Dead silence met my question. I threw the phone hard, breaking it, uncaring now if anyone saw me. I hissed at the crew member who gave me the phone. “God himself better be on the other line the next time you interrupt me while I’m preparing for a race, or you’re fired. Understood?”
The younger man nodded, hurried back to the pit, and I trudged ahead across the track. Great. I needed to rid myself of my father’s negative energy and my inherent restlessness with very little time. A few fans screamed my name when I neared the stands. Without looking at anyone in particular, I waved and smiled. Politeness, even when I’m in a dark mood, was expected. More than ever, I needed my quiet, and the longer it took to quell my restless spirit and nervousness, the greater the risk became. As I entered the pathway behind the stands, a familiar woman’s voice yelled, “Canaan Jackson, answer your damn phone.”
I glanced up and zeroed in on the direction of her voice. The sight of her face stopped me cold.
Kensie Garrett.
The people around her cheered in encouragement as she gestured for me to check my cell. I yelled over the noise, “I’ll get a team member to get you once the race ends.”
She smiled in gratitude before she cupped her mouth and howled, “You got this.”
I nodded, unsure how to feel that the only woman to vex me stood a few feet away. The relief on her face when I told her I would meet her was evident, and I wondered whether she had traveled here to apologize. Or was it to garner more attention and fame? Regardless of her motives, I no longer needed to meditate. Her presence allayed any qualms, doubts, or fears about winning the race. Now with clarity, I headed to the lounge, an extra swag in my stride. I would win.
And one sexy Kensie would be my prize.
Chapter 6
Kensie
Still flushed with excitement and the thrill of watching Canaan in action as he easily raced ahead of the competition and crossed the finish line first, I jumped up and down with the crowd. I almost didn’t notice a man wearing a blue and purple shirt with Canaan’s name written in yellow at the top, beckoning me at the end of the row. As I pushed through the celebrating crowd, I received hugs and pats on the back from strangers.
Ten minutes later, I walked into his lounge. A few smiling staff members waited, several bottles of champagne chilled, and ornate fruit and vegetable displays adorned the table. The aroma of spices and meat drifted from across the room where a bartender prepared his stand and a chef prepped food. Two large and four small screens covered one wall, replaying the race. A smiling Canaan chatted with an ESPN correspondent about his win on the other screens. I didn’t hear a word he said, totally mesmerized by the glow and confidence of the winner, proud that I knew him, hoping we could talk at some point, and praying that Canaan wasn’t angry with me about the video of our erotic interlude in the kitchen hallway of a five-star restaurant. I assumed he was avoiding my calls because he was furious. Given the way Canaan looked at me before the race, he hadn’t been avoiding my calls. He’d looked surprised, maybe even happy, to see me.
One of the staff members waiting for Canaan approached me. “You’re the woman from the video. Didn’t you write that book,Howto BeMadly in Love?”
“Um . . .” Before I could respond, a dark-haired woman, looking at her cell, nodded with a huge grin.
“She has that love book and is Mr. Jackson’s friend,” she answered with a thick accent. Maybe the islands. Maybe Miami.
Suddenly, the mood shifted in the room. All curious eyes were on me. The dark-haired woman asked, “Can I get you something? Maybe water, juice, or fruit? Mr. Jackson prefers to be here when food is served. We want to make sure his special guests have their every need met. There’s a sofa in the next room just for Mr. Jackson and for you to rest if you need.”
“Water is fine.” I tried unsuccessfully to hide my grin at the royal treatment I’d been given.
Yesterday, when Saraj woke me up with a bloodcurdling yell to announce that I’d just gone viral with Canaan, I was embarrassed that we’d been caught for the world to see—worried that people would judge me harshly. Today, people recognized me and seemed impressed. If only Canaan would receive me the same way. I anxiously waited in a breezy victory room in beautiful Daytona for a man who could either be happy to see me or pissed. When the noise outside the room grew louder, my stomach knotted in anticipation.
The moment Canaan strode into the room, his searing gaze sought me out and, without hesitation, he lifted me off my feet, planting a big kiss on my lips. Dazed, I wrapped my arms around his neck, looked down into his handsome face, and only saw joy and something else that made me tuck my head against his broad shoulders. The room went wild with excitement and celebration while champagne bottles popped everywhere.
When Canaan pulled back, he gazed at me, and then at the growing, crowded room, and announced, “What better way to celebrate my road to history than to have the woman I plan to marry here with me?”
The crowd roared again in delight.
What?I stared at him, confused, as he quickly dipped me and whispered against my neck, “I’ll explain later. Pretend you love me.”
When Canaan pulled me back up, I curved my arm around his waist and leaned on his shoulder as he continued to field questions about his win. One lone reporter announced, “I guess we now know who the mystery woman in the video is. How long have you been engaged?”
I smiled and patted his chest, urging him to answer.
“We first met in college and recently reunited in Jamaica during the holidays. We’ve been together since then, and I know we haven’t been together long, but when you know, you know. Two nights ago, I proposed to her by phone, determined not to lose her again, not knowing there was a video about us. But hey, now, everyone knows who she is and how I feel. Let me introduce her.” He pressed me even closer to his side. “Soon-to-be Mrs. Canaan Jackson, Miss Kensie Garrett. She’s a brilliant writer and researcher finishing up her PhD, and I couldn’t be prouder or happier.”
I smiled brightly for the cameras and ran smoothly with the lie. “I’m just shocked because I didn’t think Canaan would announce it yet, and still . . .” I hid my face slightly in his chest. “. . . still embarrassed that we were caught like that.”
“Weren’t you both on dates with other people the night of the video?” the reporter insisted.
“No. Kensie was with her good friend, and I was ironically meeting with the head of a marketing company at the same restaurant. We were conducting business when I saw Kensie, and I believed it was fate that we happened to be at the same restaurant, and I forgot myself.” His lips curved into a smile. “But today isn’t about my personal life. It’s about this win taking me to Formula One in Miami and making history with Gabriel Marcel and the Ferrari team.” Cheers began again, and suddenly, more champagne bottles burst everywhere. Soon, we were covered in sticky liquid as he kissed me again.
After an hour of celebrating with his crew, media, and fans, I remembered that he had a private space, so I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the back room. The minute the door closed, I exclaimed, “What the hell just happened? And how did you know that Saraj was my friend? He might have been my man.”
“Unless he’s bi and you don’t care, then that’s doubtful. He couldn’t stop gawking at me.” After taking a swig of champagne straight from the bottle, Canaan’s gaze slowly traveled from my sparkly sandals and flowy chiffon sundress that left my shoulders bare to the braids I wore in a bun on top of my head. “Be happy. I just covered up the shit you pulled.”
