Full Throttle by Wendy Etherington Page B

weeks.”
    â€œUnless we get fired for not making The Chase.”
    â€œ Then you could date Kane.”
    â€œIf he treated me right.”
    â€œYou deserve better from him.”
    Yes, she did. But there were some things she knew deep in her heart that were never going to change. “Racing will always be first.”
    â€œIt has to be, when he’s in the car.”
    â€œBut isn’t it first for all of us, all the time?”
    â€œIt shouldn’t be.”
    She knew they weren’t going to solve all these issues at the moment, but she felt surprisingly better. She hugged her father, realizing she’d be able to keep her focus the rest of the afternoon.
    Even though it was only Tuesday, they had to have the car loaded that night. With a Saturday-night race, the schedule tightened even further. She still had to meet with the other engineers, and they had to double-check the templates, or else risk a possible violation from NASCAR officials when they arrived at the track for inspection. If they were off even a quarter of an inch in any one spot, they could blow everything.
    â€œI’ll see you later,” she said, brushing her lips against his cheek. When she reached the door, she turned back. “You’re not jealous of Kane, are you, Dad?”
    â€œOf course I am.”
    Smiling, she walked back in the shop. At least she would always be one man’s favorite.
    For the remainder of the day, she focused on getting the car ready to be loaded in the hauler. Everybody shifted into high gear because nobody wanted to still be working at ten o’clock. Most of the team members had spouses and families to get home to, families the traveling team wouldn’t see again until the early hours of Sunday morning. She was fortunate enough to have her family with her.
    â€œYou’re coming with me tonight,” a familiar voice said.
    Crouched behind the car to measure the fender, Lexie groaned.
    She glanced over at a pair of sky-high, hot-pink stilettos—one of which was tapping the garage floor impatiently. Her gaze slid up a pair of tanned, slender legs to a frilly short skirt, a form-fitting top, past a silky curtain of highlighted blond hair, then finally to the annoyed but lovely face of Hollister Racing’s office manager and reception-area guard dog.
    Her powers of concentration must have really kicked into gear in the past few hours, because it was only now that she noticed everybody had stopped working.
    She rose and grabbed Cheryl Tolfort’s arm, leading her across the garage, then down the hall to her office. As an afterthought, she went back to the garage and shouted, “Get back to work!”
    Back in her office, she sent a mild glare Cheryl’s way. Not that she noticed. She was flitting around the office like a cute pink bee.
    Cheryl was fast.
    Not in the old-fashioned sense of being loose or morally corrupt; she just moved quickly. She talked fast. She thought fast. She moved fast.
    â€œI thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t come to the garage on loading day,” Lexie said.
    Not abashed in the least, Cheryl waved her manicured hand. “This is an emergency.”
    Lexie instantly thought of—what else—the car. “NASCAR called. We’re being fined for something.”
    â€œNo, no.”
    Kane and James. She hadn’t seen them all afternoon. “Somebody’s hurt.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBob Hollister is firing everybody.”
    â€œOf course not. Good grief, you really do need this.”
    Realizing the emergency was anything but, Lexie moved to her desk, her mind already on the initial setup for qualifying. “Need what?”
    â€œA night out with the girls.”
    â€œWhat girls?”
    â€œWell, just me actually. I think you should start out slowly. Let me see your hands.”
    Before she could react, Cheryl had already snagged her hand and bent over it. She tsked. “Have you ever had a