“Okay, I guess I’ll head out.”
She nodded and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her so thoroughly it took everything in her not to drag him into her bed. She took a deep breath. “Good night, Gray.”
“Night, Evelyn.”
She waited until he disappeared around the corner of the hallway before she closed the door.
Despite having one of the absolute best nights of her life, she felt like shit as she undressed and climbed into bed.
And she knew why.
Because she was sleeping alone tonight. And that was her choice.
The wrong choice.
TWELVE
SO MUCH FOR EVELYN’S RESOLVE. SHE’D SPENT ALL this time warring against her attraction to Gray, only to succumb and have sex with him. She knew it had been a bad idea, that it would muddy the waters of their professional relationship.
Interns and staffers did it with their bosses all the time in Washington. It was a way to climb the ladder faster. She vowed she would never do that, and she hadn’t. She’d earned her way up based on her skills alone. She was a professional and was determined to always act like one.
Yeah, about that determination. She’d survived six years in the hotbed of sex and scandal of politics in D.C., only to crumble in an auto racer’s bed in Kentucky during the first week. She should be ashamed.
Surprisingly, she felt no shame whatsoever. She’d been a little sore in spots since she hadn’t had sex in a long time. But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face.
She supposed several rounds of awesome sex could do that to a person.
Maybe sometime soon the guilt would rear its ugly head. Until then, she’d continue to fondly remember the awesome sex she’d had.
It was race day, and Evelyn had been granted a pass to be in the pits. She’d stayed in the background during qualifying, watching Gray do his thing.
He was very good with the media during interviews. He was smooth on camera, was nice to reporters, and handled the media very well. She’d watched a lot of video on him and that was one of the reasons she’d convinced the senator he’d be a viable resource to use in the campaign, despite the senator’s objections.
She wondered what Gray would say if he knew this had been her idea. She knew he probably figured this had been his father’s doing, when it was the complete opposite. Mitchell Preston thought Gray would turn her down. She told him she could convince Gray to help, and she’d take full responsibility for making it happen. He’d told her he hated losing her during such an important time, because they’d worked so closely together for many years now and he needed her.
Evelyn knew he relied on her expertise, especially during the most critical election year of his life. But having Gray’s legions of fans could be such a boon, especially the younger voters and those in the South. If they could secure those votes, and if Mitchell did, indeed, get the VP nomination, they could ride this wave all the way to the White House.
Or at least the vice president’s house. Which would be as high as Evelyn had ever gotten up the political ladder.
The thought of it surged in her blood, as exciting as listening to the cars start their engines at the beginning of the race. Her earplugs firmly intact, she watched the cars pull onto the track to begin their warm-up laps.
“You’ll want to climb up into the pit box, ma’am.”
She turned as—oh, what was his name? Steve, maybe? He was one of the crew, and he pointed up the ladder to a booth where the crew chief sat.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to go up there.”
Steve, a young guy with dark brown eyes and a sweet smile, pointed to his ears.
“Actually, Ian just communicated to me that’s where you’re supposed to be. We’ll be running back and forth around here all day. Tires will be tossed and other shi— things. Don’t want you to get hurt. You’ll be safer up in the communications booth.
Plus, it’s a great view of the race.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She found the stairs and made her way up into the booth. Ian barely paid attention to her, his gaze fixed on Gray’s car and the screens in front of him. He pointed to the empty seat and she took it, then searched the track for Gray’s car.
He’d qualified in the sixth position, and as the cars lined up in tight formation for the start, her chest tightened.
She wasn’t normally a race fan, but she had watched videos of racing and had been to one live race—the first one where she’d met Gray. And she’d done a lot of research on racing, so she’d be educated. She knew what was at stake for Gray.
As they waved the checkered flag and the crowd roared, the cars jammed together and accelerated. Evelyn’s heart flew into her throat as the speeds climbed higher. With every lap the drivers took, her stomach tightened.
A crash on lap three had her leaping out of her seat, leaning forward to check Gray’s position. He’d barely missed it, had accelerated down to the—what was the bottom of the track called? The apron. That was it.
“You might as well relax, Evelyn,” Ian said, “or you’re never going to make it to the end of the race.”
She sat down and watched as the safety crews and trucks came to clean up the mess. “Relax? How am I supposed to relax? Did you see how close Gray was to that wreck?”
Ian, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, his gaze firmly fixed on the monitors. “You get used to it. If you think you’re nervous now, wait ’til the end of the race.”
“God. I’ll need a Valium by the end of the race.”
The first one she’d watched hadn’t been like this. She hadn’t been . . . invested.
Today, she’d expected to be bored. She’d figured she’d get caught up on her email and look up periodically to check Gray’s progress.
Ha. Her gaze was glued to the number fifty-three the entire time. The race was intense. By the hundredth lap there had been four wrecks, and each time Gray had come through unscathed, though he’d dropped back in position to eighteenth due to what Ian had called pit road miscues. Ian wasn’t happy with his crew at all, though he remained calm when he talked to Gray and said they’d make up the positions, that there was still a lot of time left.
She listened to Ian giving Gray feedback through his headset, wondering what Gray was telling him.
Car stuff, no doubt. She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to do anything to direct Ian’s attention away from whatever he was doing to help Gray drive the hell out of his car. So instead, she leaned over and watched the screens.
“Fuel mileage. Lap speed. Tire wear,” Ian said without looking at her. “Some of that gets communicated to Gray, most of it’s just for me and the crew so we’re aware of how his car’s performing. About the only thing he’ll need to stay aware of is fuel mileage. Can’t have him running out of gas on the last lap. Plus, he needs to know when to pit.”
“Because there’s no gas gauge in the cars.”
“No. And even if there was, it wouldn’t help. A lap’s worth of gas can make all the difference, and there’s no way a gauge could tell you how much that is.”
“So you go by mileage.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you. It’s helpful to have that education. So he tells you stuff, and you tell him stuff.”
“Yeah. Sometimes he’ll bitch a blue streak about the car being loose, or tight, some vibration or the car just not running right. That’s when I know we need to make adjustments during the next pit stop. Other times he’ll be quiet for a lot of laps and just drive. That’s when I know the car’s running good.”
“And has he been quiet so far today?”
Ian laughed. “No. He’s been complaining about the car. Everything about the car.
Nonstop.”
“Damn.” She laid her hands in her lap.
Ian laughed. “The good news is, sometimes a driver will think there’s something wrong with the car, when in fact it’s just the track. He’s been steadily moving up since the jackman had trouble on his last pit road stop. There’s nothing wrong with his car.”
She tore her gaze away from Gray’s car only long enough to look at Ian.
“Really?”
Ian didn’t bother to look at her, because his attention was focused like a laser on his screens. “Really. So relax. I have a good feeling about today’s race. The car is strong, and Gray’s a damn good driver.”
Evelyn tried to relax, but the race was a nail-biter. As Ian said, there was a lot of time left, and Gray had steadily made his way back to the front. Gray and Cal McClusky ended up racing off pit road nearly tied for first with thirty laps to go. Cal gained an edge by . . . she had no idea, since she couldn’t see, but from what she could see it must have been as close as the hairs on a gnat’s butt. Either way, before their next restart after a caution, Cal chose the outside lane. To her, it seemed like they’d restart tied, but Ian explained that the outside lane was faster.
Whatever. She needed an antacid, because at the restart they were neck and neck, then Gray pulled ahead and took first. She screamed and yelled for Gray to go faster, and didn’t sit down until he took the checkered flag, barely a bumper ahead of Cal.
Okay, she still didn’t sit down. Like Ian, she tore off her earplugs and raced down the ladder, as enthusiastic as Gray’s pit crew over the win. And when Gray did a spectacular burnout to the wild applause of the fans, smoke spilling over the track and into the stands, she screamed even louder and clapped along with everyone there.
When he pulled into the victory circle and climbed out of his car, God, he looked delicious. His hair was a wild mess, sweat soaked, curling against the nape of his neck. He wore a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw and he looked dangerously fierce and sexy, like he’d just conquered the tallest mountain.
She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him, kiss him and congratulate him, then lick that sweat beading against his neck and crawl all over his body. Lord, who knew racing could be so intense, could fire her blood in this way?
As he was surrounded by media, Evelyn stayed in the background while he poured soda over his crew, hugged Ian, did his interviews to thank his sponsors, and stayed after for what seemed like a thousand photographs and even more interviews. She waited, patience her middle name since she often had to wait for the senator while he either voted or debated or had to do a myriad of interviews himself. Sometimes she waited for hours, like she did now.
When Gray finally finished for the day, when the track had quieted down and everyone left, he met her at his trailer, obviously in a good mood since he was smiling as wide as she’d ever seen.
“I thought you’d have left for your hotel a long time ago.”
“Are you serious? I wanted to congratulate you in person. It was an amazing race today. You dominated.”
He was still grinning as he opened the door, waiting for her to go in. When she did, he shut the door behind them. “I sucked the first half of the race. I just couldn’t get a feel for the track. And then we had that fuckup in the pits and I thought I was dead in the water, because there were at least six cars as good as or better than me today.”
“Obviously not, because you fought your way back. And you won.”
“It was close. I got a few lucky breaks, and made up for the ugly pit stop by having the final one go like clockwork. The crew saved my ass.”
“You saved your own ass. It seemed like really good driving to me.”
“It’s always a team effort.”
“Hey, it’s just us in here, now. I think you can take a little credit for that win today.”
He laughed. “Well. Thanks. I need a shower. And something to eat. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course. I’m hungry, too. Would you like me to fix us something while you’re showering?”
“You don’t have to. We can go out somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be mobbed by fans out there?”
He gazed at the door and grimaced. “Not particularly.”
“I’ll see what you have in here.” She shooed him with her hands. “Go. Shower.”
“All right.”
After he left, she rummaged through his fridge and found bacon and eggs and, surprisingly, tomatoes, mushrooms, and a green pepper. She grabbed a skillet, fried up the bacon, and started mixing up the eggs while chopping the vegetables. When the bacon was finished she pulled it out, wiped out the grease, and threw the vegetables in, sautéing them until they were tender.
“That smells good,” Gray said as he came out of the bathroom smelling even better than the food.
He wore a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, making her mouth water.
She threw the eggs in with the vegetables. “Feel better?”
“Starting to. What can I do to help?”
“How about some juice with this? I saw some in your fridge.”
“Sure.”
He pulled out plates and glasses while she fixed the oversized omelet in the skillet.
When it was done, she cut it in half and slid the two pieces onto two plates, along with the bacon. They grabbed seats in the booth.
“Omelets and bacon? You’re my savior. I’d have probably eaten toast.”
She sliced into her omelet with a fork, so hungry she had to take a couple bites before she replied. “Come on. You have food in your refrigerator. You have to know how to cook.”
“I do. But I was really hungry. These interviews take hours. Toast is quick. And I have peanut butter.”
She shook her head. “You need a wife.” At his quizzical look, she added, “Or a live-in cook.”