Reckless Curves Read Free Page A

me a new sponsor, wouldn’t it be wise for her to know what kind of man I really am?”
    A low growl registered in my ears as Brent stepped between me and Calen. “I’ll not have you treating her like those little trailer sluts you entertain. You want a piece of ass, find it elsewhere.”
    “Spoilsport.” Calen pouted for a second , then grinned at me one last time before walking away.
    Brent ran a shaky hand through his hair as he turned to face me. He blew out a ragged breath. “I swear if he wasn’t such a damn good driver I’d fire his ass in a heartbeat.” He shook his head. “The kid thinks with his dick twenty-four seven.”
    In an attempt to diffuse some of his frustration I tried to lighten the mood. “He’s young and good looking and I imagine that he’s got girls dropping at his feet. Of course he’s going to think with his…well not with the head on his shoulders anyway.”
    Brent’s gaze narrowed on me, and a scowl claimed his features. “So you think he’s good looking, too?”
    So much for diffusing that ticking time bomb. Note to self...you suck as a comedian. So don’t go there . 
    For reason’s I couldn’t quite explain, the idea of Brent being angry with me caused an odd feeling of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I feared screwing up the account, but at the moment it wasn’t dollar signs I worried about.
    I gave a slow nod. “Yeah, he is, but he’s not nearly as handsome as his boss. Now if it’s not too much trouble, can I have my hand back?”
    He glanced down and his face flushed as he released my hand. “Sorry.”
    Hoping to finally lighten the mood, I smiled. “It wasn’t that I minded, but I figured that you’d want to use both hands when you strangle Calen.”
    It took a moment for my statement to sink in, then Brent arched a brow and slowly cracked a grin. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
    I rocked back on my heels and shoved my thumbs in the front pocket of my jeans. I certainly hoped so.
    * * *
    I knew little about the agent/rep side of our ad business. That was Marcy’s department. I wrote marketing campaigns for magazines, television and newspapers. Since I didn’t really have a clue of what I was doing at the track, I spent the morning walking around the garage, making notes of the various sponsored cars. It seemed to me that I needed to get a feel for what was allowed and what wasn’t. Later I would call Marcy and get yet another crash course on what to do.
    While I worked to familiarize myself with the business side of motorsports, Brent and his crew continued to work on their primary and then their back up cars. Eventually I wandered back to the garage area and, trying to stay out of their way, leaned against a wall to watch. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the process was beginning to fascinate me.
    The crew members would work under the hood, changing out parts. They’d start the car, let it run and hook up scanners to it. Then, based on the readings they received, they would go back to making changes and tweaking things. While I had no idea what the readings meant, they obviously did and weren’t quite happy with what they saw.
    By noon my stomach was starting to growl and I began to wonder if anyone around the garage ever stopped to eat. As if on cue, Brent popped up from beneath the hood and placed a hand against this stomach. He glanced at his watch then at me. “You hungry?”
    “A little,” I replied.  Actually, I was starving. The continental breakfast the hotel served wasn’t exactly a stick-to-your-ribs kind of meal.
    He shot me one of his killer smiles, and my knees threatened to turn to jelly. “ Tony, take over here,” he ordered without looking away from me. “Shannon and I are going to grab some lunch.”
    He pressed a hand to my lower back, guiding me through the door. Warmth penetrated my shirt where his hand rested and a tingle started low in my belly. For reasons I couldn’t quite