Free One night in Daytona (One Night Stands #1) by Ann Grech Page B

I shouldn’t have insisted we do it here.  I should have got her on camera yesterday when she gave me all the information.  Let’s go back to the hotel and try and rescue this mess.”
     

C H A P T E R   T W O
     
     
    Jos pulled his Ducati crotch rocket into a biker bar on S Atlantic Avenue in Daytona Beach.  His was the only street bike in the lot.  Every other bike was a Harley or custom chopper.  At least in a place like this he wouldn’t be recognisable.  Swapping his helmet for a cap that he pulled low over his face, he sauntered over to the bar.  His eyes were the dead giveaway for most people that met him.  He could usually pull off being incognito by simply dressing casually, like he was today: faded black jeans, chunky motorbike boots, and a grey Henley.  It was a very different look to the one the public usually saw.  He always had on team clothing when he did anything official.  Hanging out in places where the Sprint Cup’s diehard fans didn’t often frequent also helped.  Biker bars were a favourite of his; the rowdy bikers, their old ladies not letting them get away with any shit, the bar flies wanting to get down and dirty with a biker to piss off their daddies, cheap drinks and good grub.  And bikers were happy to leave you be, something he desperately needed right then. 
    Jos’ team manager had visited him in his trailer after he’d showered the grit and sweat from today’s disastrous race away.  The meeting didn’t go down as Jos had hoped.  That asshole of a team owner had already involved the lawyers, instructing them to draw up the paperwork terminating his contract and reporting him to NASCAR, alleging he brought the sport into disrepute for his show of violence.  If Allbright was successful, Jos could get fined or worse still, be delisted as a driver.  Did no one care that Jos didn’t throw the first punch?  Yeah, he may be bigger and stronger than the fat ol’ Texan bastard, but he was acting in self-defence, surely that meant something.  But apparently money talks and Allbright practically oozed money.  A rancher from way back, his family had massive holdings in Texas, but his wealth really skyrocketed when on one of those farms they discovered a massive oil reserve. 
    Jos and Allbright couldn’t have been more different, Jos having grown up in one of the trailer parks in Oklahoma.  His folks didn’t live there anymore; Jos bought them a little cottage in a better part of town with his signing check. Even though he was well off now, he hated pompous asses who showed off their cash with every chance they got.  And Allbright? That’s exactly what Allbright did.
    “JD.  Double, straight up,” he told the bartender as the beefy man stood before him.  Sliding the glass over the bar to him, Jos tipped it back, the whiskey leaving a trail of fire down his throat as he swallowed.
    “Another?”
    “Please.” Jos nodded.
    “JD.  Double, on the rocks please,” a tired feminine voice uttered next to Jos in a soft southern accent.  Her accent was muted, like she hadn’t lived in the South for a long while.  Even with the obvious dejection in her voice, its warmth surrounded his body, unknotting his tense muscles and curling low in his belly.
    “There you go, pretty lady.”  From the corner of his eye, Jos watched her swirl the whiskey over the ice in her glass before tipping it to her lips.  He sat in silence as she finished her drink, pushed the glass aside, and dropped her head to the timber top of the bar, banging it lightly a few times.
    “You look like you’ve had as shitty a day as I have,” Jos finally spoke after she’d wiped the corners of her eyes with delicate fingertips, painted in a French manicure with gloss polish.  Her auburn hair was pulled tight in a clip, making her fair skin seem even paler.  The freckles dusting her straight nose were starting to show through her professionally made-up look. 
    “You have no idea.” She sighed