Smokin' & Spinnin' (21 page)

Chapter 21

“H
elp! I need help!” I say audibly, but only to myself. I cannot think or concentrate because the phone is incessantly ringing, and the office chatter is above acceptable levels. Not to mention the recurring thoughts of last night with Ryan. I am overwhelmed to say the least.

This week is the big Saturday-night race at Daytona International Speedway in Daytona Beach, Florida. My plane leaves in the morning, and I am nowhere near ready. Ryan’s schedule is jam-packed with events, and requests are still coming to me via e-mail, text, calls, and fax. I want to scream. I prop my elbows up on my desk and put my head in my hands.
Think, Whitney, think.
But all I can think about is Sunday afternoon and evening with Ryan.

After my argument with Brooke, I gladly accompanied Ryan to his home for dinner. It’s not like we can go anywhere in public, but I love being there with him. We are in our own bubble, away from the craziness that is his life, well, my life, too, now. He is accustomed to it.
Me…not so much!

Since our professional relationship has taken a personal detour, I am obsessed with making sure that I complete all my job responsibilities
to the letter. I don’t want to give him any cause to be upset with me. Fearful that I am trying to include too many events in the week, I fire off a text to Ryan.

___________

I need help.

____________

His response is quick, and I instantly regret that I sent it. I should have sorted this all out myself. I am a big girl.

__________

With what!?

__________

My heart flutters.

____________________________________________

I’m stressed. Requests keep coming in, and your
schedule is already slammed. I don’t want to say no,
but I don’t want you cuss me out AGAIN either.

____________________________________________

Another instant response leads to a frustrating conversation with Ryan.

________________

Are you serious?

_______________

_______

Yessss.

______

_________________________________

Just do the best you can Whitney.

_________________________________

______________________

That is not helping me.

_______________________

___________

I trust you.

____________

___________________________________________

Well that’s a first, thanks, but that doesn’t
help. Can you come into the office?

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

No, plane leaves in a few hours. You can handle.

____________________________________________

I slam my phone down on my desk.
Damn!
I am not making any progress today. I look at my phone for the time. It’s almost noon. Maybe lunch will help. I make my way to the break room. The whole office is abuzz, and the excitement of the employees is on my last nerve. I am way too overwhelmed to be enthusiastic. I am so ready to get on the plane and get the hell out of here, then figure it all out as I go.

I walk through the break room door and spy Josh at one of the tables. I lay my sandwich down and groan loudly.

“What is that for?” Josh asks.

“You people are on my nerves!” I erupt. Then, consciously, I look around to make sure no one is offended by my comments.

Josh eyes me warily. “First of all, ‘you people’ includes you now. Second of all, Daytona races are the biggest of the year. Daytona is the Mecca or Holy Grail of NASCAR. And thirdly, Garrett will be driving on Saturday too. It is really exciting.”

I groan loudly again. “Not you too.” I lay my head down in my hands on the table.

Josh humors me. “What seems to be the problem?” I look up at him. “It’s just too much! Ryan’s schedule is already full, but requests keep
coming in, and I don’t know what to do because whatever I do, I am sure it will be wrong.”

Josh snorts, “Aw, now, I’m sure lover boy will be glad to help you sort it all out.”

A look of sheer mortification falls over my face.
How could he know?
Josh raises an inquisitive eyebrow at my reaction. I quickly remember myself, then shoot Josh a “get real” look, and he erupts in laughter. Crisis averted.
Whew!

Josh and I talk about the race. He gives me a historical background on the Daytona International Speedway, which is very interesting. I like the fact that the very first NASCAR races were raced, in fact, on the beach. Now, that had to be something. Josh also adds that the entire staff of GCR Racing has been given tickets to the race by Garrett, which explains the mass hysteria.

I make my way back to my office to devise a plan to get through the rest of the day. I look down at my phone on my desk. I didn’t realize I’d left it lying on my desk. I quickly pick it up to see if I have missed any calls or messages. Four missed calls and two new text messages.
Damn!

I select the call log. Ryan has called four times, but has left no voice mails.
What the heck does he want?
I switch over to text. There’s one text from Jerri that tells me the final travel itinerary for my trip is ready. The second text is from Ryan! I am disappointed that I have no messages or calls from Brooke. I know she is still pissed at me, but if I get too close to her, she will know. I want to tell her so badly, but I can’t risk it. I have to distance myself from her until we figure this all out.

I pull up Ryan’s text to read it.

___________________________________________

Come over to the house. I will go over the schedule with you.

____________________________________________

I almost drop the phone!
What? Oh no, no, no!
I text him back.

____________________________________

I thought you had an afternoon plane.

_____________________________________

I am seriously confused. Ryan responds.

___________________________________________

I can take a later flight. Tell Jerri you are leaving to pack.

___________________________________________

I note the time on my phone. It’s only one o’clock. I pause. I can’t do that. I know I will technically still be working, but I can’t leave this office before five o’clock. He always puts me in an awkward position.
Damn him!
Jerri will know I’m up to something. I am a terrible liar. If I go there who knows where that might lead. Oh, I know where it will lead, all right, because work is the last thing on his mind. I don’t need that distraction right now. I should make him come here.

I type out my response.

________________________________

I can’t. Please come here.

______________________________________

He responds instantly and stubbornly.

__

No.

__

Bastard!
I guess I will figure it out on my own. I don’t need him. I can handle this. I type out my final response.

_____________________

Fine. I will handle myself.

__________________________

I wait for another response. I don’t get one. Another standoff. Well, I better get back to it. Time is ticking. I sit back down to my computer to finalize my daily itinerary. Pre-race activities begin Wednesday in Daytona and go heavily until the start of the Pepsi 400 on Saturday night. I need to make sure I am organized each day. I don’t need or want another misstep with Ryan. I want him to be confident in my abilities to do this job.

I’m finally getting into the groove of it all and actually loving it. Each week, my job is a means to an end, an exciting end. I love how each week culminates with a race. I am thriving on it, not to mention developing a love for the sport. I remember Ryan desperately trying to explain the adrenaline rush and how stock car racing can get embedded in your veins. I thought it was all bullshit. But I know better now!

I am fiercely typing out Friday’s schedule when a voice calls out to me from the doorway of my office, “Looks like you figured it out!”

Ah, that will be Ryan!
I turn around slowly in my chair to face him, and there he stands, my smug bastard dressed casually in a white knit polo shirt and neatly pressed khaki shorts, leaning against my door.

“So, did you really need my help or just want to see me?”

I groan loudly and roll my eyes directly at Mr. Arrogance.

“Forget it, Ryan! I got this!” I say flippantly.

“Do you now?” he quips.

“I made some executive decisions, which I am sure you will chastise me publicly for if you don’t like them.”

Ryan takes a look back out into the hallway, then steps into my office, conscious of outside ears. “Whit…” he says sultrily.

Whit? When did that start
?

“I have other ways to handle you now.”

“Ryan!” I gasp, praying no one is within earshot of that comment. He laughs at my horror. I shake my head and roll my eyes at the same time at him.

Ryan takes a seat at my desk, and I eye him intently.
Damn
, he is so
hot
. I shake my head.
No! Don’t go there
. Ryan laughs at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“The expression on your face completely gives you away. It’s comical that I can tell exactly what you’re thinking about!”

I groan. “OK, would you please go so I can finish what I am working on?”

“OK…well then…since you don’t need me now”—Ryan winks at me—“I’m headed to the beach.”

Confused, I ask, “I thought you were not leaving until later?”

“I changed my plans, but since you declined my offer, I guess I will be on my way.” He cocks his head coyly to one side.

Ryan stands, walks toward the door, and turns back to face me. “See you at the beach,
Whit
!” Then a wry smile comes over his face, and he completely changes his tone and tack. “I’ll expect my complete itineraries before I get on the plane, so you better get to it! I know I will have to make several changes.” He says this in a loud, obnoxious tone, no doubt so others in the office can hear his arrogance. He pounds the casing of the door with his fists, gives me a wink, and is gone.

Bastard
!

Chapter 22

I
arrive in Florida by noon the following day. It is early July, which means the weather is
hot
and humid. Thankfully, I have packed a lot of light dresses. The entire team is booked at the Plaza except, of course, for Ryan, Garrett, and Colton. They will be staying on their buses in the infield of the racetrack. That’s got to suck. Then again, their buses cost well over a million bucks each. Still, they are missing the beach view.

As I cross the lobby to the elevators, I notice that the Plaza is equipped with a full-service spa. I am envious. I wish I could make time for a massage. No such luck, though. I barely have enough time to put my bags in the room before I have to meet the other team managers and security members. GCR has hired a few extra security personnel for Garrett and Ryan. It is my job to oversee them. I have to meet them in the lobby for a briefing soon.

I steal a quick look at the clock on my iPhone. I have enough time for a quick shower to wash off the plane germs and freshen up. I hang up my clothes and jump into a cool shower in an attempt to wash off some of the humidity, which I know is futile since I will be going right back outside.

I change into a strapless cobalt-blue maxi dress, which matches the color of Ryan’s car, and flat sandals. We will be doing a lot of walking, so flats are my friend. I throw on the accessories Brooke chose for me, which includes a gorgeous, beaded necklace. I am thankful that she brought these clothes over on Sunday before our big blowout. I miss her.

My hair is another story. This Florida humidity is killing it. I pull it back in a frizzy bun. Several wispy layers that refuse to be confounded by my hair tie fall softly around my face. I secure my sunglasses on top of my head and stop to look in the mirror before I walk out the door. I don’t recognize my refelction. Due to my hectic work and life these days, I have lost a considerable amount of weight, which I don’t mind at all. But I look different; I actually look happy. There is color in my cheeks and a sparkle in my eye.
Hmmm. I wonder why?
I smile smugly at myself in the mirror. I am officially excited.
Let’s do this!
I almost want to skip into the lobby. Get control,
Whitney
, I chastise myself.

As the elevator doors slide open, I scan the vast lobby for the security team that Jerri hired for the week. The owner, Maxwell Scott, is not hard to miss. I recognize him from his company profile picture on the Scott Security Services website. Maxwell stands about six-five, weighs about 250 pounds, and has a slick bald head, very marine-ish. I like him instantly.

Maxwell and his team of three are dressed professionally in black pants and black shirts with “Security” written in white across the back. I approach the group that looks like an elite Navy SEAL team with a laugh. My giggle causes the group to turn around, as my approach surprises them.