a pit pass to flirt with a driver, I’d never get anything done.”
“Oh, so you assume that every woman who speaks to you has romantic notions? What an ego.”
“Hey—” he jabbed his finger in the air “—don’t talk to me about nerve. You were the one putting on an act. All you had to do was say who you were, and it would have been a whole different ball game, sweetie.”
“Yeah, right. And I’d never have known what an arrogant, conceited, self-assuming chauvinist you really are, Rick Castles. But you did keep me from wasting my time trying to make you presentable to the public…and wasting the sponsor’s money, as well.”
She jabbed right back, only her finger hit him right in the chest as she added, “And don’t call me sweetie.”
“Oh, yeah, great, fine. But it’s okay for you to call me names.” He pushed her hand away. “And don’t touch me.”
“Who wants to?” She knelt down to scoop up the rest of her things and stuff them back into her purse.
She did not see the wild, pleading look that Mack and the rest of the crew were giving Rick.
And Rick was still too mad to care.
Mack said, with a nervous laugh, “Hey, you two are acting like kids. How about both of you calming down and let’s talk about all this.”
“What’s to talk about?” Liz said as she reached under the race car to retrieve a lipstick that had rolled beneath. She snagged her stockings but didn’t care. She was already a mess.
“You two have got to get along,” Mack said.
Liz stood and slung her bag strap over her shoulder, turning away from Rick to respond to Mack. “I disagree, because when I tell the sponsor what a jerk your driver is, they’ll rethink things and probably withdraw.”
She was bluffing, because she doubted she had that kind of clout. Besides, if she told Jeff she detested Rick Castles, he might pull her off the account and give it to someone else. She did not want that…did not want to fail at anything in her career again…especially because of a man.
Mack said to Liz, “Hey, please don’t do that.” Then he grabbed Rick’s shoulder and shook him. “Listen, man, we need that sponsorship money, and you know it. So apologize and call a truce.”
Liz folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot as she waited for Rick’s response. So what if she was trying to pull off a bluff? It was important to establish some ground rules here, or he’d walk all over her. And she couldn’t have that. He had to know who was in charge when it came to public relations, and, by golly, she would not stand for him being unfriendly to fans, regardless of whether some of them were what he so scornfully referred to as groupies.
Rick started picking up tools that had scattered when he came out from under the car so fast. “I don’t see where I did anything so terrible.”
“You lied,” Liz coldly pointed out. “And it most certainly was my business to know who you were.”
“Yeah, if you’d told me who you were instead of playing coy.”
“That’s beside the point. You were rude, and you don’t treat fans like that.”
“Okay, hold it.” Mack got between them. “So you two have gotten off on the wrong foot. Suppose you start over. Liz, I’m afraid Rick acts off the track like he does when he’s on it—he never gives an inch.”
“That’s called being stubborn,” she said. “And maybe it works when he’s racing but not now.”
Rick ignored her as he went about his business.
Mack allowed, “Maybe so, but that’s how he is. And who’s to know how it would’ve been if you’d introduced yourself in the beginning? I don’t think he’d have jerked you around like he did.”
Liz stared at Rick’s back as he bent beneath the raised hood of the car. His T-shirt was stretched tight, and she could see the ripple of his muscles as he worked.
Her mind danced back to when she had fallen in his lap and he had instinctively put his arms around her to keep her from toppling backward. In that briefest of moments, she had felt a swirl of desire sweep over her and actually wondered what it would be like if he pulled her tighter and pressed his lips against hers, and—
She gave herself a mental shake. She had just met the man, and he had acted like a clod, and here she was thinking how great it would be to have him kiss her. She had to banish such ponderings from her mind or she’d wind up right back in the situation she swore never to find herself again—helpless and made to feel like a fool because her body, her heart, had betrayed her.
“Well, Mack,” she said stiffly, angry at herself and directing it at Rick, “I’m afraid he’s going to have to get down off his pedestal or it’s not going to work.”
Rick withdrew from beneath the hood to turn on her. “Who are you talking about being on a pedestal? You’re the one trying to take over the team all of a sudden.”
“That’s enough. This is getting ridiculous.” Mack had lost patience and was getting mad himself. He motioned Liz to stand back and told the rest of the team to get to work changing the tires. Then he drew Rick to one side.
Liz couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mack was right about one thing—she and Rick had gotten off on the wrong foot, all right. And now she feared her job was going to be even harder than she’d thought.
Pete Barnett walked up just then to ask if she were ready to have the pictures taken. “We’ve got time before the drivers’ meeting. Where’s Castles, anyway? I’ve never met him.”
Liz cocked her head to where Mack and Rick were still in close conversation. “That’s him on the right.”
Pete frowned at the sight of Rick in his greasy clothes and dirty face. Loudly, he said, “Well, he’d better hurry up and change. You sure don’t want to shoot him looking like that.”
Rick heard and coldly demanded, “What is it now?”
Liz stonily answered, “It’s the photographer I’ve hired to take your publicity photos, but I’m not sure we’re going to need them now.”
At that, Mack hurried to her, waving his arms. “Oh, now wait, Liz. We can work this out.” He shot a pleading glance at Rick for confirmation. “Can’t we?”
Rick did not have to think about it, even though he had let Mack argue on and on as to why he should apologize and cooperate. He knew they needed the money if they were to make a serious run for the rookie title. The smaller sponsorships weren’t enough. Sure, they could sell ads on the lower quarter panels for twenty-five thousand dollars, and on the front fenders for thirty. But that was a drop in the bucket. Tires alone were over three hundred and fifty apiece. Depending on conditions, they might use six to twelve sets each race, which meant they’d have to spend nearly twenty thousand. And they just didn’t have it. They wouldn’t have even been able to come to Daytona if not for the new sponsorship, and, waiting for the first check had been tough, because they couldn’t buy tires needed just for practice.
He
