One in a Million (3 page)

“Don't you worry about a thing.” Eli's affability only heightened her anxiety. “Lead on, chickadee.”

 

“E
LI, GOOD TO SEE YOU
.” Bob Coffman shook Eli's hand as he ushered him into his office. “You didn't need to come all the way over here. My head of security had the bright idea of offering the pregnant woman a DNA test, told her we could do it onsite. Not true, of course. But she left in a hurry and the other one followed soon after.”

“They were lying?” Jen said, outraged. “Both of them?”

Bob and Eli regarded her indulgently.

“Occupational hazard,” Eli said.

“That's terrible.” Jen wheeled around to scan the reception area. If either of those women was still on the premises, she'd—

Eli put a hand on her shoulder, and the intention blurred, submerged by her awareness of him. “I'm over it, Jen, I don't care.”

“You
should
care.” She felt awful: she'd rushed to judge Eli on the basis of his reputation, when those women were the ones lacking in integrity.

“Unfortunately this kind of thing happens every so often,” Bob said. “I'm sorry it happened at my track, Eli.”

“Not your fault.” Eli took a seat on the faded velour couch that was out of keeping with the rest of the black lacquered office furniture. “But I'm not above taking advantage of your embarrassment to ask a favor.”

Bob looked perplexed, but he sat down behind his desk. “You can always ask.”

“I'll get back to work,” Jen said.

“Actually, could you stick around?” Eli asked.

She perched on the edge of the seat Bob indicated, ready to defend herself against charges of unlawfully refusing to date a NASCAR driver.

Eli leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Bob, you're pretty clued in, so I figure you're aware of the challenge I'm facing.”

What challenge? Finding a helmet big enough for his head? Jen eyed him. Even if his ego hadn't been massive, that shaggy blond hair must get in the way. His eyes met hers, their gleam suggesting he'd read her thoughts. Of course he hadn't! Still, she dropped her gaze to her sneakers—the sole was coming away from the left one, which wasn't surprising. She'd been wearing them for years.

“I am,” Bob confirmed. “You and Gil can get through this, Eli, but it might not be easy.”

“Not if any more pregnant girlfriends show up.” Eli straightened. “That's why I'm asking you to lend me Jennifer tomorrow.”

Jennifer's head snapped up. “
Lend
me? What am I, a ballpoint pen?”

Bob pressed his fingers into his desk and leaned back in his chair. “You'd better explain.”

“I need someone to keep my fans—the female fans—at bay so I can focus on the race,” Eli said.

“You want a bodyguard?” Jen asked.

His gaze flicked over her small frame so fast she couldn't
be sure, but it struck her he wasn't thinking
bodyguard.
Yet anything else was even more ludicrous, as she'd already made clear to him.

“Not a bodyguard,” he said. “I want a girlfriend.”

A girlfriend?

Jen gripped the edge of her seat. This
was
about the fact she'd turned Eli down!

“The fans are important to me and the team,” Eli told Bob. “I don't want to offend them when they get overenthusiastic. But I can't afford the distraction before a race.”

Jen had seen that blonde in the skimpy red T-shirt practically rubbing herself against Eli, and he hadn't looked at all unhappy.

Bob glanced toward the enormous window overlooking the crowded stadium. “How does this fit with you dating Jennifer?”

“It doesn't,” Jen said urgently.

“Pretend-dating,” Eli clarified. “If I have a companion, the female fans will see me as off-limits.”

That was why he'd asked her on a date? Because he wanted a decoy?

Jen bit her lip. It wasn't as if a girl like her would capture the attention of a guy like him for more than five minutes. But she was suddenly certain they would have been five
glorious
minutes, and she felt…cheated.

“Jen certainly wouldn't distract you from your racing,” Bob agreed, unwittingly insulting. “She's a quiet little thing.”

Eli turned that preposterously green gaze on her. “Now that I hadn't noticed.”

She didn't believe he'd noticed anything about her at all. Any other woman to deliver Bob's message would have been invited to be his date for the race. Jen knew she wasn't anything special, but she deserved better!

“I wouldn't dare come between you and your fans,” she said. “I'd be stomped by stilettos.”

“You were ready to tackle those lying women on my behalf,” Eli reminded her. “Jen, I guarantee you'll have a good time.”

“I'm not here for a good time,” she said primly.

“You could do with some fun, Jen,” Bob inserted.

It dawned on her that in the past five minutes her boss had stated in several ways that he thought she was dull.

She wasn't dull, she was reliable. Which the last time she looked was a
good
quality.

“I have plenty of fun planned,” she defended herself. It was true. She would have fun, just as soon as she secured her future, and Granddad's. Of course, it wouldn't be the kind of fun Eli was offering. High-octane, with an element of danger.

She liked her fun a whole lot safer.

“I don't see the problem,” Eli said. “I need a girlfriend, you need some fun. Why not seize the day?” He winked conspiratorially.

She was ashamed that her stomach fluttered, that her hormones didn't have more self-respect. She'd always considered
Seize the Day
to be a license for irresponsibility, a belief reinforced by every warning her grandparents had drilled into her.

“Bob,” Eli said, “this arrangement wouldn't work if you felt obliged to mention it to Gil.”

“I don't discuss drivers' personal lives with anyone,” Bob assured him.

They were talking as if this crazy scheme was a done deal!

“This simply isn't possible. I have my grandfather to consider,” Jen reminded her boss.

“Where does he come into it?” Eli asked.

“I live with him…we have a chicken farm,” she said grudgingly. “Granddad has severe arthritis, and he needs my help in the mornings. I don't start here until eleven.”

“But I have a breakfast with my fan club at nine,” he said.

Jen arranged her expression into one of mock sympathy. “I guess that's the end of that idea.”

Eli laughed, evidently still finding her hilarious. “No problem. I'll have Kyle, one of our mechanics, come help your granddad. He's not needed at the track until after lunch and he grew up on a farm. I'm sure he can feed a few chickens.”

“That'll work,” Bob said. “Carlton, Jen's grandfather, is a big NASCAR fan. I'll bet he'd love the chance to talk racing with Kyle.” He steepled his fingers. “Jen, Eli's had a difficult time the past few weeks. I'd like to help out if we can. I know it's not in your job description, but I'd be grateful.”

Bob was a sucker for other people's problems. She could hardly object, since that was how she'd ended up here, despite having no knowledge of or enthusiasm for motorsports. Bob had willingly accommodated her personal situation—not only couldn't she afford to lose this job, she didn't want to let him down.

It's one lousy day. Bob needs my help.
“Okay,” she muttered. “I'll do it.”

Eli's eyes were an emerald blaze of triumph.

She should have guessed a man like him wouldn't stop until he won.

 

A
LTHOUGH THE RACE WASN'T
until evening and the track didn't open to most fans until lunchtime, there were enough invitation-only events going on to make the track feel busy much earlier.

Jen took longer than expected to show Kyle the farm and introduce him to her grandfather—she'd told Granddad she needed to be at work early to help with driver liaison. So it was right at nine o'clock when she joined the line outside the tent on the infield where the Eli Ward Fan Club breakfast was being held.

Overnight, she'd convinced herself she was worrying about nothing. This was a working arrangement, so the fact she found Eli overpoweringly attractive was irrelevant. She would treat him like…like one of her granddad's chickens. She stifled a nervous giggle at the thought of clipping his wings.

“Sorry, miss, I don't have your name.” The security guard on the door flipped the pages on his clipboard.

Jennifer felt her face warm as people muttered behind her. “I'm, uh, Eli's friend. He invited me yesterday.”

“No name on the list, no entry.”

If she needed further proof that Eli's invitation had been all about himself, not her, this was it. The line pressed forward, eager for her to move aside. She lowered her voice. “I'm his
girl
friend.”

The guard snorted. See, she knew this was a dumb idea. Jen's shirt started sticking to her back.

“Is there a problem?” a male voice inquired behind her.

Jen turned to see two very tall, good-looking men. They weren't in the same league as Eli, but both exuded authority.

“Morning, Mr. Sizemore.” The security guard stepped aside.

“Excuse me,” Jen said, “is one of you Gil Sizemore?”

The taller of the two, who had slightly darker hair, said, “That's me.”

Jen ignored the security guard's chuff of annoyance. “I wonder if I could come in with you? I'm Eli's date. Jen Ashby,” she added belatedly.

Both men donned identical poker faces, only marginally less insulting than the guard's snort.

“You're with Eli?” Gil asked.

“Since when?” the other guy chipped in.

She and Eli had had about two minutes to agree on a story yesterday before his practice. She hoped she remembered it right.

“Eli spent some time in this area as a teenager.” She was several years younger than her supposed boyfriend, so she was unlikely to have known him back then. She hoped the men would overlook that logic flaw. “I work for Bob Coffman. Eli and I ran into each other yesterday and he asked me to spend today with him.”

She appreciated that Eli had come up with a script where every word was true. Even if the implication was misleading.

“So, you're not one of Eli's fans?” Gil asked.

“No, sir,” she said fervently.

“Eli did mention he'd invited a guest to the breakfast,” Gil admitted.

The other guy laughed. “Seems like he followed your advice, Gil.” Before Jen could wonder what he meant, he stuck out a hand. “I'm Quinn Parrish from Rev Energy Drinks, Eli's sponsor.” He flicked the brim of her track ball cap. “We'd better get you a Rev hat.”

“The lady is with us,” Gil told the guard as he ushered her into the tent. He glanced down at Jen. “Call me Gil.”

She could tell just by looking at Gil he was smart. Perceptive. And she wasn't much of an actress. What chance did Eli's ruse have of success?

I just need to survive to the end of the race without making a fool of myself or letting Bob down.
After the green flag fell, no one would be interested in chitchat. And when Eli crossed the finish line, her job would be done.

Inside the tent it was already sweltering. Predictably, Eli was in the middle of a knot of women in the center. He immediately broke out of the circle and headed for Jen.

In bed last night, she'd wondered if she'd exaggerated the impact of his masculine presence. Now, every cell in her body surfed a wave of longing.

“Jen, hi, I was worried you weren't going to make it.” Eli's glance flicked over her rust-colored polo shirt and best jeans, his expression inscrutable. “I figured you for an early bird.”

Another sparrow reference? No doubt he'd rather she was wearing something sexy, like half the women here, but her closet didn't contain anything that bared her midriff or clung to her very average curves.

“That would make you the worm,” she pointed out.

Gil made a sound that might have been a cough.

Eli's eyes gleamed. “I see you've met Gil and Quinn.” He took her hand, and held it loosely—but tight enough for a tingle to race up Jen's arm.

Gil watched the two of them. “You haven't forgotten what I said about distractions, Eli?”

“No, sir. Jen is quite the toughie. She'll keep me in line.”

Gil's look measured her scant five feet four inches and turned quizzical. “In that case, welcome aboard, Jen.”

When he and Quinn left to greet the fan club president, Eli said, “Smart move, acting like you don't adore me. Gil liked it.”

“I
don't
adore you,” she reminded him.

“Oh, yeah?” He raised their joined hands. “Then how do you explain this?”

“It's part of our act,” she began, outraged…then realized he was teasing her again. “You're an idiot,” she said. She couldn't help noticing he had capable hands, the fingers blunt and strong. Even though she did plenty of hard work on the farm, her hand looked soft in his.

“Actually I think I'm pretty smart.” Eli glanced around. Several female fans hovered nearby, but hadn't approached. “This plan is working already.”

The same scenario played out many times over the course of the day. With Jen beside him, fans respected Eli's personal space.

It was lucky she was under no illusion about his interest in her, because a girl could have her head turned by the teasing, charming consideration he bestowed. Not to mention the hand-holding, the arm around her shoulders, the occasional caress of a finger down her cheek.

Every contact sizzled so hot, the man should carry an inflammability warning label.

Eli seemed to have a hundred things to do, from bantering with his team to chatting with sponsors to discussing race strategy with Kevin Horton, and he seemed to want to do them all at once. The pace was dizzying. Frenetic. Yet Jen had to give him credit for taking the time to introduce her to people, to explain what was going on.

She couldn't believe he planned to race five hundred miles at full speed after a day like this. She was exhausted, but Eli seemed to gain energy with every new encounter.

As the 7:30 p.m. start of the race approached, he changed into his green-and-white uniform. It made his eyes more brilliant and accentuated his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped physique. When he appeared in the pits, Jen couldn't help a little intake of breath.

Eli smirked. “Let me guess, you're thinking
Mr. Irresistible.
”

She rolled her eyes. “It would be a striking combination on anyone.” Then she betrayed the lie by adding, “Which came first—the uniform or the contact lenses?”

He laughed. “That'd be telling, chickadee.”

Jen stepped over the pit wall to stand with Eli next to the No. 502 car. The seven team members permitted over the wall to service the car during his pit stops lined up behind them. All along pit road the tableau was repeated—crews fidgeted, drivers talked quietly with their wives or girlfriends. Most of those women were a lot taller and a lot prettier than Jennifer—she'd heard some of them were models. Supermodels, even. She wondered that no one had accused her of being an imposter. Guys like Eli didn't date girls like her.

After the invocation, a band struck up. The stirring words of the national anthem came over the sound system, sung by a young opera star. To Jen's bemusement, tears dampened her eyes as she joined in the singing.

Eli sang beside her, his voice deep, the notes true. He spotted the emotion in her face and raised his eyebrows, smiling as he sang.

Then it was time for the drivers to climb into their cars.

“Drive safely, Eli,” Jen said.

“Thanks, chickadee.” He leaned in, so close she could see the crinkle lines around his eyes from that smile he always wore. Then closer still.

She backed up. “What are you doing?”

His eyes were wide and innocent, green as spring grass, his drawl smooth as molasses. “Why, chickadee, I'm going to kiss you.”