning the title. All three were all on even points now — whoever won in the final round would claim the title.
As they stood on the podium waiting for the ceremony, she turned to Drake.
“What made you change your mind?”
“I just thought...” he struggled to find the right way to put it, before settling on something far simpler. “It was wrong. You deserve better. Hell, I deserve better. It’s not the way I want to race. And it’s definitely not the way I want to live.”
He looked deep into her with those baby blue eyes, and some part of her melted.
“I’ve got to hand it to you,” she said, “that was a great move. Well, you know, an okay move. It’s a shame, obviously, because I’m going to whip your ass in the next race.”
“Maybe I’ll whip your ass,” he said with a glint in his eye. “And maybe I won’t even wait until the next race.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes, mutual admiration shifting into something more basic — pure, visible lust.
Sam Daniels wasn’t quite in the same mood as them. “Get a room!”
“We should wait, shouldn’t we,” said Callie. “We’re professionals.”
“I suppose so,” said Travis, lust still dripping from his facial expression.
“‘Professionals,’” said Daniels, using his fingers as quotation marks, but the two were too busy devouring each other with their eyes to pay much heed.
Callie and Drake’s gaze was broken as they both noticed Travis standing off to one side with aggressively folded arms and a face like a storm. This whole thing wasn’t over yet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Travis Hutton, manager of Travis Hutton Racing, the team he’d started sixteen years ago, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“The thing is,” said Bill, “I’m paying you, my good man, for my driver to win the title.”
“He beat his teammate — what more do you want?”
“He was lucky. I want there to be no luck involved, as we agreed.”
“Well there’s not much I can do if he doesn’t want to take advantage of his preferential treatment, now, is there?”
“Oh, I think he does, Travis. I just don’t think he realizes yet,” said Bill, fiddling with his bow tie.
They both stared at each other a while. Travis was an old hand, and knew when to keep a strategic silence.
It fell to Bill to break the silence once again. “Drivers should know their place. They’re not the real players, after all. They’re just pawns. But I can hear what you’re saying — ultimately, you’re not in control of your own employees.”
“Are you trying to manipulate me, William?” said Travis. He liked using the longer version of Bill’s name; he felt like it shifted the power subtly in his direction.
“Not at all!” he said, affecting a look of mock-annoyance. “How could you ever imply such a thing?”
“Firstly,
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