bachelor party for you.”
CHAPTER NINE
A MBER ’ S TESTOSTERONE antennae were on full alert from the moment she pulled up outside the concrete-and-glass Matheson Racing building on Thursday morning. She gritted her teeth and cursed Brady Matheson.
She’d asked him to find her some work at Matheson Performance Industries, his engine-building company. Instead, he’d offered her a part-time receptionist job at the race team headquarters. Amber suspected he was trying to keep her away from her mom, who still worked as his secretary. More a second-in-command these days, was how Brady had put it. Which sounded as if he appreciated Julie-Anne…but Amber didn’t trust large, charismatic men who tried to come between her and her mother.
Give him the benefit of the doubt, she admonished herself for the hundredth time. Give everyone, everything, the benefit of the doubt.
She locked her car and headed inside. The receptionist, a woman around Amber’s age, smiled. “May I help you?”
“I’m Amber Blake. I’m, uh—” She indicated the reception desk.
The woman squealed. “You’re the one who’s going to fill in for me while I attend classes.” She stood and shook Amber’s hand. “I’m Libby. Am I ever pleased to see you.”
“Have you been desperate to get away?” Amber asked. Good grief, she had to stop seeing monsters under every bed.
“Are you kidding?” Libby pushed a clipboard across thecounter and showed Amber where to sign in. “Chad practically forced me to enroll for my degree in motor sport management. Now that I’m about to start, I’m really looking forward to it, but I was starting to worry Chad would be answering the phones himself.” She laughed.
Okay, a receptionist encouraged to enroll for a college degree obviously wasn’t in need of rescue. Amber signed her name…then realized the pen had a fluffy pink pig stuck on the end. Libby was the woman with the stuffed animal fetish, as Trent had called it. She was to blame for that awful teddy bear Brady had bought.
“I’ll let Chad know you’re here,” Libby said. “He wants to show you around.” She picked up the phone.
To her left, Amber heard the click of a security lock. The receptionist looked past Amber, and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Her eyes brightened, her cheeks turned pink. “Hi, Ryan,” she said.
“Hey, Libby, you look pretty today.”
The voice was smooth, warm, beguiling—and it sent a tingle of warning down Amber’s spine. She turned to look at the new arrival.
She had to lift her gaze, because the owner of the smooth voice was taller than average. Six feet, probably, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and immediately warmed to cinnamon.
“Hi,” he said. How could one word sound so suggestive?
Amber muttered a hello.
“Ryan, this is Amber Blake, Julie-Anne’s daughter. She’ll be working part-time on reception,” Libby said. “Amber, Ryan Thorne is our NASCAR Nationwide Series driver.”
“Nice to meet you, Amber,” Ryan drawled. His gaze traveled over her, and it was evident from his smile that he liked what he saw. He stuck out a hand and seemed to notice at the same moment she did that he was holding a beer bottle.
Beer? At nine in the morning? Amber pulled her hand back swiftly.
Ryan laughed. “I forgot I had this.” He waved the bottle at her. “We had a camera crew in just now, filming a commercial for my sponsor.”
He tapped his chest, and she noticed his black T-shirt sported an orange-and-green Katzenberg Beer logo. “No other beer makes me feel this good,” he said.
Why on earth did he think she wanted to know about his beer preferences? Or was he just totally self-obsessed? Ryan chuckled at her obvious bemusement. “That’s my line from the commercial,” he explained. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to say it before I nailed it.”
“Taking a swig of that—” she nodded at the near-empty bottle “—each
CHAPTER NINE
A MBER ’ S TESTOSTERONE antennae were on full alert from the moment she pulled up outside the concrete-and-glass Matheson Racing building on Thursday morning. She gritted her teeth and cursed Brady Matheson.
She’d asked him to find her some work at Matheson Performance Industries, his engine-building company. Instead, he’d offered her a part-time receptionist job at the race team headquarters. Amber suspected he was trying to keep her away from her mom, who still worked as his secretary. More a second-in-command these days, was how Brady had put it. Which sounded as if he appreciated Julie-Anne…but Amber didn’t trust large, charismatic men who tried to come between her and her mother.
Give him the benefit of the doubt, she admonished herself for the hundredth time. Give everyone, everything, the benefit of the doubt.
She locked her car and headed inside. The receptionist, a woman around Amber’s age, smiled. “May I help you?”
“I’m Amber Blake. I’m, uh—” She indicated the reception desk.
The woman squealed. “You’re the one who’s going to fill in for me while I attend classes.” She stood and shook Amber’s hand. “I’m Libby. Am I ever pleased to see you.”
“Have you been desperate to get away?” Amber asked. Good grief, she had to stop seeing monsters under every bed.
“Are you kidding?” Libby pushed a clipboard across thecounter and showed Amber where to sign in. “Chad practically forced me to enroll for my degree in motor sport management. Now that I’m about to start, I’m really looking forward to it, but I was starting to worry Chad would be answering the phones himself.” She laughed.
Okay, a receptionist encouraged to enroll for a college degree obviously wasn’t in need of rescue. Amber signed her name…then realized the pen had a fluffy pink pig stuck on the end. Libby was the woman with the stuffed animal fetish, as Trent had called it. She was to blame for that awful teddy bear Brady had bought.
“I’ll let Chad know you’re here,” Libby said. “He wants to show you around.” She picked up the phone.
To her left, Amber heard the click of a security lock. The receptionist looked past Amber, and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Her eyes brightened, her cheeks turned pink. “Hi, Ryan,” she said.
“Hey, Libby, you look pretty today.”
The voice was smooth, warm, beguiling—and it sent a tingle of warning down Amber’s spine. She turned to look at the new arrival.
She had to lift her gaze, because the owner of the smooth voice was taller than average. Six feet, probably, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Chocolate-brown eyes met hers, and immediately warmed to cinnamon.
“Hi,” he said. How could one word sound so suggestive?
Amber muttered a hello.
“Ryan, this is Amber Blake, Julie-Anne’s daughter. She’ll be working part-time on reception,” Libby said. “Amber, Ryan Thorne is our NASCAR Nationwide Series driver.”
“Nice to meet you, Amber,” Ryan drawled. His gaze traveled over her, and it was evident from his smile that he liked what he saw. He stuck out a hand and seemed to notice at the same moment she did that he was holding a beer bottle.
Beer? At nine in the morning? Amber pulled her hand back swiftly.
Ryan laughed. “I forgot I had this.” He waved the bottle at her. “We had a camera crew in just now, filming a commercial for my sponsor.”
He tapped his chest, and she noticed his black T-shirt sported an orange-and-green Katzenberg Beer logo. “No other beer makes me feel this good,” he said.
Why on earth did he think she wanted to know about his beer preferences? Or was he just totally self-obsessed? Ryan chuckled at her obvious bemusement. “That’s my line from the commercial,” he explained. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I had to say it before I nailed it.”
“Taking a swig of that—” she nodded at the near-empty bottle “—each
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