Page 55 of Phillip

“Really?” Phillip mused. “That’s great. Your text led me to think it’d be impossible to work out.”

“At the time, it was impossible, but when you pull my sponsors into it, things change.”

Phillip slowed for a turn. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t need to sic the Cartwrights on me.”

His eyebrow cocked, and Phillip stole a confused glance at Ashley. “What?”

The Cartwrights were one of many corporate sponsors of Ross’s team. Aggravation crawled up the back of his neck.

Ross continued. “Brock mentioned that you were working with Ashley Cartwright.”

“I am, and she’s in the car.”

Ross paused. “Hey, Ashley. How about this for an introduction?”

“Hi,” she said quietly.

Phillip couldn’t get a read on her reaction to what Ross had said. “What do you mean about the Cartwrights and your sponsorship?” He had the distinct impression that he couldn’t see a big part of the picture. “Ross?” He slowed behind a driver, finding himself stuck at the speed limit. “What do the Cartwrights have to do with your schedule opening up?”

“Everything when Agatha Cartwright and Sean Paget issue an ultimatum to our director of corporate sponsorships. Donate time on our schedule, or we lose their sponsorship. I made the schedule work—did you not know this?”

Phillip’s blood ran cold. “No,” he spat out, glaring at Ashley. In the shadowy sunset light, her skin had taken on a decidedly pale pallor. “I haven’t even met with Sean yet.”

Ashley jerked toward Phillip. “What?”

But Phillip was more concerned with Agatha Cartwright than an overeager guy stepping onto his turf.

Ross seemed to sense the tension, adding, “However, the details need to be communicated. You have a lap with one of our stock cars to auction off.”

Unease turned in Phillip’s stomach, but he managed to say, “Thanks. I owe you one.” Then he ended the call.

Ashley didn’t make a peep, and that alarmed him on several levels. He pulled into the drive at the Bickmore Hotel and left his Porsche before the valet stepped from the curb.

Ashley had opened her door, but Phillip jerked it wide, less concerned with manners and more driven by the unease piling onto his shoulders. “What the hell is going on?”

“Can we talk inside?” She tentatively stood from the passenger’s seat and clutched her purse in front of her.

“No. Answer me now.”

Ashley pushed her hands in front of her, using the purse as a barrier. Exasperation radiated. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. Your mother is in town. You didn’t mention that, and I only found out when I crossed paths with Her Majesty yesterday on your front porch.”

Ashley shifted her gaze, and Phillip took her by the elbow, leading her inside the hotel. His quick pace did little to make her robotic walk hasten by his side. Out of frustration, he stopped and ducked them to the side of the lobby. “Explain. Now.”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, pressing fingers to her temples. “They arrived a few days ago. I saw them when Mary Beth and I were at Dairy Fairy.”

“Them who?” Phillip demanded.

“Mother and Sean.”

Phillip’s teeth clamped, and his nostrils flared. “Part of my agreement with Robert Paget is to show Sean the ropes, to take him behind the scenes of a nonprofit.”

“Three-dimensional chess.” Ashley grew paler and looked sick as her eyes shut.

“What does that mean?”

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