Drift Heat (Drift #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

“ A rch your back more and put your hand on your ass. Now put your heel up on the tire.”

I awkwardly shuffle my position to do as the photographer is asking. I balance my foot in a five inch stiletto on the tire, hoping my barely there bikini bottoms stay in place so I don’t flash my goodies to the small crew gathered around. He better make me look awesome, because this crap is hard to do. When he puts his camera back up to his face, I assume I hit the mark he wanted and give him some faces and angles to work with. He snaps a few shots before directing me to a new position.

“Okay, now lie back on the hood of the car. Let’s see how that looks.”

This guy is so not Finch Keaton, my favorite photographer. Finch is a way better director, and the main reason I have found modeling so enjoyable. This guy, Ollie Cathers, is a totally different experience. He’s not difficult, just a little spastic and unable to articulate the poses he would like to capture. We have been working on this shoot for three hours, and he’s still not satisfied. I’m told he is much better with the action shots of the team drivers drifting on the track. There’s a clear difference between promo photography and that of catching a car in a slide around a turn on a race track. Still, this is what I am being paid for, so I stifle my irritation and do as he directs.

I drop my foot from the tire and scoot my ass up onto the hood from where I was leaning against the beautiful Toyota Supra. Once I have my weight balanced, I carefully lean back, fluffing my hair out past me, and pick my feet up to gingerly rest along the edge of the hood. The last thing I want to do is scratch the paint or break any of the expensive performance parts under the hood. I love cars, so hurting one would be sacrilege. I arch my back and stretch my arms up above my head to rest on the cool carbon fiber. I make a mental note that the sun has started to set, so we don’t have much time left to shoot with natural light. Ollie has a bunch of lights set up, but he will have to change the settings if it goes completely dark. Good, maybe this can be over soon.

I will myself to give him what he’s looking for so this can wrap. It’s early April and even in Southern California it’s a bit cold out. Or nipply, as it is with me in a tight cut up T-shirt with the Smoke and Mirrors shop logo stretched across my chest and tied under my boobs. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and smile with my eyes, or smize, as hard as I can. The only thing getting me through this is knowing that my participation with this team can lead to making my dreams come true. Cheesy as it may be, I’ll hold on to that tight and do just about anything to make it happen. Because dreams don’t work unless you do .

“Yeah, just like that. Now really push your rib cage up and rotate your shoulders toward me.”

I strain my chest forward, feeling as if my spine will snap, and angle my shoulders. This better be right. Ollie starts snapping, so I guess it’s close. I move my arms around, pulling my hair down my face and running my fingers across my lips, thinking sexy thoughts. Because this shoot is all about sex. And cars. And being sexy on cars. I stretch my legs up above me, getting a crazy core workout as I balance on my tailbone and shoulders while still trying to look sultry. All in the name of promo modeling.

“Okay, great, that’s awesome. Now roll over onto your knees.”

I will kill you, Ollie, if you just want to see my ass in the air . Sighing, I do as instructed, careful of the paint and decals as I turn over. I arch my back and stretch my arms and legs out to look like I’m crawling across the car. Poor thing, I know it’s not awesome to put so much weight on the lightweight carbon fiber hood like this. I let my feelings of anger and frustration show in my face, giving Ollie something fierce to work with, even if it’s directed at him and his stupid requests.

“Yeah, Shelby, that’s exactly what I want to see,” he calls out excitedly as his camera clicks and the lights flash.

Well hell, if that’s what he wanted all along, I would have given him my resting bitch face at the beginning of the shoot and saved us all some time.

I stretch out onto my stomach, propping my head in my hand, and think of long, lean lines while giving him my best sexy death stare. It’s not to be confused with my fuck off death stare. This one is more come-hither and less get lost .

“Get that bitch the fuck off my car!” A loud voice booms just off set.

I startle, my mouth opening in surprise as a very angry dude comes bursting out of the garage and strides toward our makeshift photo shoot set-up in the back parking lot of the Smoke and Mirrors race shop. Ollie turns, his hands out in a placating manner as Paul, the shop owner, joins him for backup. They both head off to meet the guy who is on a mission to drag me forcibly from his car. He barrels past them without hesitation, headed straight toward me.

Dear baby Jesus. He’s a menacing wall of muscle and full of scathing disdain, but hot as almighty fuck. I scoot to the edge of the car and hop down, meeting his intense and murderous gaze. No way in hell is anyone going to get pissed at me for taking Ollie’s directions.

“What’s your fucking problem? You have no respect for cars, you stupid twat. There are parts worth thousands of dollars under that hood and you could have fucked them up by laying your fat ass on them.”

He stops just short of me, our eyes nearly even as I stand just over six feet in my five inch heels. A fire blazes in his blue-eyed stare, rage hunching his shoulders and making him seem to dwarf me with his considerable size.

I push against his chest to give myself some breathing room. It’s solid and unyielding, yet he gives me the barest inch of space. His energy is crazy scary, but also incredibly attractive, if he weren’t intent on pissing me off. And what the hell, I do not have a fat ass. It’s round and perky from hundreds of squats.

“Excuse you, asshole, but I was doing what I was told. This is a fucking photo shoot for this team and the cars involved. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with Paul and Ollie, who were letting it happen without a care. But first, you can apologize for being a dipshit and calling me names.” My chest is heaving with my anger and his unjust treatment. His eyes dip to my boobs, and I cross my arms to hide my hardened nipples. His gaze returns to my face, lust joining the anger I saw before.

Oh, hell fucking no. This caveman is not going to think about sex while he yells in my face. I narrow my eyes at him and dare him to try to start shit with me now. He will be on his knees begging me to release his sack from an iron grip if he continues to get in my face with the name-calling.

“I don’t owe a disrespectful bitch anything, you got that? This is my car, and I don’t want you anywhere near it.” He points to the car next to us, his arm decorated with brightly colored tattoos that at once capture my interest and then ground me in reality. He’s a fucking asshole who paints his body with permanent ink. I’m not above body art, especially good tattoos, but it makes me think he’s just another poseur with a taste for bright colors.

“That’s your problem, douchebag.” I poke him in the chest again, probably because I want to touch him, even if I worry he’ll bite my finger off in the process. “You can take it up with Paul, the owner of this race team , and the guy calling the shots today.”

I shoulder past him and march toward Paul, who looks a little scared. Before I can get far, I am brought up short, my eyes widening as he hauls me back toward him by my arm. My breath shoots out of me as I slam into his chest, and hell if I don’t find his strength and tight grip a turn on. What the hell, Shelby? Your daddy raised you better than that.

“You will pay if there is any damage to the paint job or the engine, you hear me?” His voice is a gravelly baritone that rumbles in the microscopic space between us. We are chest to chest, his size once again meant to intimidate me.

I will pay? I was being careful, and it wasn’t even my choice to do that pose to begin with. Well, fuck that shit. I grew up with an older brother and around plenty of guys to allow this asshole to intimidate me now. Rage gives me an untapped strength as I yank my arm out of his grasp and sweep my leg behind his, pushing hard against his chest. As I expected, he wasn’t prepared to have his legs taken out from under him and he goes down hard on the asphalt. I place my stiletto heel to his crotch and push. He stays down, shock warring with the anger that contorts his handsome features.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again, you got it?” His eyes are full of surprise and less of the murderous rage he was showing just moments before I knocked him down a peg. I grind my heel a little to make myself understood. He grimaces but doesn’t try to get up. He nods tightly, his head barely moving in agreement as his full lips press into a thin line. Satisfied I’ve gotten my point across, I lift my heel and stalk to Paul, who is standing in front of the garage doors of the Smoke and Mirrors shop. He’s about to get kneed in the balls for not standing up to this asshat when he came barreling into the shoot and tried to accost me.

“Paul.” My voice is full of warning, my hair wildly whipping around my head in the breeze that has kicked up. Judging by his wide eyes and the fear pulsing off of him, I must look like an avenging angel coming to collect his soul. “This photo shoot is over. Ollie, you better have gotten what you wanted. If not, that fuckwad is to blame.” I thumb over my shoulder to the ferocious mountain of a man I just cut down to size.

“Shelby, I am so sorry. Just hold up and hang out a few minutes. I’ll deal with this.” Paul moves toward me, his hands out like he wants to hug me, but he thinks better of it as his eyes dart back to the car. Paul is scared of me. I hope he also found a new respect for me after seeing how I can handle things, or at least knows I’m not willing to tolerate even the smallest hint of disrespect, no matter my job title.

“Yeah, you have to deal with this, and you better promise me I don’t have to work with that Neanderthal ever again,” I huff, my hands shaking as the adrenaline dumps in my system.

I grab my robe off a chair and take the water bottle handed to me by one of Ollie’s staff. I tie my robe tight, finally covering the oiled skin I’ve been showing to the whole set for hours. I try not to pay attention, but my eyes are drawn back to the asshole who prematurely ended this shoot—not that I wanted it to carry on longer, just that he sort of put a stop to things with his nasty attitude.

He’s standing by the car, inspecting under the raised hood for any damage I may have caused. His back muscles coil and flex under his tight T-shirt as he reaches further into the engine bay. He is powerfully built, something you don’t see often in the drifting scene, because being built—or not—has no bearing on your ability to drive well. His methodical appraisal and protectiveness of the car are incredibly appealing. I love cars and love the men who love them just as much. Guilt stabs me as I think of the intricate parts I was just lying on, and my mind drifts to my own project car back at home. I would never lie on the hood, but I did as I was told by the stupid photographer without a second thought. I can’t let my desire to please affect my common sense.

“Griffin, bro, what are you doing here?” Paul calls as he carefully moves toward the asshole. “I thought you weren’t coming by the shop until tomorrow.”

“And that makes it okay to put stupid girls on Saffira?” At least he didn’t call me a bitch again. But Saffira? He named the hot Supra I was lying on? Oh, come on.

“Be reasonable here, Griffin. We use the team cars for promo all the time. Shelby is our new brand ambassador. We need her in the promo material for the season. The Supra is our main car, which means we needed it for the shoot. I know you brought this car up and started the build, but I financed all of those new parts, and you know I will replace anything if it’s needed.”

The asshole now known as Griffin pulls the hood down hard and turns toward Paul. “There’s no need to put a girl on the promo. You’ve got me and Wyatt, the drivers, for that. We’re the ones the fans want to interact with. We’re the ones winning titles and races and making a name for this team.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sets his feet apart, standing his ground physically while he verbally spars with Paul.

“We talked about this, Griffin. We need more sponsors, money, and attention. You didn’t exactly win us any of that last year with how you acted at each competition. We decided to bring Shelby on as our brand ambassador. She will be the face of S he’s hot in the “don’t touch or you’ll get burned” way. I sure hope he can drive better than he can make a first impression. That was weak.

“I’m not working with her,” he says, pointing in my direction.

Seriously? Give me a break. This is so not what I signed up for. What I did sign was a two-month contract to be the face of this race team while they compete in the American Drift League’s California Championship circuit. I had jumped at the opportunity, even though it put me at odds with my overprotective father who was dead-set on me staying away from modeling. I went against his wishes, and probably tanked our relationship, by walking out on my job running the family car shop for him. Even my brother, Henry, couldn’t talk sense into Daddy, who has refused to speak to me since I took the job.

But I couldn’t pass this up. It’s just the kind of gig I’ve been dying for since I was thrust into the world of modeling by my friend Bliss. She’s the one who’s offered me this job a few days ago when the other model they had hired suddenly dropped out. I get to promote an up and coming privateer race team, work with gearheads and hot cars in a sport that is close to my heart. This immersion in the drift scene and exposure as the face of the company has the power to open so many doors.

I roll my eyes and stand up, ready to kick Griffin in the nuts this time around. Paul looks back and sees me ready to march over. He holds out his hand, keeping me in place.

“You don’t have a choice. You will drive and she will be the face of the team. If you don’t like it, we’ll find another driver. You’re on your last chance here, Griff. We need to make this team profitable, or at least cover the race expenses.” Paul’s voice is low but still carries, so I can hear his ultimatum.

My hands drop to my sides in surprise. Wow. I can’t believe he’s ready to kick one of his drivers off the team because he doesn’t want to work with me. I guess he really does have my back. Paul has made my list of highly respected individuals, even though it’s crazy to pick me over a driver. But this has gone far enough. I don’t want Griffin to quit or get fired and leave Paul and the team down a driver.

“Hey, Paul,” I say, slowly moving toward him and Griffin. I keep my eyes on Paul and refuse to meet the stare I know Griffin is leveling my way. I come to a stop a few feet from them and place my hands on my hips, my legs spread in a power stance. I read somewhere that by using these sorts of poses you can look and feel more powerful. I need it right now. “We can figure something out to make working together less...hostile. I think. There’s no need to find another driver. Just make sure he can control himself around me, and I won’t sit on the cars again, okay?” I finally chance a look at Griffin and see him appraising me. His lips are set in a thin line, but there is calculation burning up his blue stare. He wants to call bullshit, but he values his place on the team more. Good.

“Keep your ass off the cars and stay out of my way, got it, Goldilocks?”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Come up with something more original next time you call me a name, dipshit.” I turn away from them.

“Adolf Titler,” he mumbles to my back.

I whirl around and narrow my eyes. “Weapons-grade douchebag.”

“Thundercunt,” he says, stepping around Paul toward me. Paul throws his hands up in exasperation and moves away from us.

“Cock-jockey.” I meet him toe-to-toe again, ready to throw down the worst insults I’ve picked up being around rude and aggressive guys my whole life. You don’t grow up in a car shop without picking up a few insults that will sting a man’s pride.

“Twatwaffle.”

My lips twitch, amusement gaining on my anger. This reminds me of a game my brother and I used to play as kids where we would come up with creative insults. “Asshat.”

“Seriously, asshat? That’s not even original,” Griffin grumbles, his hands on his hips as he stares at me in confusion. I can’t help it, I laugh in his face. This whole situation is truly comical. Once you get past the tension, the yelling, and the alpha-douche lord, that is.

“Like you were at all creative.” I shake my head and walk to my chair, grabbing my bottle of water and chugging it down. When I glance back at Griffin, it’s with a practiced look of indifference on my face. Y ou can’t hurt me if I don’t care , I practically ooze. He stands where I left him, confusion marring his beautiful features. Wait, what? Stop thinking he’s attractive, Shelby . This guy just insulted you, multiple times. Have some fucking self-respect.

Thankfully, he turns back to Paul, who is looking just as perplexed by this whole situation. That’s right, boys, there’s more to me than the face and body. I’ve got sass and enough fearless attitude to swagger my way through any situation. I grab my bag and head into the shop to change. I would feel so much more righteous and awesome if I weren’t in barely there clothes and sky-high shoes. Sort of the weakest outfit a girl can find to sling insults in.

When I return in jeans, Toms, and a hoodie, Griffin is nowhere to be found. Good. I’m not sure if I could keep myself from staring at him if he were just hanging around innocently. Paul, however, is waiting for me.

“Shelby, I am profoundly sorry about...that,” he says, his arms windmilling toward the Supra and the lights that are now being packed away. “Griffin is...well, he’s a really great driver, but he can be a hothead sometimes. He’s...protective of the team and the cars.”

No shit, Sherlock. “Just keep him on a better leash when we have to work together, and we’ll be fine. If he touches me again, you can believe he will be down a hand, and I am pretty sure he needs both to race successfully.”

“Ah, yes, can do that. I’ll talk to him again and make sure he understands. We really need you here. Please don’t leave. ”

I tilt my head and wonder at the tone of desperation that laces his voice. “No way, Paul. You’re stuck with me. I signed a contract and I want to get my end of the bargain. But freaking warn me if there are any other crazies I have to work with, okay? I don’t need raging psychos attacking me for sitting on the cars when I’m told to.” I smile and let Paul know I’m not mad. The relief that washes over his face is comical. He was truly worried that I would go home and leave this opportunity on my first day.

There’s no way I would pack up and head home with my tail between my legs after one unpleasant encounter. I’ve got a tougher exterior than that. Besides, I gave up so much to be here. I don’t want to prove Dad right by running home after my first day.

I don’t know if he will ever come to terms with me taking this modeling job. “You’re just going to be meat for the masses. It’s not something any daughter of mine should be doing. Don’t expect to have a job or place to stay when you get back,” was the only thing he said to me when I was leaving. Henry assured me he didn’t mean it, but now I have to figure out what to do with myself when my gig with Smoke and Mirrors is up in two months.

I’m struck with an idea that I have to act on before the confidence escapes me.

“Hey, Paul,” I say, causing him to look up from the phone he was texting on. “I want to be more involved with the team between races when I’m not actually needed for promo. I think I can put together a video series for the shop and our progress during the California Championship series. It would be like a documentary of our work to get through the season. I’m here already, might as well put me to work. ”

I don’t want to sound desperate, but I need him to see the value in keeping me around and making this work for both of us. I don’t want to have to grovel and beg my dad for my job back at the end of this two-month run. If Paul decides to keep me on for the summer series, it wouldn’t come down to me returning to San Jose to face the music, after all.

Paul scratches his head and looks at me. “You actually want to work? How are you with social media?”