Free Tycoon Takes Revenge by Anna DePalo Page A

me,” Kayla retorted.
    â€œHow do you know what I can afford?” he responded coolly. “Done a lot of research on me?”
    She looked away.
    He wasn’t sure why he was pressing her to accept his invitation, except somewhere along the way getting close to Kayla had taken on an importance equal to rehabilitating his image. “You need to be there. It’ll be full of glitterati and beautiful people.”
    â€œI can get a press pass.”
    â€œI’ll introduce you to people who are worth knowing. I’ll even put in a good word. Some of them have a natural aversion to goss—uh, journalists.”
    â€œWho?” she asked doubtfully.
    Ah, finally, Noah thought, a chink in the armor: getting the upper hand in her ongoing rivalry with Sybil LaBreck was enticing. “Susan Bennington-Walsh,” he said, naming one of Boston’s leading hostesses.
    She shook her head. “Already know her.”
    â€œYou don’t say.” Surprising. “Susan disdains the press, and gossip columnists in particular.”
    â€œThat’s what they all say, at least publicly,” she replied dryly.
    â€œAre you saying she secretly feeds information to you?”
    â€œNo comment.”
    Well, well. He filed away that bit of information and reminded himself not to say anything too revealing at one of Susan’s future parties. “The mayor then,” he offered, switching tactics.
    â€œYou know the mayor?” Samantha said, looking impressed.
    â€œOf course he knows the mayor,” Kayla responded.
    â€œI contributed to his last election campaign.”
    â€œHandsomely, I’m sure,” Kayla jibed.
    â€œNaturally.” He could tell Kayla was mulling over how a personal introduction to the mayor would benefit a would-be business reporter.
    Finally, she said doubtfully, “Black tie or business attire?”
    He masked a grin. “Black tie.”
    â€œGreat!” Samantha clapped her hands together, not giving her sister a chance to shy away again. “Now that that’s settled, tell me about your racing career, Noah. I’d love to know what it’s like to race at two-hundred miles an hour.”
    Noah gave her a quick grin. No doubt about it, he thought, the kid had charm in spades. Too bad he had a major case of the hots for her sister, who seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length.
    â€œI’m sure Noah has better things to do,” Kayla interjected.
    â€œTrying to get rid of me?” he asked.
    Their eyes met and clashed.
    â€œDon’t be silly,” she retorted. “I’m only thinking of you and your busy schedule.”
    â€œCome on, Noah,” Samantha pleaded, ignoring her sister. “It all sounds so thrilling.”
    â€œThrilling and dangerous,” he corrected. Certainly no one knew that better than he did. Danger—of the fatal variety—was what had convinced him that it was time to put away his racing suit.
    Samantha curled up on the couch. “How did you get started?”
    He shrugged, having fielded similar questions countless times before from fans, acquaintances and the merely curious. “At a racing school, like a lot of other professional drivers. I got the appropriate racing licenses and started driving in some of the lower-level series and then worked my way up to an Indy car.”
    â€œDid you race in the Indianapolis 500?”
    â€œYeah, I had a couple of starts there.” More than that, he’d had a top-five finish in his rookie season. He’d been red hot until the crash that had changed his life and put an end to his professional racing career at the relatively young age of twenty-six.
    Samantha continued to look impressed. “How do you get into the big leagues?”
    â€œIt’s tough,” he admitted. “You need high speeds even to qualify for the big events. Then you throw in finding a racing team that will give you a car, lining up