Free Sweet Carolina by Roz Lee Page B

can't do this,” she said by way of
greeting.
    Dell lowered the menu in his hands and
grinned. “Have dinner?” he asked.
    “Don't be dense, Dell. You know what I'm
talking about.”
    “We haven't done anything,” Dell said,
returning to his menu, “to my everlasting regret.”
    “Regret all you want, but making a success of
this team is my primary goal right now, and I'm not going to blow
it for a quickie in the hauler.”
    Dell lowered the menu again to look at her.
The lazy grin was gone, replaced by a granite façade. “Two things,
Caro.” He paused until she met his gaze. “One: I don't see how our
personal relationship has any bearing on whether Hawkins Racing
succeeds or not. And two: what makes you think it was going to be a
fast lap? I know when to go slow, and honey, we might have gotten
off to a fast start, but there wasn't going to be anything quick
about it, I assure you.”
    Caro clutched her menu as if it might sprout
wings and fly at any second. Dell's assertion didn't do anything to
shore up her resolve, but she wasn't going to tell him. She put on
her best “business etiquette” face and said, “To address your
issues…Number one: there are enough people waiting for me to fall
on my face, or at the very least, steer Hawkins Racing into the
wall without making the rumors of sexual favors a reality. If you
don't think I know about the track talk, think again. I know what
they're saying about me, and I know if the rumors became true, I'd
lose even more ground. I've got plenty to prove, Dell – to myself,
and to everyone who has ever said a woman can't own a successful
race team.
    “Number two: I've seen no evidence to
indicate you've ever done anything slow.” He opened his mouth to
protest and Caro cut him off with a wave of her hand. He closed his
mouth and she continued, using the opportunity to change the
subject to the one they should be discussing anyway. “I don't know
what's gotten into you, Dell Wayne, but you've got to rein in your
impulses – on the track. You took too many chances today. Yeah, you
won, but there were any number of stunts that could have ended
badly for you and the car. You were lucky today – that's all. You
didn't win because you were the best driver, or because you had the
best car. You won because you were lucky.”
    “If you think that, you don't have any
business running a race team. You may have something to prove,
Caro, and I don't mind you using me to do it, but I drive to win,
and as long as I'm the one in the car, I'll decide how best to go
about it.”
    “Oh really?” Caro countered. “Well, that
attitude lost you one ride this season already. It might cost you
another.”
    “No, it won't. You aren't going to fire me,
Caro. Who would drive for you? Wilson? You and I both know you
aren't going to prove your point to anyone with him behind the
wheel, so let's get this straight right now. I drive. I don't
listen to non-drivers who think they can tell me how to do my job,
and that includes you. I brought home a trophy for Hawkins Racing
today. So, I didn't get another notch carved into my helmet after
the race, but you got what you wanted – another notch carved in the
stick you're trying to ram up everyone's butt. So how about this? I
won't screw Hawkins Racing,” his leer made his veiled meaning clear
– “and you don't tell me how to drive? That way, we both get what
we want.”
    Dell stood and tossed his menu on the table.
“I'll see you at the airport,” he said before stalking out of the
restaurant leaving Caro stunned and alone.
    She didn't know how long she sat, staring at
the doorway, clutching the menu in a death grip, but when the
waiter came to take her order, she dug some bills out of her purse
and dropped them on the table. “I've changed my mind,” she said.
“I'm not hungry after all.”
    Dell was right about one thing. She wasn't
going to fire him. She needed him. But that didn't give him license
to drive like a maniac. Sure,