Page 92 of Beneath the Blindfold

Anna turned and lobbed a sad smile in my direction, but her eyes didn’t meet mine. “Do you need to head home and smooth things over?”

“No.”

She gave me her full attention then, and worry etched her face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s fine.” I did my best to sound convincing, but I must have failed, because her concern grew.

“Jamie, all you’ve ever wanted to be was a driver. Don’t let me put your job in jeopardy. If you need to go, I understand.”

“No,” I said with force this time. “The only way I’m leaving is if you tell me to. I want this. I want...us. Don’t you?”

She softened. “Yes, but—”

“Okay, good.” I was aware it might be too soon to talk about it, but I needed her to know I was serious. “Because, with you? It’s different than how I’ve felt about anyone else.”

Her eyes went as wide as tires.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” I added quickly. “I know it’s a lot, and... like, fast.”

I’d come as close to telling her I loved her as I could without actually saying it. I liked risk, but putting those three words out there right now? It was a challenge.

Anna licked her lips as if her mouth had gone dry. “You’re not scaring me.” Her expression warmed, and she gave me that shy smile I loved. “I feel the same way about you.”

I didn’t get time to enjoy the way hearing her say that made me feel, because my phone dinged with a text message. It was from Rob with a link to the video chat and the start time of two p.m. Eastern.

It meant I probably had two hours left living my dream job as a NASCAR driver, but as I looked at Anna’s smile, I was fine with whatever happened. I had her.

NINE

Jamie

Anna and I had a hike planned for the day. We were supposed to go on a waterfall tour, but my call with Randall Whitman forced us to cancel. Instead of climbing a volcano, I sat in the spare bedroom with my laptop open, watching the clock tick down until the most important meeting of my life started.

Rob’s image came onscreen first. He sat in his home office, the background decorated with a shit-ton of awards and memorabilia he’d probably dug out of storage just to intimidate me. All I had was a blank wall behind me and my clean-shaven face.

“We need to make this quick,” Rob said. “Randall squeezed us in, but just barely.”

“This won’t take long.”

The asshole smirked. The window flickered, and Randall Whitman filled the screen. He was in his sixties, a stocky guy with white hair and bushy eyebrows. He could look friendly or formidable whenever he needed to. I liked that he was a cut-the-bullshit kind of guy—he’d inherited a struggling cereal company and turned it into a household name by the time he was forty.

“Campbell,” he said. “Rob tells me there’s a problem?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Rob jumped in. “He’s damaged the Whitman Racing image.”

Whitman looked concerned. “What’s happened?”

“He’s dating a porn star.”

If I could have reached through the screen and throat-punched Rob, I would have. “I’m not, and even if I was—”

“That movie is pure filth.”

I clenched my hands into fists and took a deep breath. I had to ignore him. Nothing I said was going to change Rob’s mind. “Mr. Whitman, I’m dating Anna Douglas. If that’s a problem, I’d like to hear it from you.”

Annoyance flashed through Whitman’s eyes. “That’s the issue? He’s dating an actress?”

Rob blinked at this setback. “There are photos of them online.”

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