Copyright © 2011 Pamela Britton
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
He was six-foot-one of twisted steel and testosterone and caused Callie Monroe to stop dead in her tracks.
“That’s Derrick Derringer,” Callie’s boss, Veronica, sounded as stupefied as Callie when she caught sight of the sunglass-clad, dark-haired, black-uniformed man who leaned against the nose of an ebony-colored race car.
“That’s the man in the picture.” Callie squinted against the afternoon sun.
They were on pit road, at a track somewhere in the south. Where exactly, Callie didn’t know. They’d been zipping around the country in a private jet for so many days they could be in New Mexico for all she knew. Tennessee maybe. Wherever they were, they had a cloudless blue sky overhead and the heat to prove it. She would bet the people up in the grandstands were dying up there. They were completely encircled by metal and concrete. Quite a few seats were empty even though some of America’s most famous race car drivers were about to qualify for this weekend’s race.
“My, my, my.” Her boss smirked, the words the verbal equivalent of drool.
My, my, my was right. Callie adjusted the straps of the leather satchel she’d hoisted over her right shoulder.
He was talking to one of his crew members, a long line of vehicles stretching out behind him. Heat radiated off his car’s hood, causing the air to shimmer like he sat amidst a mythical cloud, one with Zeus in the midst of it…or maybe Thor.
“Let’s go.” Veronica shot off like a ship from port.
Callie glanced between Derrick and her boss. “Ms. Adams, perhaps we should—” Veronica had already moved off. “—talk to him after he’s qualified,” Callie finished.
Okay. So much for discretion.
Veronica Adams didn’t know the meaning of the word—as evidenced by the bright green shirt she wore, the fabric dipping off her shoulders and playing peek-a-boo with her sun-bronzed skin. The heavy-knit fabric clung to her every curve, the bottom portion tucked into off-white pants, a thick brown belt around her waist. With her mass of fiery-red hair and olive-green eyes, she looked more like a Victoria’s Secret model than the CEO of the recently formed X-TREME Racing League.
“Derrick Derringer,” she drawled the moment she stopped in front of him.
Derrick turned toward her, his body straightening when he caught sight of her. As usual, Callie faded into the backdrop. She was used to this reaction. She and Veronica were like the Lone Ranger and Tonto. People only had eyes for the man in the white hat—not his dark-haired sidekick.
“Well, hello there,” Derrick drawled in a deeply Southern accent, his gaze sweeping over Veronica like lasers in a checkout line.
“Hi.” Veronica gave the man a bright smile. “Veronica Adams,” she announced.
The name always evoked a reaction, so it was no surprise when Derrick lifted a brow. Her boss’s exploits were legendary. Daughter of a billionaire software developer. Heiress to a fortune. Playmate of the month too, once upon a time, but there was more to it than that. The woman liked to consume men like most people imbibed coffee. The more cups, the better the buzz she’d told Callie a few weeks back. Her reputation as a man-eater always preceded her.
Callie could tell by the look in Derrick Derringer’s eyes he’d heard of her, and that he fully intended to find out if the rumors were true.
“Veronica Adams,” he repeated, seeming to roll the word around his mouth…savoring it as if testing it out as for a moment—a brief instant—Callie wondered what it would be like to walk in her boss’s high-heeled shoes. How would it feel to have a man like Derrick Derringer pursue her…to kiss her, maybe…to perhaps throw her up on the hood of his car and—
“…Callie Monroe.”
Callie jerked, thinking for a moment she’d spoken the words aloud.
“Uh…yeah?” She pushed her glasses back up her nose, the lenses now smudged, but not so badly she didn’t spot Veronica staring down at her impatiently.
What?
What had she missed? Verbal instructions? An introduction? An explanation as to who she was?
Moron. Idiot. Person of no consequence. How else to explain the fact she’d lost complete control of an idea that had been uniquely her own—the X-TREME Racing League.
“Say. Hello,” Veronica hissed.
“Oh. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Derringer.” Callie held her hand out, knowing she’d hear about this later. Veronica did not suffer fools lightly. Then again, Callie had been the queen of fools lately.
He took her hand.
Instant, embarrassing color spread from her face all the way to her neck—like an out-of-control toxic spill. Though he wore black sunglasses, the heat of his gaze still shone through. It didn’t matter that he had no interest in her. He was the kind of man who could make a woman feel like the only female in the world for one, brief, electrifying moment.
And he would never be hers. That made her feel…well, all right, she would admit it. It made her feel ridiculously disappointed.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Monroe.” There it was again…the tongue roll. He purred like a tomcat on the prowl, or maybe that was his accent—a mix of Southern charm and seduction.
“Can we talk to you?” Veronica asked, glancing at the man standing near Derrick. “Alone.”
“This is my crew chief, Brett Patterson.” Derrick nodded toward the gray-haired man who stood nearby. His black-clad teammate observed the two women with an air of amusement. Obviously, he was used to females approaching the famous driver—and then those same women wanting to be alone with him. “We’re about to get to work here,” Derrick added. “I’m afraid whatever you have to say is going to have to wait until after I qualify.”
Veronica didn’t bother to acknowledge her introduction to Brett Patterson, much less say hello. Callie smiled at Brett instead, her gaze encompassing Derrick.
The smile slid away.
He was staring at her, giving her the once over. Callie was almost certain of it. Her whole body heated even more, something she would have sworn was impossible, but her armpits began to sweat just the same.
“What I have to say to you will just take a moment.” Veronica scooted toward her, forcing Callie to step aside. She always did whenever they were around men—especially drop-dead gorgeous men. Callie had no idea why. It wasn’t like she was competition or anything. “You’re not supposed to qualify for another ten minutes.” Veronica smiled brightly. “At least according to my watch.”
Mr. Derringer ignored her, his eyes still on Callie. She saw him studying her behind the lenses of his sunglasses, the September sun exceptionally bright. She looked away, shocked to the core he seemed more interested in her than Veronica. A woman as stunning as her boss should be able to make a man like Derrick Derringer whistle a merry tune.
Apparently not.
“Just a quick second,” Veronica added, sliding in front of Callie again. She blocked Derrick’s view.
“I’ll be right back,” his crew chief said, apparently realizing the futility of saying no to Veronica Adams. “Make it quick.”
Callie peeked around the side of Derrick. He was gazing at Veronica again, but not saying anything. He even crossed his arms, assuming an air of impatience. Callie almost smiled. She had a feeling she was going to like this Derrick Derringer.
“I’m from the X-TREME Racing League,” Veronica tried again when it became apparent Derrick wouldn’t make this easy for her.
X-TREME—Total Racing Elite Motorsports Enterprises—an acronym Callie had invented herself, and it was like a knife to Callie’s heart to hear Veronica say it. Veronica, who’d all but stolen the idea.
“The extreme what?” he asked, leaning closer. Generators buzzed nearby, making it hard to hear, especially when helicopters were flying overhead. Veronica sashayed closer, her long hair glistening like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.
“The X-TREME Racing League,” she repeated. “Total Racing Elite Motorsports Enterprises.”
Twin brows arched over the top of his sunglasses, then dropped—like the support system of a bridge. “What the heck is that?”
“I thought you might want to know the answer to that question.” Veronica’s smile grew wider. “But first, let me ask you a question.”
Her boss waited for Derrick to respond, and when he didn’t, pressed her lips together in a way Callie knew meant she wasn’t pleased. Miraculously, Veronica contained her ire.
“How would you like to race cars like they did in the old days, Mr. Derringer?” she asked. “Down and dirty, no-holds-barred, anything goes, pedal-to-the-metal racing? No stupid rules. No ridiculous restrictions, and most importantly, no caution flags with ten laps to go.”
Good God. She’d even stolen Callie’s pitch.
“Best of all,” Veronica added, “I’ll pay you a small fortune to do it.”
He lifted a hand, scratched a spot on the back of his neck. “I’m not allowed to race anything other than stock cars.” He softened his words with a smile of his own. “Owner’s rules.”
“I know.” Veronica wouldn’t give up, her feet firmly planted in front of Derrick. “But your contract is up once you finish out the season, and everyone knows your team owner hasn’t agreed to a new deal. It’s front-page news in the motorsports industry.”
News Callie had delivered to Veronica because her boss didn’t follow racing. All Veronica had wanted was to own a race team. When Callie had heard about her desire to dive into motorsports, Callie had presented her with the idea of owning a whole league. The next thing Callie knew, Veronica had taken the idea and run with it.
“Just what are you suggesting, Miss Adams?”
“I want you to race for me. To be specific, I want you to drive in my newly formed X-TREME Racing League where the action on the track will be as wild as the action off the track.”
This time a single black brow rose above the frame of his glasses. “Let me get this straight,” he drawled. “You’ve formed your own sanctioning body?”
“I have.” Veronica tipped her chin up proudly.
“For car racing?”
Veronica nodded.
“The X-TREME Racing League?”
She nodded again.
“Where you propose drivers race like they did in the olden days?”
“Exactly,” Ms. Adams nodded to emphasize the word. “Aren’t I brilliant?”
Callie sighed. She’d underestimated how difficult it would be to hear Veronica pass the idea off as her own. Unfortunately, she needed Veronica. More specifically, she needed her unlimited supply of money.
“I’m still not interested.” He turned away because someone else had walked up to him, someone who wanted his autograph.
Veronica pivoted toward Callie. Callie shrugged, but inside she laughed. Veronica Adams, a woman used to doing whatever she wanted, had just been snubbed.
Bravo, Mr. Derringer.
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