One in a Million (6 page)

T
HE SILENCE WAS ABSOLUTE
…and rapidly turning grim.

Gil might have been made of granite, for all the expression he showed.

Eli's gut churned. He had to answer the question. Even if it was to refuse to answer. A giveaway in itself.

Then Jen took his hand. Laced her small fingers through his. Squeezed.

It was as if he'd been given permission to breathe.

Eli let out a little air. Sucked some more in. Not enough, but it helped.

“You spoke to Taney Motorsports, I believe?” Marion prompted. “And Fulcrum Racing?”

A hiss from Gil, which the reporter noticed. His boss would be furious with himself for betraying his anger. Eli should never have told Gil how much he admired Fulcrum.

“Marion, are you aware of Eli's personal motto?” Jen asked.

His head jerked around. She squeezed his fingers again.

“Seize the Day,” she said. “Carpe diem.”

That was it, the Latin words. Eli felt a sneaking sense of pride in his fake girlfriend, which didn't make a lot of sense.

“Your point is?” the woman asked.

“You might also know that last year Eli had more top-
five finishes than any previous Cup rookie,” Jen continued. Someone had been doing her homework. For a woman who cherished the dream of an ordinary life, she sure as hell was unpredictable.

“He also had a higher than average number of DNFs.”

Jen waved away Eli's Did Not Finish record. “You don't get that close to the checkered flag that often unless you know how to seize the day. Strategy only goes so far.”

Eli recognized one of Gil's favorite lines, and glanced at his boss. Gil's mouth was set in a forbidding line.

“Eli's impetuous,” Jen said. “He goes with his gut. Mostly it pays off. Sometimes, though, he gets ahead of himself.”

Where was she getting this stuff? Which coincidentally happened to be true. He thought about interrupting her, but anything she said had the advantage of not being official team comment. He or Gil could “correct” her later.

The reporter was scribbling notes to back up her recorder. Eli hoped that was a good thing.

“Fact is, Gil's a demanding owner who expects a lot of his drivers. He makes it clear they need to deliver results,” Jen said. Oh, crap! She was all but admitting Gil had threatened to fire him!

Marion's face brightened. “So you're saying Eli's poor results this season—”

“I'm saying Eli's nature dictates he'll do whatever he needs to in order to drive in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series.”

Damn. They'd skated close enough to the edge. Eli took over. “Gil Sizemore gave me the break I needed to move into Cup racing,” he said. “If I can meet his standards, I can meet anybody's. But I hope to keep meeting the Double S standard for a long time.”

He'd put the blame for any future career change squarely in Gil's court.

“Eli and I are on the same page,” Gil said.

Eli wondered if the woman realized that wasn't a promise not to fire him. Gil was saying he needed to improve his driving.

After some more roundabout discussion, the reporter left. When Eli returned to the living room from showing her out, Jen and Gil were engaged in a stand-off in front of the empty fireplace. Jen's hands were fisted on her hips.

Gil swung to face him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you right now.”

“Gil!” Jen darted forward, inserting herself between them. “I don't want to tell you how to run your business—”

“Then don't,” Gil said, managing to sound both menacing and the complete gentleman.

Jen ignored him. “But I can tell you, when chickens feel unsafe, they stop laying, they stop gaining weight, they stop doing any of the things they should.”

“Chickens?” Gil echoed, at the same time as Eli.

“You have got to stop threatening Eli,” Jen chided him. “Some people react well to stress. Eli doesn't.”

What the—? “I'm not a chicken,” Eli protested.

“That's true,” she said. “Every chicken I know is braver than you.”

Which at least produced a spurt of laughter from Gil.

“I understand you're from a close family,” Jen said to Gil. “You have no idea what a difference that makes to your confidence.”

“Eli has plenty of confidence,” Gil said, but he sounded less aggressive.

“He's confident he can take care of himself,” Jen agreed. “You need him to be confident in the team so he can focus on winning, not on where he's going to be working tomorrow.”

“Butt out, Jen,” Eli warned. He could fight his own
battles. Gil wasn't dismissing her views—which probably meant he'd be sending Eli to a shrink next week.

“Someone has to stand up for you,” she said.

“I'll echo Eli's sentiment, if not his word choice,” Gil said coldly. “Eli's employment is between me and him. And right now, it's hanging by a thread.”

Eli felt chilled to the bone. How dare Jen poke her nose into his life, make things worse by blabbing to that reporter about the tension between him and Gil?

She'd way overstepped the mark. The women he dated knew the score: keep it light, keep it brief, move on.

This fake relationship is so over.
He was better off without her. They would get through tonight's gala, then he'd tell her the bad news.
You're dumped.

 

“J
EN
?” E
LI RAPPED
on the guestroom door. “You ready?”

He'd thrown on his tuxedo in two minutes, and been waiting for Jen ever since. He glanced at his watch. What was taking so long?

“Coming.” Her voice was muffled.

Eli scowled at the closed door. He hadn't seen her since Cara had turned up to take her shopping. Smart lady that she was, Cara had discerned the strain between him and his so-called girlfriend—she'd put a protective arm around Jen, who she didn't even know, and given Eli a look through narrowed eyes.

He couldn't exactly tell Cara that Jen had psychoanalyzed him in front of a reporter, scolded his boss and accused Eli of being a fraidy-cat.

He couldn't tell anyone how mad he was, he realized. As Jen said, the people around him were there for the good times.

Dammit.
“Hurry up, Jen,” he called. The later they arrived at this shindig, the more of an entrance they would
make, and right now he had a strong preference for a low profile. He hoped Cara had found Jen a nice outfit. Preferably one that didn't involve a ball cap, cute though she looked in those things.

She's not cute, she's the demon girlfriend from hell.

The bedroom door opened.

A hundred words fired through Eli's mind and not one of them was
cute
.

Sexy, gorgeous, amazing…

“What's wrong?” In a pose that was purely provocative but also, he'd bet, a hundred percent unintentional, Jen rested one arm on the doorjamb.

The movement drew his attention to her curves in the peach-colored dress that clung in the kinds of places his mind wasn't meant to be exploring. “I…uh…” he said, his mouth dry.

“You don't like it?” she said nervously. Then realization dawned and a very feminine smile curved her mouth. “You
do
like it!”

“It's not bad,” he groused.

Her face fell, and he felt like a heel.
She deserves it.
Then she stepped past him, and there was a wiggle in her hips that hadn't been there before. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice cooler and more sophisticated than he liked to hear from her.

He nodded. Then cleared his throat. “I like your hair.” Though he only said it to make up for hurting her feelings about the dress, there was no doubt her hair was pretty, curled loosely around her shoulders, highlights gleaming where the light caught them.

She grinned, delighted, the sophisticate act gone. She twirled a lock around her finger. “Just as well, since you spent a small fortune on it.”

As he held the car door open for Jen, Eli rethought his
plans for the evening. Not about dumping her; he still planned to do that. But maybe he'd get that kiss in first.

 

J
EN FELT LIKE
C
INDERELLA
at the ball. She'd never seen such a glittering crowd. The gala was in aid of a charity supporting people who'd suffered life-altering injuries in road accidents. NASCAR drivers and team owners had turned out in force to lend their support. The result was wall-to-wall glamour.

The thing about Cinderella and the ball,
Jen reminded herself,
is that when midnight comes, it's all over.
The way Eli had looked at her when she'd called him a chicken, she'd be lucky to last that long.

But someone had to defend him. Gil didn't get to play fast and loose with something as important to Eli as his career. That reporter didn't get to heap all the blame on Eli for the discord at Double S Racing.

She glanced at his profile as they shook hands along the reception line. She could tell he was also still mad that she'd called him on the lack of intimacy, of loyalty, in his life. No one else would guess at his hostility, not with his mouth curved in that affable smile, and him holding her hand with every evidence of relaxation. But she saw it in the tension of his facial muscles.

It was a shame he couldn't understand that she related far better to the glimpse she'd had of his loneliness than she did to his charming, disheveled Greek god persona. It made him…ordinary.

When they got past the receiving line, the first person they ran into was Gil, talking with a couple of other team owners. At least that meant he couldn't snub them without generating a ton of gossip.

Eli took the initiative. “Evening, Gil.”

“Hello, Eli, Jen,” Gil said, a bite to his tone.

To Jen's surprise, Eli tugged her closer.

“Hi, Gil,” she said, with a nip of her own. And was surprised again, when Eli's lips twitched.

“You look delightful,” Gil complimented her, with the distant Charleston charm he did so well.

“Thanks,” Jen replied. “Eli is so wonderfully thoughtful that he arranged for Cara Stallworth to take me shopping for a dress.”

Gil's eyebrows rose slightly. “Thoughtful indeed.”

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, so she squeezed Eli's fingers in case he needed reassurance.

They moved on, crossing the enormous room.

“I don't need you defending me to Gil,” Eli muttered, close to her ear. “Or to anyone.”

“You bring out my protective instincts,” she said.

He gaped. “What?”

“You heard.” She tried her own variation of his smirk, and was gratified to see it annoyed him. How could she ever have found him intimidating?

“Are you going to stop talking that crap,” he demanded, “or do I have to walk away?”

They'd reached the table occupied by some of the clients of the charity they were there to help. People who'd suffered all kinds of injuries, many of them still visible, eager now to meet Eli. They didn't need him distracted by his anger with her.

“You don't need to walk away,” she said. “I will.”

She left him glaring after her and went to talk to Cara and her husband, Jeb, who was so crazy about his new wife, it was almost painful to watch.

Jen kept an eye on Eli, who'd sloughed off his annoyance with her to chat to the accident victims. Even from here, she could see he was entirely natural with them, unfazed by physical incapacity, scarring or even mental disability. She
wondered if meeting these people made him think about his parents' fatal accident.

Bart Branch, one of the few NASCAR drivers she recognized, asked Jen to dance. He was pleasant company, so they danced through several songs. After Bart returned her to the Stallworths, she had no shortage of dance partners.

But the whole time she was aware of Eli. How could someone so shallow, so willing to walk out of a relationship or a job at the first sign of discomfort, see beyond the damaged surface into the hearts of the people he was still engrossed in conversation with?

Because that's what he wants someone to do for him.

Could that be true? Could this man who specialized in superficial relationships, want someone to look deeper, despite his protestations to the contrary? He'd insisted their relationship was a sham, but he knew she took life seriously. Was he subconsciously seeking something real?

When the song finished, Jen excused herself from her partner and went over to Eli.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

“I doubt you have any energy left, after all that jigging about you've been doing.”

He'd been watching her…and he was even grumpier than before. Her heart swelled with tenderness. “I was getting in practice for you.”

He grunted. “I guess we could dance.”

Eli danced wonderfully, of course. Yet somehow Jen didn't feel clumsy as he led her through several fast numbers.

The band segued into a slow, romantic jazz tune. When Eli took Jen in his arms, she felt like a chicken who'd found a roost.

Dangerous thinking. But she indulged it anyway.

She relaxed against Eli, and felt a lessening of his top-to-toe tension.

“I watched you with those people, the charity clients,” she said. “You were wonderful.”

He made a sound of denial, but he held her closer. It was heaven, here in his arms. She gave herself up to the moment. Her head told her it wouldn't last. But her heart urged her to give him everything she could, just in case there was a chance they could make this real.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said gruffly. “I should have said earlier.”

“Thank you.”

His hand brushed her hip, then her derriere. Jen caught her breath.