Page 8 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)

Jake stands at my arrival and gives a low whistle. “Gorgeous as always, Princess.”

“I have a date tonight, and there wasn’t enough time to change first.” It’s a complete lie, but so what? Jake doesn’t need to know I went home to reapply my makeup and try on several outfits before settling on my silver dress.

My date later is only a text conversation with Martin while we watch some reality shows, but that still counts.

Jake says, “He’s a lucky guy,” without even a trace of jealousy. He hands me a napkin as we both take our seats.

“We’ll need to get straight to business because of it,” I say. “This isn’t a date.”

Our booth is one of those circular ones, which means we’re seated close. It’s also in the restaurant’s back corner, with no nearby guests to invade our privacy. Could he have deliberately picked this spot?

Yes, Jake would do that.

“I looked for you in Atlanta,” he says after we order drinks. “A friendly face.”

“Your spotter was there. What’s his name? Derek. He’s friendly.” They’re close, which isn’t unusual. I’ve wondered how much the man acts as Jake’s invisible wingman, pushing him to go after Boone on the track. It’s also possible I’m paranoid. “Sorry again about that penalty. It must be frustrating. ”

Jake looks down at his empty salad plate and then back at me, showing off his infamous cocksure grin. “It happens. Las Vegas will be my turnaround.”

I’ll be there, with Julian already in my back pocket. “Will you tell me what we’re meeting about?” I ask. Curiosity has been eating at me since his phone call, plus any time in Jake’s presence is dangerous.

“Before I begin.” He swallows. “No one knows about this, not even Derek, any member of my pit crew, or my team’s owner. Just you.”

“This is serious.” Jake comes alive inside a race car. He loves it too much to quit. He shares that with my brother, even if they can’t stand each other. “Are you going to NHRA? ARCA? That makes little sense.”

He draws back at the idea, which answers my question. “That never even occurred to me. You know how I started, right?”

I heard most of it when we were in bed together. “Yes, until BPR signed you.” His contract is over at the end of the season. “You’re leaving for another team,” I guess.

That doesn’t make sense either. Jake has spent his entire career with Bert Deere, and I can’t imagine him leaving without an excellent reason. Jake speaks well of his team’s owner.

“No one has offered.” Jake licks the corner of his lip and slides closer to me. “BPR is great; they treat me well. They’re an institution, and I’m lucky they let me drive.”

“You earned it.”

Jake glances at his salad plate again, and I wonder, for the first time, how much positive feedback he gets. Not from family or nameless fans but from those who know him more intimately. Does he even have any friends besides Derek? His lack of supporters at races comes back to me. “Thanks, but that’s not why I asked you. How do I approach BPR and convince them to let me have an ownership stake?”

This is unexpected. “BPR is, well, they’re like old money in NASCAR. Reputation, relationships, legacy. You’re competing with decades of it.”

“Well, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Because I’m a Rivers. He wants my experience. I want to throw a drink at him. Almost. “Well, the easy answer is that you don’t. My advice is to perform well and negotiate for a better contract. Maybe create rumors that other teams have approached you.”

“That’s simple stuff. That part is figured out.”

“I don’t know.” Boone is my only direct experience, and his ownership is because of our father. Tom Rivers is considered one of the best drivers of all time. Jake doesn’t have that advantage. “What can you offer that they don’t already have? Understand that an ownership stake means giving you a share of profit.”

He wants to be an owner. Jake’s rivalry with Boone suddenly looks very different. I always knew his ambition on the race track, but what else is he hiding if we’re having this conversation? When viewed from a fresh perspective, some of that competition looks close to envy.

Jake’s smile aims for cocky and fails. “I’m popular, and that rubs off on BPR. My sponsorship is secure for the season, which not every driver can speak of.”

“That’s not enough. It would be best to have a backer or the ability to fund a team yourself. Jake, you’re terrific but not a Cup champion or in the hall of fame.” I struggle for some positive angle or tidbit to say his dream is possible; all I can think of are meager crumbs. “If we were having this conversation in ten years, with you keeping up this level of performance, it would be a very different one.”

“I expected you to say that,” he says. His voice is even, almost upbeat, but his sloped shoulders and expressionless features show disappointment.

“Then why ask me to meet you?”

“Because you’re going to help me,” Jake says, and his cocky grin is back. “Figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“Make it your side project. This is our business arrangement, where you figure out how to make me an owner.”

“I can’t.” Does he understand what is being asked?

“Help me. Please.”

This is absurd. I promised to stay away from Jake Knowles. My new classes start shortly, and there’s a meet-up with Martin tonight. Plus, I’m applying for jobs. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” Jake beams in a way I’ve never seen before. He grabs my hand to shake it, and his thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. “It’s a deal.”

It’s a bad deal and a worse idea. Even the suggestion of a partnership is awful. I’m also strangely excited.

That’s a feeling it’s best to ignore. This is business, only business.

“ Give me time to think of ideas. Genius doesn’t automatically happen; it needs to be nurtured.”

As if my words are magic, our food appears.

“Then let’s feed it,” Jake says, and his smile grows even more cocky. That much self-confidence should be illegal.

“One caveat. I won’t do anything that harms Boone or our company. No insider info, secret handshakes, or stealth company break-ins. I’ll help you, but that’s separate. ”

My demand is suspiciously close to the one I made the first time we slept together.

“I’ll follow your rules,” Jake says. The earnestness in his voice tells me it’s the truth. “I’d never ask it of you.”

∞∞∞

“Let’s go for a walk,” Jake says after we leave the restaurant. “There’s a duck pond nearby, and walking after eating is healthy.”

I arch a brow. Our business meeting is over. “Healthy? How many miles do you run every day?”

“At least an hour’s worth.” Jake shrugs. “Or until the machine beeps at me. Come on.”

He takes my hand, loosely intertwining our fingers together. It’s a warm evening, and neither of us appears to be in a hurry.

I’m supposed to be meeting with Martin. We haven’t met in person, and he feels like someone I’ve known for years. Best of all, he’s easy, unlike the man at my side. My guilt pricks again because I want to chat with him, but I want to stay with the man walking beside me.

“You should know I’ve started seeing someone,” I say as we arrive at the duck pond. Not surprisingly, there are no ducks, swans, or geese to be seen. “His name is Martin.”

“Martin,” Jake snorts. “He sounds boring. I’ll bet his idea of excitement is staying up until midnight to finish a movie. What is he, an accountant or insurance adjuster?”

I frown because Martin is in insurance. “He’s funny.”

“So am I.”

I keep walking rather than responding. This conversation is fruitless.

Apparently, Jake feels differently. “I’m going to figure out who hurt you. You can say it’s only your brother, and maybe that plays a part, but there’s someone else. I race him every week, don’t I?”

“It doesn’t matter.” It’s easier to move on, which I’ve already done. Jake getting into a fight with his new rookie teammate will not help his career or his plans. It will also force the entire issue into the open, an event I promised myself would never happen. No one will ever know.

“You matter to me.”

We’ve already navigated more than half of Jake’s pond. It’s small, and there are still no signs of waterfowl.

“I need to get back to my car,” I say because it’s easier than responding to his statement. “My date is waiting for me.”

“Martin, the insurance adjuster? I’ll walk you back to your car.” Jake doesn’t let go of my hand, making his intentions clear.

“You don’t need to take care of me, Jake.”

Jake pulls me close. With my heels on, we’re nearly the same height, yet I feel tiny next to him.

The thumb of his free hand strokes my cheek. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you real bad this entire night. Why is it so hard to believe my feelings towards you are genuine? I wake up thinking about you and go to bed thinking about you.”

Neither of us says anything else until we’re by my car. My brief excitement over our business partnership has dissolved back into more indecision. The business world calls it Analysis Paralysis. It’s also my personal motto.

Jake opens my door for me. “You may not need me to take care of you, Princess, but you deserve to be. I’m the one who should be doing it.”

∞∞ ∞

Martin: Are you there?

Martin: Did something come up?

I snuggle in bed and flip my laptop open. Herbal tea steeps in the travel mug on my bedside table.

Sarah: I had a dinner meeting. A new business project suddenly appeared.

Martin: Wow! Put it on your resume. You’re now the business consultant for a complex multinational corporate merger.

Sarah: I don’t even know what that is.

We start our latest reality show series. Thank goodness for easy distractions.

Jake: Thanks for meeting with me earlier tonight.

Sarah: You’re welcome. Give me a week to develop ideas, and I’ll contact you.

Jake: With your help, I’ll get my big break. I’ll get you on my own. It’s probably best to say goodbye to Martin, the insurance adjuster. It will spare him the pain.

Sarah: Good night, Jake.

Martin: Can you believe what Todd and Jacob are arguing over?

I dash off a quick reply and open up a new browser window. It’s time to do some research.