One For The Road - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"I got the love of my life, I got all the free time in the world, and I got the world's greatest playlist. Why didn't I get fired earlier? This is the height of luxury," I said, then looked over to the passenger seat of my car. "Sorry, you don't have to reply to that. You're a taco." I laughed.
Taco Bell didn't judge. Taco Bell was forever.
I was about sixteen hundred miles from Las Vegas, Nevada, and I had everything that I needed packed in the trunk of my Mercedes that costed way more than I should have ever spent on a car. But it went fast, and as a racecar driver, that was the only speed I knew.
I had plenty of thinking to do. Ever since I was a kid, I spent almost all of my time trying to beat everyone else to the finish line, but there was no longer a black and white checkered flag in sight. What did I have to guide me in the right direction?
What did I even have at all, besides too much time on my hands?
Well, I had a car that was way faster than everyone else's on the interstate and no patience. I had that going for me.
Because it was between lunchtime and rush hour, the road ahead of me wasn't too busy, and I just hoped to be in the middle of nowhere when the traffic struck the cities. Even if I never slowed down or stopped, it would still take me over twenty-four hours to get to Vegas. I had all the time in the world to get there, but I was still a fast-lane type of person.
The beauty and draw of such a strangely powerful city wasn't in the lights, the glitz and glamour, or the money that disappeared faster than any car I had ever driven. It was in the fact that it felt like there was nothing else in the entire world, that life was just strippers and bad decisions.
Vegas was the most perfect place on Earth.
When I finally arrived in the city, the streets lit up the evening sky above The Strip. Casinos, nightclubs, shops, and hotels glowed for a second of my attention, but as much as those lights called my name, I had to be smart. Griffin would have gotten pissed if I let myself lose all my money the first night there, so it made much more sense to wait until the next day.
Although the main drag was the show of the city, just a short drive away there were smaller places to go that didn't involve as much glitter, gambling, or stimulants. They weren't nearly as flashy as the Bellagio fountain in the middle of a desert, but I didn't need to be recognized. My name had been to hell and back in the previous seventy-two hours.
As I walked up to the smallest bar I could find, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Griffin.
"Hello?" I asked.
"I was just thinking, and I really don't think it's a good idea for you to go to Vegas at this point in your life. You need a little bit of stability—"
"Christ, Griffin, why didn't you call me and tell me that before I snorted cocaine off a stripper?"
"Oh my god, I should have come with you." By the tone of his voice, I wasn't sure if he was jealous or concerned.
I laughed as I opened up the door. "No, no. I'm actually really okay right now. But tomorrow I'm getting so fucked up."
"Okay. Just be careful, and don't do anything you'll regret later, even if it'll result in a hilarious story for you to tell me. The last thing you need is for someone to make you look even worse than you already do."
"I don't look bad."
"Not appearance-wise, but you seemed like a complete bitch with no self-control during the press conference on Monday."
The bar was stuffy and full of people who weren't a part of my typical crowd. A couple of squeaky-clean guys, one in a bowtie and the other with a screwdriver and a controller of some sort, sat at a table, but as curious as I was, judging was illegal in Vegas.
I could probably get them to buy me something, but that would just lead me right down a path I wanted to save for another day.
"No, I didn't. Did I?" I asked.
"I mean, I know better than that, but to the untrained eye, you sounded a little vindictive and jealous."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm not a goddamn angel. I'm a driver, and that's all I'll ever be. Let's face it, we're not the most glamorous people in the world."
Griffin chuckled. "No, we aren't."
"I guess if I'm going to be unemployed, at least I get to be my unglamorous self unapologetically. Anyway, I'll call you tomorrow as long as I'm not dead." I paused for a moment. "Thanks for checking in on me. You're really the best."
"No problem, Kate. Stay out of trouble, okay? And next time you go to Vegas, I'm coming with you."
I smiled. "We'll book something for early December."
"That's a promise, and you better keep it. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Okay, bye." I hung up the phone.
I didn't deserve him or the way he watched out for me, but our friendship was based on trust, support, and loyalty, and none of those could be found just anywhere. Maybe that was part of my downfall, that I sometimes pulled some shit to get him to victory lane, but there were some things that couldn't be counted in wins.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but did I overhear you say that you're a driver?" a stranger asked. It was the guy with the bowtie that I noticed when I first walked in, and now that he was standing, he had to be at least six foot four. With deep brown, glowing skin that made the whiteness of his smile shine and a little extra weight around the middle, he reminded me of a giant teddy bear.
His friend sighed. "Really Drake? Is that really how you're going to start this off?" He still held the controller and screwdriver in his slender, fair hands, and he shook his head. He stood with his shoulders hunched in, and he was definitely the sidekick of the pairing.
"Well, I like that conversation starter a lot better than hey sexy, nice ass," I said.
Bowtie smiled. "Are you driving for anyone now?"
I shook my head. "I guess you also heard the part that I'm unemployed."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, first of all. I'm Drake Wormley, and this is Josiah Hall. If you don't mind me asking, who were you driving for before?"
"RTR," I said.
Drake's eyes widened. "That's pretty impressive."
I smiled. "It was hell, though. You know—"
Josiah cut me off in a monotonous, drawn-out voice. "Oh yes, we know. The guy who runs the shit show is an asshole." He waved the screwdriver with each syllable, and if he interrupted me while I was in the middle of being dramatic again, I was going to jam that shit into his kidney.
I took in a breath. "Mhm."
"Well, we recently lost our driver in a boating accident, and we've been scrambling to find a replacement for our team," Drake said.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry for your loss."
When did another racecar driver get killed in a boating accident? Why didn't I hear about that? Well, to be fair, I hadn't heard about the Mississippi Queen Elizabeth Tonkin, so apparently, I didn't know a damn thing.
"Oh, please. I'm sure that you know where we're going with this. We need a driver, and we need one now. This is a fast sport, and there's no time to waste," Josiah said.
I paused to think for a second. As crazy as Griffin thought I was, my luck turned around almost instantly in Vegas. Who was the stupid one now?
I held up a finger. "Let's get one thing straight right off the bat. Are you guys gonna make me do an obscene amount of drug tests?"
"Would—would you have a problem passing them?" Drake asked.
"No, but I just hate peeing in a cup all the fucking time. It gets all over my hands," I said.
Josiah let out a sigh. "We're not going to put up with any nonsense, though, and I hope that's very clear. This is a serious team, and we're looking for results."
"And you seem like a nice—oh, I didn't even get your name," Drake said.
"Katie Moore." I held out my hand, and Drake shook it.
Wait.
What the hell was I doing?
I had no idea who these people were, and as soon as they heard I was in a tough spot, they offered me a spot on their team. It was absolutely ridiculous, and the last thing I wanted was more bullshit in my life. Maybe they were trying to help or fix their situation, but it was probably more likely that this wouldn't end well for me, even if Drake seemed sweet and cuddly.
I shook my head. "I appreciate the offer, but unless I have a contract, I'm not doing anything." Letting them down gently. Good strategy.
"Funny you should mention that, because I have one." Drake laughed and fished some folded-up papers out of his pocket.
They were really in this scam for the long run.
"I don't normally sign things without my agent reading through them for me," I said.
"Honey, we all know that's the equivalent of now, I normally don't do this on the first date," Josiah replied.
Drake laughed. "And what would you know about that? You've been dating the same girl for six years." He turned to me. "And he still hasn't proposed."
I crossed my arms. "Smart man."
A warm blast of air came into the bar as the door opened, and although I was used to heat in Louisiana, Vegas had a different kind of fire to it.
Sure, I looked desperate, but I was. I wasn't dumb enough to think that I could function without some finish line to strive for. Drake seemed genuinely nice, and Josiah seemed like a genuine asshole.
And if I ended up dead or something, at least God wouldn't make me wander around aimlessly in heaven. Or hell. I wasn't sure where I'd end up.
"Don't let us pressure you into this, okay? It's just that we're a little bit desperate, but if you don't feel comfortable, then—" Drake trailed off. "Here, why don't you just sit down with us, and we'll talk this out?"
I nodded. "That sounds good."
"Well, we're based in London, and we're a pretty small team. We just like to compete, and we're looking for someone to take us to a few victories. I think we can put together a decent machine, but we've never had a driver who has the need to win," Drake said as the three of us sat down at the table.
London? Detective J.J. Bittenbinder and John Mulaney warned me about those damn secondary locations.
But I needed to win. It had been years since I won a race, and I needed to shut everyone up, especially Roger Truscott. I didn't want anything but a chance, and this was my shot to prove to the world that letting me go was a stupid mistake.
There were many different kinds of racing, but no matter what kind of challenge they threw at me, I could figure it out.
"If you want to look this over, you can." Drake handed me the contract, and I barely gave it a glance before I handed it back to him. I wouldn't be able to read it, and I sure as hell wasn't going to sign it until I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.
"When's my first day?" I asked.
Drake clapped his hands together. "As soon as you can get to Ontario. You have a passport, right?"
"Wait, wait, wait. Canada?" I asked.
Drake nodded and laughed. "Yeah. London, Ontario. That's not a problem, right?"
"Not at all." I chuckled.
If that was the biggest misunderstanding we were going to have, maybe this wasn't going to be the second dumbest decision I ever made, right after signing with Roger Truscott Racing.