we both know this comeback isn’t just about your racing,” she said silkily.
“Of course it is.” But he ran a finger around the back of his shirt collar, and Gaby knew she had him.
“Your family,” she said. “They’re more important to you than your racing, but if possible, you’re doing even worse with them than you are on the track.”
The heat of his glare could have melted pavement. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sit down, Zack,” she said. “I plan to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
Z ACK SAT ON THE OTHER end of the couch. Because he wanted to, not because Gaby said so. Because he was so damn tired after more than twenty-four hours on his feet.
He didn’t know how she’d come up with her theory about his family—a lucky guess, most likely—but he wasn’t about to discuss it.
“You will attend charm school and graduate with flying colors,” she said. “Then you will participate in every event, every interview you’re asked to do in relation to the bachelor contest, and you’ll do it with charm, flair and…and sexiness.” She colored, but her tone was firm.
“So far I’m finding this pretty easy to refuse,” he said, relieved. For a minute there, she’d had him going with her pseudo insights.
“In exchange for your cooperation,” she said deliberately, “I will provide additional services.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. She shot him a look that said how puerile, and continued, “Your comeback is as much about coming back into your family as it is into NASCAR. Probably more. But it’s not working.”
“You think?” he sneered.
“Do you have any idea why that is?” Her clear blue eyes met his.
And, dammit, he was so tired, so damn susceptible, he found himself saying, “Matheson Racing is all about winning.”
“By which you mean, being a Matheson is all about winning.”
“If I wanted psychoanalysis, I’d go see Kelly.” He added rudely, “She’s a lot better at it than you are.”
To his irritation, Gaby smiled with what looked like genuine sympathy. “You really are a mess.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. He had been fine until she started in on him. He never should have agreed to this morning’s interview.
“I believe you go into conversations with your family with good intentions—at least half the time. But something always goes wrong.”
She was right, half the time he did. The other times, he was too riled to make the effort.
“I’ve seen the hopeful look you get on your face when you talk to your dad, your brothers.”
Heat suffused Zack’s jaw. “Don’t be stupid.” She made him sound like a five-year-old seeking his daddy’s approval, his love. Yeah, okay, so he wanted some kind of connection with his dad and his brothers. But he didn’t need it, and if this season didn’t work out, he could go back to Atlanta and resume his pattern of occasional communication with his folks.
Something twisted inside him at the thought.
He shot Gaby a look of intense dislike and considered having her fired.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “your problems with your folks aren’t all your fault.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically
“Even when you’re on your best behavior—which, frankly, isn’t that great—your family is guilty of judging what you say and do in the light of past grudges.”
She’d noticed that, too? That no matter what he did, no matter how pure his motives, someone took it the wrong way? Zack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Go on,” he growled.
“I have a solution.”
The leaping sensation in his chest was totally unexpected. He couldn’t speak.
“I will work with you on improving your image with your family,” Gaby said.
The soaring hope—because that was what this feeling must be—plummeted. Zack cursed himself for his naiveté. Had he really expected Gaby to have the answer to a decadesold problem?
“A PR campaign,” she elaborated. “One
“Of course it is.” But he ran a finger around the back of his shirt collar, and Gaby knew she had him.
“Your family,” she said. “They’re more important to you than your racing, but if possible, you’re doing even worse with them than you are on the track.”
The heat of his glare could have melted pavement. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sit down, Zack,” she said. “I plan to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
Z ACK SAT ON THE OTHER end of the couch. Because he wanted to, not because Gaby said so. Because he was so damn tired after more than twenty-four hours on his feet.
He didn’t know how she’d come up with her theory about his family—a lucky guess, most likely—but he wasn’t about to discuss it.
“You will attend charm school and graduate with flying colors,” she said. “Then you will participate in every event, every interview you’re asked to do in relation to the bachelor contest, and you’ll do it with charm, flair and…and sexiness.” She colored, but her tone was firm.
“So far I’m finding this pretty easy to refuse,” he said, relieved. For a minute there, she’d had him going with her pseudo insights.
“In exchange for your cooperation,” she said deliberately, “I will provide additional services.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. She shot him a look that said how puerile, and continued, “Your comeback is as much about coming back into your family as it is into NASCAR. Probably more. But it’s not working.”
“You think?” he sneered.
“Do you have any idea why that is?” Her clear blue eyes met his.
And, dammit, he was so tired, so damn susceptible, he found himself saying, “Matheson Racing is all about winning.”
“By which you mean, being a Matheson is all about winning.”
“If I wanted psychoanalysis, I’d go see Kelly.” He added rudely, “She’s a lot better at it than you are.”
To his irritation, Gaby smiled with what looked like genuine sympathy. “You really are a mess.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. He had been fine until she started in on him. He never should have agreed to this morning’s interview.
“I believe you go into conversations with your family with good intentions—at least half the time. But something always goes wrong.”
She was right, half the time he did. The other times, he was too riled to make the effort.
“I’ve seen the hopeful look you get on your face when you talk to your dad, your brothers.”
Heat suffused Zack’s jaw. “Don’t be stupid.” She made him sound like a five-year-old seeking his daddy’s approval, his love. Yeah, okay, so he wanted some kind of connection with his dad and his brothers. But he didn’t need it, and if this season didn’t work out, he could go back to Atlanta and resume his pattern of occasional communication with his folks.
Something twisted inside him at the thought.
He shot Gaby a look of intense dislike and considered having her fired.
“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “your problems with your folks aren’t all your fault.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically
“Even when you’re on your best behavior—which, frankly, isn’t that great—your family is guilty of judging what you say and do in the light of past grudges.”
She’d noticed that, too? That no matter what he did, no matter how pure his motives, someone took it the wrong way? Zack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Go on,” he growled.
“I have a solution.”
The leaping sensation in his chest was totally unexpected. He couldn’t speak.
“I will work with you on improving your image with your family,” Gaby said.
The soaring hope—because that was what this feeling must be—plummeted. Zack cursed himself for his naiveté. Had he really expected Gaby to have the answer to a decadesold problem?
“A PR campaign,” she elaborated. “One
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