When Mr. Adams, Dad’s business manager and publicist, called to tell me that I needed to be at the estate this morning for a family briefing and then a press conference, I was nervous. I had no idea what Dad was going to say. Although the end result was nowhere near what had been flitting through my brain. Nevertheless, I was still nervous, so I popped open a bottle of chardonnay and poured a glass.
I close the fridge, flip open one of the glass-fronted kitchen cabinets, and pull down a glass before making my way upstairs to my bedroom. I move all the way through it and set the bottle and my glass on the bathroom counter before I walk into my massive closet. I slide out of the leather jacket that has all my sponsors on little patches all over it, the one I wear exclusively for press junkets. It’s actually part of most of the contracts that I wear it for press, since each company has paid for the right to have their name or logo on my body or my car or both. One even paid extra to have their patch over my right nipple. It’s ridiculous, but it’s also my life, the one that I was born into, so I accept it and move on.
I carefully hang up my jacket, but the rest of my clothes, I couldn’t care less about. My flowy black silk tank with the deep vee in the front flutters to the floor of my closet, followed by my charcoal-gray jeans and skinny black leather belt.
I pad barefoot in only my bra and panties back to the bathroom where, I open the taps to fill my giant tub. While the water flows and steam billows throughout the room, I pick up the bottle, grab the top of the cork with my teeth, and pull it out before pouring the wine into my glass. I don’t stop until it’s full to the brim, so much so that I have to lean over to slurp some down, which I do while holding my long dark hair—that I spent all morning curling—back from my face.
I stand back up and pin my hair to the top of my head, then shimmy out of my bra and undies, grabbing my glass and the bottle with both hands and stepping over the edge of the tub. Sinking down into the hot water that does little to loosen my tense muscles, I set the bottle down on the floor next to the tub, because I’ll be finishing it tonight. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that.
I lie back against the sloped side for lounging and then raise the glass to my lips and suck back a large portion of wine. I close my eyes against the news that shook the very foundation of my world.
“I’ve decided to retire.”
When I open them again, the rest of the press conference flits through my mind’s eye like a bad dream. If Candy was indifferent to me before, there’s no way she could be anything but hateful after Dad’s stunning revelation.
I’d like to say things will get better from here on out, but I’m not that hopeful. I might be the girl who has everything, but princesses who live in ivory towers live lonely lives.
Chapter 2
Deathmatch Style
Afew minutes later, all I feel is sheer panic. There’s no other way to describe the feelings that wash over me as realization hits, and the warm water and bath oils do little to resolve the tension that’s been slowly creeping up my neck and shoulders. This will ruin my lifelong friendship with Bobby.
I take a deep breath through my nose and push it out through my mouth. It doesn’t work. I reach over the side of the tub for my wine glass, and when I pick it up, it’s empty, so I grab the bottle and pour the remainder into my glass. For a split second, I consider just chugging it out of the bottle—it’s been that kind of a day. I let go of the long, slim glass bottle, and it drops to the floor, the plush bathmat over the tile muffling its fall.
“I’ve decided to retire.”
I keep hearing my dad’s firmly spoken words play through my head over and over again. My chest feels tight, and it’s difficult to breathe. How could he do this to me? To Bobby? There’s no way our friendship is going to survive this.
I was six when Bobby’s mom, Marsha, started working in the front office for my dad, and Bobby was eight. His dad was never in the picture, so mine always tried to take him under his wing. I’ll never forget the look on his face, the first time he said something about racing that made Dad sit up and take notice of the man he was becoming. And I’ll also never forget the look on Dad’s face when Bobby told him that he wanted to learn to drive.
I’ll admit I was jealous. I was used to being the center of my parents’ whole world, but still, Bobby was a welcome playmate at my tender age. I hoped my parents would give me a brother or sister, but it just wasn’t in the cards.
A year later, my dad slept with a race groupie on the road. When he came home, he came clean to my mom, and she and I promptly moved out of my dad’s Coronado mansion. I had no idea why. I knew my mom was upset, and I also knew my dad was sad. I just didn’t know why. It wasn’t until ten years later, when I read the news online on a tabloid website. I was so upset I jumped in my car, a brand-new Camaro my parents gifted me for my birthday, and drove to my dad’s house.
I confronted him, and he immediately admitted to the transgression with a sad look on his face. By then, he was married to wife number three. She came in the room to hear me railing at my dad for hurting my mom and breaking up what had been a happy home. When she realized what I was so upset about, she laughed at me and said, “Oh that old news? Who cares?”
Icared—that’s who.
So I jumped in my car and drove home, tears streaming down my face as only a teenage drama queen can produce. My mom met me on the front porch and pulled me inside. Dad called her while I was driving home. She led me to the sofa and pulled me down into her arms, where she quietly told me the truth of how my family imploded. She told me how my father regretted it immediately, because he was so in love with her. She told me how much she loved him, and still did to this very day. And she told me that no matter what he said, what he did, she could still smell perfume on his skin and see her lipstick on his collar. Ultimately, she could never move on. But most importantly, she said I had come from love and still did. But still, everything changed from then on.
As a seventeen-year-old girl, I googled myself often. After that, I no longer found fascination with the pastime.
Over the years, Bobby had become more than a friend. He was my brother in every sense but blood. We’ve seen each other through difficult times, side by side, like best friends do. So the fact that Dad had thrown us all for a loop is mind-boggling. I can’t for the life of me come up with any rational explanation for why he would pit us against each other. He loves me, but he also loves Bobby, so it doesn’t make any sense.
I pull in another shaky breath and pop the drain on the tub. My bottle of wine is long gone, and the water has long since cooled. I toweled off and pulled on panties and a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a matching camisole. I left the bottle of wine and the glass on the bathmat for tomorrow. I washed my face quickly, but only because I had slathered on the copious amounts of makeup required for a press conference and photo op. I also brushed my teeth, and then I climbed into bed. Only, sleep didn’t claim me.
“I’ve decided to retire.”
Images of today rotate through my brain like an old vacation slideshow.
I never know what my dad is going to do next. He’s always been larger than life as far back as I can remember, and it’s no persona. It’s who he is down to his bones. So by the time I pulled into the circle driveway in front of his home, I had no idea why we’d been summoned. My stiletto heels quietly click-clacked as I made my way up the stone steps to the large oak front door. I pulled it open and stepped inside.
“They’re all waiting in your father’s study,” Garrison, Dad’s righthand man, said when I walked into the great room.
“Thanks, Garrison.”
I made my way down the hall to the study, where my dad, his wife, and Bobby were all seated around the room.
