me,â Kayla retorted.
âHow do you know what I can afford?â he responded coolly. âDone a lot of research on me?â
She looked away.
He wasnât 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. âYou need to be there. Itâll be full of glitterati and beautiful people.â
âI can get a press pass.â
âIâll introduce you to people who are worth knowing. Iâll even put in a good word. Some of them have a natural aversion to gossâuh, journalists.â
âWho?â 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. âSusan Bennington-Walsh,â he said, naming one of Bostonâs leading hostesses.
She shook her head. âAlready know her.â
âYou donât say.â Surprising. âSusan disdains the press, and gossip columnists in particular.â
âThatâs what they all say, at least publicly,â she replied dryly.
âAre you saying she secretly feeds information to you?â
âNo comment.â
Well, well. He filed away that bit of information and reminded himself not to say anything too revealing at one of Susanâs future parties. âThe mayor then,â he offered, switching tactics.
âYou know the mayor?â Samantha said, looking impressed.
âOf course he knows the mayor,â Kayla responded.
âI contributed to his last election campaign.â
âHandsomely, Iâm sure,â Kayla jibed.
âNaturally.â 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, âBlack tie or business attire?â
He masked a grin. âBlack tie.â
âGreat!â Samantha clapped her hands together, not giving her sister a chance to shy away again. âNow that thatâs settled, tell me about your racing career, Noah. Iâd love to know what itâs like to race at two-hundred miles an hour.â
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 armâs length.
âIâm sure Noah has better things to do,â Kayla interjected.
âTrying to get rid of me?â he asked.
Their eyes met and clashed.
âDonât be silly,â she retorted. âIâm only thinking of you and your busy schedule.â
âCome on, Noah,â Samantha pleaded, ignoring her sister. âIt all sounds so thrilling.â
âThrilling and dangerous,â he corrected. Certainly no one knew that better than he did. Dangerâof the fatal varietyâwas what had convinced him that it was time to put away his racing suit.
Samantha curled up on the couch. âHow did you get started?â
He shrugged, having fielded similar questions countless times before from fans, acquaintances and the merely curious. âAt 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
âDid you race in the Indianapolis 500?â
âYeah, I had a couple of starts there.â More than that, heâd had a top-five finish in his rookie season. Heâd 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. âHow do you get into the big leagues?â
âItâs tough,â he admitted. âYou 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