Free Tycoon Takes Revenge by Anna DePalo Page B

sponsors, putting together a pit crew, and everything else.”
    â€œSo why bother?” Kayla asked.
    He glanced over at her. “The thrill.”
    There wasn’t anything like taking a turn at two-hundred miles an hour, fighting to stay in control of the car, and making split-second decisions that meant the difference between winning and losing.
    He didn’t expect her to understand. His family hadn’t, though they’d come to accept his dream of racing cars.
    The love of speed, he’d found, was something you were either born with or weren’t. In his case, there must have been a genetic mutation because no one else in his upper-crust Boston Brahmin family thought that hurtling yourself through space at two-hundred-plus miles an hour was a pleasant way to spend a sunny afternoon.
    He caught Kayla observing him with a thoughtful expression on her face.
    â€œFor me, a thrill means finding a Stella McCartney designer top in my size at a thrift shop,” Samantha said.
    Noah laughed. “Can’t say I can relate, but I’m often appreciative of the results.”
    Samantha grinned back; Kayla scowled.
    Holding Samantha’s gaze, he nodded his head at Kayla. “She doesn’t like my playboy ways.”
    â€œMaybe I just don’t like you,” Kayla retorted.
    â€œOuch.” He pretended to wince.
    Samantha leaned forward confidingly. “It’s not personal. She just doesn’t like any rich—”
    â€œOkay!” Kayla said, then stood up and shot her sister a dire look.
    Samantha clamped her mouth shut.
    Baffled, he looked from Kayla to Samantha. “She just doesn’t like any—?”
    â€œRich men who ask probing questions,” Kayla finished flatly.
    He looked up at Kayla and knew, just knew, he needed to know more. He needed to know everything about her, to know her intimately. And he wasn’t giving up.
    Â 
    On the following Wednesday morning, Kayla showed up early at Whittaker Enterprises’ headquarters. She’d arranged with Noah to tour the company’s offices, talk to people, follow him around and, basically, see how things operated.
    She’d taken extra-special care with her clothes and makeup. She’d already discovered the hard way that, for a good chunk of the world, young single female meant not to be taken seriously .
    So, today she’d paired navy flare-leg trousers with a striped blue-and-yellow open-collar shirt. Her jewelry was discreet and understated, just a watch and some small cubic-zirconia stud earrings.
    The look was classy but professional, or at least she hoped so. As Ms. Rumor-Has-It, she had to dress the part, but this was something different altogether.
    On the drive over to Noah’s office, she’d reflected again on the research she’d done and the articles she’d read on Whittaker Enterprises—and on Noah himself—in preparation for today’s visit.
    Whittaker Enterprises had been started by Noah’s father back in the 1960s and had since metamorphosed into a conglomerate with interests primarily in real estate and high technology. Noah’s oldest brother, Quentin, had taken over the reins of the family company a few years back, when his father had moved into semi-retirement. At the same time, Noah had become the point person for Whittaker Enterprises’ computer business. That was, as soon as he’d quelled his maverick tendencies. After graduating from M.I.T. with a bachelor’s degree in computer science, instead of joining the family business, he’d headed off to pursue a race-car driving career.
    She’d found news articles from the time that detailed the surprise with which Noah’s move had been greeted in Boston social circles. It was as if he’d announced he’d rather be the jockey than the horse owner. It just wasn’t done. Not in the rarified circles of Boston old-line families.
    Still, he’d entered the Indy