“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s good to have friends in high places.”
“Oh, I assure you, I’m not in any high places.” She sucked in a sharp breath.
But she would be one day.
He’d looked her up when she disappeared to collect a tiny purse barely big enough to hold her phone, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses that glinted in a way that made him think they were worth almost as much as his car. She was the only child of the billionaire owner of the racing team, Michael Fischer. Her father was in his late sixties. At some point in the next twenty years, she would inherit his entire fortune. Become a minority shareholder in a few major tech companies and a Major League Baseball team, and the sole owner of a sprawling racing empire.
One day, she would be a billionaire herself.
So she needed to know about racing, and somehow, she’d ended up in the passenger seat ofhiscar, revealing her vulnerabilities far too readily.
Didn’t a girl like her have handlers? Why didn’t she have an assistant whose sole job it was to feed her whatever information she needed whenever she needed it?
Confused heat crawled up the back of his neck. “We’re going to the Irwindale Speedway,” he said. Giving a little, since they were almost there now. The yeasty beer smell from the Molson brewery was the familiar welcome. “Classic car drag race night.”
Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see her surprised reaction. She rubbed the bench seat between them again. “Like this car?”
He grinned. “Yeah, like this car.”
“Oh.” It was the single most pleased syllable he’d ever heard. “I guess that explains the fancy seatbelts.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
* * *
The parking lotalready seemed full, to Monica’s eyes. Gleaming cars in all directions. Josh drove slowly but confidently to the midst of it, pointing out cars as he rolled down an aisle. “That’s a ’67 Cuda. That’s a nice Chevelle. Ooh, hello beauty.”
There were hot rods, muscle cars, compact sports cars, and some weird custom racers, like a cab-over-engine truck that made Josh whistle. And mixed in among them were a lot of ordinary looking vehicles, too.
“Spectators or sleepers?” she asked.
Josh shot her an impressed look, then grinned. “So you know more than you let on.”
She shrugged.
He eased his car into a parking spot, then turned off the engine. “So, not all the cars here tonight—even the muscle cars—are here to race. Some are here just to be seen. Come on, I’ll show you around a bit before I register with the Race Marshall.”
“You don’t have to get ready for the race…or…”
“It’s not like what you know. It’s fifteen seconds of joy. And we’ve got all night before I need to do that. Lots of time for a few racing lessons.”
Right. Her reason for getting in his car. The favour he was doing for her. “If you race cars,” she asked as she pushed open the heavy passenger door. “Then why are you working as a mechanic?”
Any credibility she’d gained by knowing what a sleeper car was evaporated in the second her question landed.
He frowned. “I’m going topaymoney to race tonight. This is a hobby.”
“But people do…” She frowned, too. “Isn’t it a profession?”
“Yeah, princess. It is. For some. On some circuits. Not in the spaces I want to play in. And I like my job. I like my health insurance, my 401k, and the nest egg I’m saving towards for when I go my own way. It’s what us ordinary people do.”
“I know that.” She didn’t like the look on his face. “I’m sorry.”
He waved her off. “It’s fine. Count it as another lesson. And you can buy me dinner when we leave here.”
That made her brighten right up. “It’s a deal.”
Resolved to not put her foot in her mouth again, Monica scrambled out of the car and carefully closed the door behind her. When she met Josh at the trunk, though, he immediately tested her ability to listen politely and learn.
