Page 91 of Beneath the Blindfold

“Worried?”

“Not everyone liked the movie I was in.”

I understood what she meant, how people judged her for the role. Like Rob did. “Well, those people are fucking idiots. It’s nobody’s business what we do, but whatever they say, I can handle the heat. I wear a fire suit at my day job, you know.”

She lifted an eyebrow, silently mocking my lame joke.

“Yeah, not my best effort. As I mentioned, it’s early.” I kissed her deeply then dropped my voice low. “Come back to bed.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I strolled back to the bedroom, got under the sheet, and waited for her return. She was right. We needed to have a conversation about how our relationship was going to work, but I didn’t see the rush. We’d spent a year talking—we’d earned one day of acting on our feelings before sorting it out.

The bathroom light flipped off, and the bed moved as she crawled onto it, her hand snaking across my chest. I covered it with my palm and cast my other arm around her, tucking her in at my side.

My phone rang. It didn’t chime with a text—itrang.

I snatched it up, and as soon as I read the name, my stomach bottomed out. I sat up and tapped the screen. “Hello?”

“Are you seriously in Hawaii with that porn actress?” Rob demanded. His voice was loud enough, there was no way Anna hadn’t heard him, and her flinch told me she had.

“She doesn’t do porn,” I snapped. “And it’s none of your business where I am, or who I’m with.”

“Listen, kid, I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers, so I know a thing or two. You can think it’s nobody’s business, but you’re dreaming. Money makes that car go around the track. Not you.”

A chill settled on my skin.

“Some of your ‘fans,’” he said the word with disdain, “might not care who you’re involved with, but our sponsors might. Andthatis very much Randall Whitman’s business.”

There was an inkling of truth in what he was saying. NASCAR was a conservative sport, and as a driver and the face of the team, I sometimes had to jump through sponsors’ hoops. But I wasn’t going to put up with this bullshit. “This is stupid.”

“Yeah, I agree. Get yourself on the next flight home if you want to be here when I tell Randall.”

Anna winced, and it banded a tight, uncomfortable feeling around my chest. She slid out of the bed and scurried toward the hall.Fuck.

“No, Rob, I meant what you’re saying is stupid. You want to tell me what to do when I’m behind the wheel? Fine. But stay the fuck out of my personal life.”

“You don’t get a personal life, Campbell. That’s the sacrifice you made when you got in the driver’s seat of the sixty-five car. I’m ready to find a driver who can handle that.”

This was it; he was making a move against me. I gnashed my teeth together. “Is that everyone talking, or just you?”

There was a pause. “I’m sure Randall feels the same way.”

“Great. Let’s schedule a call.”

There was a long silence. He was expecting me to roll over or beg, but that wasn’t my style.

“All right.” He sounded smug. “If that’s what you want to do.”

He was sure when we went head-to-head, he’d come out on top—and he was probably right. But, fuck it. For two seasons, I’d put up with him, but this crossed a line. I was starting to realize losing my job wasn’t so bad, because at least it meant I wouldn’t have to work with him anymore.

Rob announced he’d get the meeting scheduled and hung up without another word.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, my fingers bristling on my stubble. It was the first time I’d gone more than two days without shaving since the start of the racing season. Whitman’s PR company had it in my contract that I “always maintain a clean, All-American look.”

I carried my phone out into the kitchen and set it on the counter. Anna stood nearby, staring out the back windows. The sun hadn’t peeked out over the water, but there was an orange-blue glow on the horizon.

“Rob’s an asshole,” I said.

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