Smokin' & Spinnin' (13 page)

I walk back into the kitchen with my empty cup of coffee. Ryan is sitting at the counter with his own cup. He works me over with his intense blue eyes, and it makes me uncomfortable.

Ryan says smugly, “You had to pick my favorite shirt, didn’t you?”

I smile sarcastically in return. “You may not get it back either.” I wink.
Whitney! Stop!

“I’m glad to see that you calmed down.” Ryan rolls his eyes at me and takes my cup from hand to refill my glorious concoction. I watch him with anticipation as he adds milk and cream. I realize I am holding my breath just watching him do this mundane task.

“Thank you!” I say too loudly but appreciatively. “It’s just how I take it!”

Ryan hands the cup back to me and smiles wryly. He turns back to the counter and opens a cabinet drawer. “Here!” He slides a set of car keys across the counter to me.

“What’s this?” I say, confused.

He replies calmly, “The keys to the Camaro.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee.

“Excuse me…what?” I exclaim with a laugh. I shake my head and speak again before he can respond. “I am not driving your car to the office!”

Ryan snaps at my hardheadedness “Yes, you are, unless you want me to drive you back to the office on the golf cart!”

I guffaw at him. He knows that isn’t an option.

“The car was just delivered to me yesterday, and only my business manager knows about it,” Ryan says, deadpan.

Dumbfounded, I look at him.

“I will get it later. Just leave the keys in it.”

I am in shock. “Uhh…I…OK,” I stutter.

Ryan raises his eyebrows at me and ushers me down the hallway to the garage. He opens the back door and presses a small white button on the wall. The garage door opens slowly and quietly. The rain is still falling outside. I pause and watch Ryan as he crosses the garage floor over to the Camaro. He turns back to me with a weird, almost angry look on his face.

“And just so you know, I haven’t even driven the damn thing yet. And Whitney, so help me God, I will lose it if you get as much as a scratch on it!”

I raise my eyebrows at him because I have no doubts.

“I cannot believe I am even doing this.” He shakes his head at me while he opens the door to the car.

I smile broadly, pleased with myself. Sweet! Too bad I don’t have farther to drive. I walk to the beautiful piece of machinery and gently place my bag in the passenger seat. Ryan takes my coffee cup from me.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”

“You are now!” Ryan says authoritatively. I frown. I guess he is a control freak about his vehicles too.

I walk around to the other side of the vehicle. Ryan opens the driver’s door for me, and I slide in. I run my hands around the steering wheel as I take in the new car smell. This car is phenomenal.

Ryan gives me some basic instructions as if I have never driven a car before. I nod amenable even though I am annoyed.

“I have been driving since I was fifteen. I think I can handle this,” I say as a matter of fact.

“It’s custom,” he says proudly. “It has a Z06, LS7, V-8 engine.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “What?”

“It is the same motor setup that is in a Corvette. It was custom built just for me.” He beams with his trademark arrogance.

I laugh mockingly, antagonizing him.

“Just be easy with the pedal, Whitney.”

“Hmmm…” I mutter while taking in all that worthless information, and before my brain can stop my mouth, I say, “Why don’t you have a Corvette?”

The look on Ryan’s face is priceless, as I recall the cool state-of-the-art interior of Colton’s car. It is smooth just like him. Ryan opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He looks conflicted or maybe even angry. I am not sure which. But I am sure that he is wondering who I know that has a Corvette. He only shakes his head and doesn’t say a word.

“Just be careful. The roads are wet. And this car can get away from you quickly,” Ryan warns as he moves to shut the door.

“Wait!” I stop him from closing the door. “How do I get back to the office?”

“Whitney, get serious!” he shouts at me.

“What? Until yesterday, I had no clue that you even lived behind the office.” I smile sweetly at him and say sarcastically, “So, yes, I need to know how to get back to the office parking lot, pretty please.”

Ryan hesitates.

“Surely, you don’t want me to drive through the path?”

Ryan runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, but then begins to laugh at me. “Whitney, what in the hell am I going to do with you?”

Chapter 14

M
y plane lands in San Francisco with ease. I quickly exit the airport to find the courier who waits to take me into Sonoma Valley. I am in the land of vineyards and spas, which would be any gal’s dream vacation, but no. I am here on business, and for a NASCAR race at that.
Yay for me
, I think sarcastically.

I laugh at my own thoughts as I slide into the car with the courier, who is less than friendly. I take out my cell phone to check in with Brooke. No answer.

I arrive at a quaint little boutique hotel about twenty minutes from the track. When I reach the check-in, a young guy who I suspect is gay gives me the once-over. I smile as I give him my name, “Whitney Parker.”

He responds coolly as he types away into his computer, “I don’t have a reservation for that name.”

I take a step back.
Damn!
I forgot to change the name from Annalise’s reservation to mine. After the week I have had, I probably can’t even spell my own name.

“I am so sorry, but I meant to go through the proper channels to change the name on this reservation,” I say. The attendant raises his eyebrows at me. “Miss Martin no longer works for GCR Racing. I am her replacement.”

My explanations are in vain because Mr. Rules and Regulations, who is not convinced, lays out a sermon on the proper procedure on changing reservations. Finally, after I produce my driver’s license, my GCR identification, race weekend corporate credentials, and the company credit card, he grudgingly changes the name on the reservation.

“Will you be taking over the complete itinerary for Miss Martin?” he asks.

Ummm, yes!
I scream to myself. She no longer works for GCR.

I fight my sarcastic tongue and mutter a polite, “Yes!” What itinerary could she possibly have outside of the track? I shake my head. When it comes to her, there is no telling whatsoever.

As I arrive in my room, my cell phone begins to ring. I fumble with my bags, then finally drop them to the floor to retrieve my iPhone from my purse. It’s Brooke!

“Hi!” I say, out of breath, and collapse onto the fluffy bed.

“Did you make it?” Brooke asks.

“Yes. I just had to go through an act of Congress to get checked in, but I am here.” Just as I complete my sentence, there is a loud knock on my room door. “Just a sec, someone is at the door.”

I lay the phone down on the bed and bound over to the door. I open it and am almost knocked over by a room service attendant with a
rolling cart. I stand back, stunned.
What the hell?
The cart is filled with a bucket containing a bottle of chilled champagne, a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a vase of pale pink roses. I stand shocked in disbelief.
Colton?
The attendant politely shoves a white folder at me with Annalise’s name on it. My stomach rolls with nausea as I read her name. It’s not for me.

After he retreats, I remember—Brooke! I amble back to the bed and sweep up the phone to my ear. “You there?” I exclaim.

“Yes!” she responds, irritated.

“A waiter just brought in a whole spread of champagne, flowers, and chocolate-covered strawberries.

Brooke gasps, “From who? Colton?”

I take a moment to think. My stomach rolls again remembering my own display of pale pink roses from Colton. No, couldn’t be, or could it?

“I don’t know…Wait…The waiter handed me a folder. No, it’s not for me…” Then I remember it is still in my hand. I am so confused. I open the folder, and several papers fall out. “Damn it! I just dropped everything. Hang on.”

I kneel down to find Annalise’s itinerary spread out on the floor of my hotel room. I browse the documents. Most of them are hotel accommodations, but then I hit the jackpot, a letter from the concierge.

Dear Miss Martin,

It is our pleasure to accommodate you and your guest during your stay with us. If you have any further needs, please
contact me directly. Also, please find the attached documented itinerary for your spa and dining appointments.

Sincerely,

Hotel Concierge

“Whitney! Whitney!” I can hear Brooke whining through my cell phone. I snatch it up.

“Annalise. She must have ordered all this shit!”

Brooke gasps again. “Who for? Ryan?”

I am flabbergasted. She must have forgotten about all this. “I don’t know…” I flip over to the next page and read the remaining itinerary. “Brooke! She has booked a couples massage for six tonight, too, then a late dinner for two at nine p.m. at the Vine.” I sit down on the bed, stunned.

I am trying to gather my thoughts, and Brooke begins laughing in my ear.

“What is so funny?” I hiss.

“This is your perfect opportunity to get back at Ryan.”

“What?” I snap.

“Yes, you should text him and ask him what you should do with all that stuff. Or…Or tell him it is a shame that you are enjoying those extravagances all alone.”

“Are you crazy?” I shout. “Why?”

“Play a joke on him, get him back!” Brooke whines.

“How is this a joke? I’m sorry, but I don’t get it!”

Brooke sighs loudly into the phone. “It’s not really a joke, but just have some fun with him. It will rattle his cage since they were together, make him think!”

“I don’t even have his cell phone number, Brooke,” I confess.

“What?” she says in disbelief.

“Well, I guess I have not needed it, and who even knew I was allowed to have that top secret information!”

Brooke laughs out loud. “Who could you call to get it? Jerri?”

“No! I can’t do that!” I whine back. “She will know something is up, and you know I’m a terrible liar.”

“Just do it!” Brooke cries. “Call her, and call me back.” Brooke hangs up on me so there is no further discussion.

I fall back onto the bed in exasperation. That damn Brooke. She can talk me into anything. What in the world am I going to say to Jerri? What can I come up with? Then it hits me…Ryan will probably be pissed, but then again, what’s new? I grab my phone, select Jerri’s name from my contacts, and press send.

The phone rings a few times, and I believe it’s going into her voice mail, but suddenly Jerri answers. “Hi, Whitney! Everything OK?”

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Jerri, I had a few issues at check-in and then a problem with an event tomorrow?”

“Oh?” Jerri replies, concerned.

“There is absolutely nothing to worry about,” I say, trying to reassure her and myself. “I had forgotten to change the name on the reservation from Annalise’s to mine, but that is all handled now. However, when I got to my room, there were flowers, champagne, and chocolate-covered strawberries.”

Jerri gasps, “Are you kidding me?”

“Uhhh, no, ma’am,” I respond. “There is more…Apparently she had a couples massage booked and dinner reservations for two later tonight. I am not sure who the intended second person was, but I do know that she used the company credit card to book these appointments. Should I cancel them?”

“Yes, please!” Jerri sounds exasperated and pissed off all in one tone. “I am glad that you called me because I have just come across some other unapproved charges on her company card. I guess it is a good thing she’s gone now because it would only have been a matter of time. Please…just cancel them all now.”

“It will be my pleasure to handle that!” I say matter-of-factly.

“Thank you so much, Whitney. You don’t know how grateful I am to have someone as professional as you are,” Jerri adds.

Well damn. Why did she have to go say that? Now, I feel like shit for what I am about to do.

“There is just one more thing,” I mutter. I have to make this sound good and as vague as possible. “One of our sponsors would like to change a meet and greet to a question-and-answer session in the
morning. Are you agreeable with this last-minute change?” I hold my breath, hoping that Jerri gives me the correct response.

“Sure, that is fine with me, but Whitney, you really need to confirm that with Ryan. You know how he is.”

I let out my breath.
Score!
“OK, sure, I will be glad to do that, but I don’t have his cell phone number, and I am not due at the track until the morning…”

“Whitney! I am so sorry, but I thought you had his number. Honestly, I don’t know where my brain is.”

I laugh. “Seriously, I haven’t needed it until now. Plus, the less I talk to him the better.”

Jerri erupts into laughter. I grab the hotel notepad and pen off the nightstand and jot down Ryan’s magical cell phone number.

“Thanks, Jerri. See you on Monday!” I hang up quickly.

I take another deep breath. I need a drink. I grab the champagne from the bucket. I dial Brooke’s number again. She answers quickly just as I bust the top on the bubbly.