“Thank you for not kicking me out, then.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Have you been kicked out of a lot of spaces?”
Not exactly. Shamed out, maybe. “I have a lot to learn about racing still. Not everyone has your patience with new hires.”
“My patience?” He laughed. “You may have gotten the wrong impression about me, Ms…”
She doesn’t want to give him her name.
He shrugged. “You’ll learn plenty about racing soon enough. You pick it up by osmosis just being here.”
“I spent fifteen years of my life trying to do that, and it never worked.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look old enough for that sentence to make any sense.”
Damn it. She held out her hand. “Monica Fischer.”
Understanding dawned, and he screwed up his face in afuck no, you’re the owner’s daughterexpression. “Josh Kincaid. Let me just put my foot in my mouth…”
He checked his hand as if worried it might have a smear of grease on it, then wrapped his fingers around hers. She ignored the rush of heat that crawled up her arm—don’t think about the sex analogy he made earlier—and focused on the fact that his handshake was firm, strong, and lasted the perfect length of time.
“Nice to meet you, Josh.”
“Same to you, Ms. Fischer.”
“Monica.”
“Mmm. So, you’re returning to the family business after…?”
“I just graduated from college.”
“Ah.” He dropped her hand like a hot potato.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I think it was something. Is it my age? You think I’m not old enough to hack it here? We have drivers who are younger than me!”
“It’s not—” He growled with an exasperated sigh. “You’re what, twenty? Twenty-one?”
“I just turned twenty-one.”
“Happy birthday, Miss Fischer.” She didn’t miss the pivot from Ms. to Miss. However old this guy was, it was old enough that twenty-one was too young to be taken seriously. “Here’s your first lesson about racing. The pit crew does not fraternize with the boss’s daughter.”
She blew a raspberry. “That’s a stupid rule. And I’m not looking for fraternization. Just a little help with getting up to speed.”
“I’m not the guy for that.”
“I think you are.”
“You’re wrong.”
“What are the other rules, then? Tell me that much.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not going to be your racing tutor.”
“Why not?”
