up.”
Gaby sucked in a breath. “Actually, you did okay.”
He opened his eyes. “Really?” He looked wary. “What did I say?”
“But you almost screwed up,” Gaby continued. “I can’t go through this stress every time we have a media interview.”
“Then let’s not do any more interviews.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Now that my driving and my car are back on track…”
“One fourth-place finish doesn’t equal back on track.”
“That’s not what you told that reporter,” he said.
“I was putting you in a positive light.”
“Maybe,” he said, “the light is real. Like the sun. Not something that’s going to switch off next week.” He tsked at his own garbled metaphor and said, “So you think the article will be all right?”
“You’re going to be on the cover,” Gaby said.
“Wow.” He sat up. “The cover.” He ran a hand over his face. “Maybe I should have shaved.”
Gaby looked at the darkness of shadow accentuating the strong line of his jaw. Every woman who saw that magazine would drool. She was having a hard time refraining from drooling herself, and she was mad at him.
She licked her lips, in case a stray fleck of drool had escaped. “Getaway doesn’t mind the unshaven look,” she said. “They think it sends a message that their hotels are places where you can really relax.”
He rolled his eyes at the PR-speak.
“You nearly killed that interview, but only just,” she said. “What happened to all that preparation we did?”
“I’ve been up all night,” he began.
“You have a car chief and a bunch of mechanics to fix your car, but no one else could do this interview. You should have gone to bed so you could keep your promise to me.”
“What’s the problem?” he said. “I admit I made some mistakes, but like you said, it went okay.”
“We weren’t aiming for okay, ” she said. “Things have to change.”
“There’s not much chance I’ll be up all night working on the car again….”
Gaby crossed to the DVD player and started it. She used the remote to turn on the TV. “Watch this—it was picked up by all the national networks last night.”
Color flashed onto the TV screen, a segment of a popular breakfast show.
“Today we get to meet some of the candidates for Now Woman magazine’s Bachelor of the Year,” the presenter said.
That snagged Zack’s attention. “What the—?”
“Hush,” Gaby ordered, her eyes glued to the parade of drivers on the screen.
“Idiots,” Zack said.
She glared at him. “Publicity-savvy, you mean. Look atGarrett Clark.” She pointed as the camera zoomed in on the handsome driver wearing his sponsor’s T-shirt. “Country Bread’s logo on national TV. He didn’t even have to win a race.”
Garrett was chatting to a group of admiring females. He certainly was handsome, Gaby had to admit, with those chocolate-brown eyes and those—
“Hey,” Zack said. “What are you gawping at?”
“I’m watching a driver who understands PR at work.”
He stabbed a finger at the TV. “You like Garrett Clark?”
“I respect his abilities,” she said primly. Then, as it dawned on her that Zack’s mile-wide competitive streak was coming into play, she added, “Yeah, he’s cute.”
“He’s a womanizer,” Zack said.
Gaby laughed at the old-fashioned term, and he scowled.
“I thought he was a friend of yours,” she said.
“He is,” Zack said. “I’m not a woman, I’m safe with him.”
“It makes sense that a great-looking guy like Garrett Clark would be a womanizer,” she said thoughtfully.
Zack stood and walked over to the TV. He stood in front of it, blocking her view. “You told me I’m a hottie,” he pointed out. “But I’m not a womanizer.”
Gaby’s hormones leapt; she slapped them down. This was business. “Looks aren’t everything. Women like men who talk to them.” She craned to see the screen around him.
“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
The
Gaby sucked in a breath. “Actually, you did okay.”
He opened his eyes. “Really?” He looked wary. “What did I say?”
“But you almost screwed up,” Gaby continued. “I can’t go through this stress every time we have a media interview.”
“Then let’s not do any more interviews.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Now that my driving and my car are back on track…”
“One fourth-place finish doesn’t equal back on track.”
“That’s not what you told that reporter,” he said.
“I was putting you in a positive light.”
“Maybe,” he said, “the light is real. Like the sun. Not something that’s going to switch off next week.” He tsked at his own garbled metaphor and said, “So you think the article will be all right?”
“You’re going to be on the cover,” Gaby said.
“Wow.” He sat up. “The cover.” He ran a hand over his face. “Maybe I should have shaved.”
Gaby looked at the darkness of shadow accentuating the strong line of his jaw. Every woman who saw that magazine would drool. She was having a hard time refraining from drooling herself, and she was mad at him.
She licked her lips, in case a stray fleck of drool had escaped. “Getaway doesn’t mind the unshaven look,” she said. “They think it sends a message that their hotels are places where you can really relax.”
He rolled his eyes at the PR-speak.
“You nearly killed that interview, but only just,” she said. “What happened to all that preparation we did?”
“I’ve been up all night,” he began.
“You have a car chief and a bunch of mechanics to fix your car, but no one else could do this interview. You should have gone to bed so you could keep your promise to me.”
“What’s the problem?” he said. “I admit I made some mistakes, but like you said, it went okay.”
“We weren’t aiming for okay, ” she said. “Things have to change.”
“There’s not much chance I’ll be up all night working on the car again….”
Gaby crossed to the DVD player and started it. She used the remote to turn on the TV. “Watch this—it was picked up by all the national networks last night.”
Color flashed onto the TV screen, a segment of a popular breakfast show.
“Today we get to meet some of the candidates for Now Woman magazine’s Bachelor of the Year,” the presenter said.
That snagged Zack’s attention. “What the—?”
“Hush,” Gaby ordered, her eyes glued to the parade of drivers on the screen.
“Idiots,” Zack said.
She glared at him. “Publicity-savvy, you mean. Look atGarrett Clark.” She pointed as the camera zoomed in on the handsome driver wearing his sponsor’s T-shirt. “Country Bread’s logo on national TV. He didn’t even have to win a race.”
Garrett was chatting to a group of admiring females. He certainly was handsome, Gaby had to admit, with those chocolate-brown eyes and those—
“Hey,” Zack said. “What are you gawping at?”
“I’m watching a driver who understands PR at work.”
He stabbed a finger at the TV. “You like Garrett Clark?”
“I respect his abilities,” she said primly. Then, as it dawned on her that Zack’s mile-wide competitive streak was coming into play, she added, “Yeah, he’s cute.”
“He’s a womanizer,” Zack said.
Gaby laughed at the old-fashioned term, and he scowled.
“I thought he was a friend of yours,” she said.
“He is,” Zack said. “I’m not a woman, I’m safe with him.”
“It makes sense that a great-looking guy like Garrett Clark would be a womanizer,” she said thoughtfully.
Zack stood and walked over to the TV. He stood in front of it, blocking her view. “You told me I’m a hottie,” he pointed out. “But I’m not a womanizer.”
Gaby’s hormones leapt; she slapped them down. This was business. “Looks aren’t everything. Women like men who talk to them.” She craned to see the screen around him.
“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
The
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