Four
SAWYER
It’s been nearly a week since my argument with Daniel, and the only thing that’s been helping me keep my shit together is the meeting with Powell Racing today. I need it to go well. It feels as though my life depends on it.
Riding down in the elevator, I’m reminded of my run in with the Penthouse Prick last week. I haven’t seen him since, thankfully. He may be nice to look at, but he seems like an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole.
When the elevator doors open to the garage under our building, I head to my car.
Daniel’s car isn’t there since he left early this morning.
I know it’s because he didn’t want to talk to me about my meeting, which actually surprised me.
I had expected him to stay and make snide comments like he’s been doing all week.
He could tear me down and make me even more anxious than I already am.
Imposter syndrome is real, and Daniel reminds me of it daily.
Sitting in my driver’s seat, I turn on my car. Before I drive away, I open the visor, checking that I look immaculate.
I made sure that I left with more than enough time to get to my meeting. Unless traffic screws me over, I should get there about twenty minutes early. I plan to hang out in my car until Vic gets there.
Pulling out of my parking space, I make the first turn around the bank of parked cars and onto the main aisle.
As I gently accelerate, my cell phone drops from its holster in the air vent and falls to the floor.
Reaching for it, I don’t notice the Lamborghini that’s pulling out in front of me until it’s too late.
I swerve a little so I don’t hit the car, and narrowly miss rear-ending the back of another one.
“Shit!” I scream into my empty BMW.
My heart races at the close call, and I silently thank God that my car didn’t smash into any of the other cars around me.
Tearing my door open, I get out to make sure that the other driver is okay.
Imagine my irritation when I see none other than the elevator nuisance step from the driver’s seat of the offending car.
God damn Penthouse Prick!
“You!” I shout at him.
“And you!” he shouts back, laughter following his words.
“You’re supposed to look before you pull out of your parking space, you know that, right?”
“I did look. You were far enough away until you laid your foot on the gas like a wannabe race car driver.”
His dig is like a punch in the gut, Daniel’s words from the previous week ringing loudly in my ears. The gleam in this asshole’s eye is menacing. Is he really here just to make my life a living hell?
Deep breaths, Sawyer.
“I have somewhere that I need to be. I can’t be wasting time here, trying to reason with an incompetent asshole.”
“I’m the incompetent one?” he scoffs. “I’m not the one who doesn’t know how to drive.”
There is something about the look on his face. Like he’s picking his words carefully, knowing which ones will hurt me the most.
Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t know anything about you.
“Ahh!” I scream in frustration before getting back into my car.
I pick up my phone and place it in my purse where it won’t fall again.
He pulls his car back into the parking space and let’s me through.
Straightening my car out so it’s facing the right way, I try to get away from him as quickly but safely as possible.
Catching a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror after I pass him I watch as he laughs at me as if this is a joke, but he’s the only one who’s been let in on the secret.
Narrowing my stare at him, I turn my eyes back to the garage in front of me, paying close attention so I don’t make even more of a fool of myself. He follows me out of the garage, and I roll my eyes.
“Please go away,” I plead to no one from the comfort of my car.
Finally, he hits the gas and drives around me before cutting me off and making it through the light just before it turns red. Meanwhile, I’m forced to wait, watching as he turns at the next corner and speeds out of sight.
The Powell Corporation’s office building is only a few miles from my condo, thankfully. I’ve been sitting in the parking garage for about ten minutes when my phone rings.
“Hey Vic,” I answer.
“Sawyer,” Vic says on the other end of the phone. “I’m pulling into the parking garage now. Are you here yet?”
“Yeah, I’m here—oh, I see you. I’ll be right there.”
I take a deep breath as I end the call and put my phone away.
This is it, Sawyer. The moment you’ve been waiting for. Today could be the first day of the rest of your life.
Grabbing my purse, I step out of my car and meet Vic by his black Silverado.
“Hey,” I greet him as he rounds the back of his truck.
“How’s it going?”
“Not too bad. I had a little quarrel with someone in my building this morning. He almost hit my car in the garage. It’s got me a little flustered which isn’t helping my nerves. Other than that, I’m okay. What about you?”
I hate that I turn into a blithering idiot when I’m nervous.
“I’m fine. Forget about that guy. I have a good feeling about today.”
“Thanks, Vic,” I smile at him.
As we enter the elevator, I try my best to keep both the Penthouse Prick as well as Daniel out of my head.
I can’t afford to let their negativity in.
This is my dream, and I’ve worked so hard for it.
I deserve this. I just hope Jackson Powell and I can forge a happy, advantageous partnership with each other.
We make it to the seventeenth floor where Vic holds the door open for me once again.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” The pretty blonde girl behind the reception desk greets us as we enter.
“Vic Mancini and Sawyer Stone here to meet with Mr. Powell.”
“Sure, you can have a seat, and I’ll let him know that you’re here.”
I sit down and have a look around. It’s a sleek office.
Very modern. Motorsport chic, if that’s a real thing.
Gorgeous photographs of turns and straightaways at different speedways line the walls.
There are trophies from various competitions here and there.
The sight of it all is slightly overwhelming.
I could be one of his drivers. I could compete on one of these pro tracks.
I could bring home one of these trophies.
Or you could give up already, knowing that you don’t belong here.
Daniel’s voice pierces my thoughts, and it takes everything in my power to make it go away.
He doesn’t belong here. This has everything to do with me and nothing to do with him.
No matter what, whether I make it or not, it won’t be because of his influence.
He didn’t help me get to where I am today. He won’t be the one calling the shots.
“You can follow me,” the receptionist says, breaking me from my thoughts. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, juice?”
“No, thank you,” I respond to her before Vic declines as well.
Vic and I follow her down the hall and into a large conference room. The walls are painted black on three sides. The other is made of glass, and it overlooks the city. It’s gorgeous. There are more photographs in here, in addition to scale models of all of the cars in Powell Racing’s fleet.
“You can have a seat. Mr. Powell will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Vic and I say at the same time.
“I’m nervous,” I murmur to Vic when the receptionist leaves.
“I really have a good feeling about this, Sawyer. I think you guys will be an excellent match for one another.”
“So, Powell, does he know that I’m a … woman?” I roll my eyes as I say it because it shouldn’t matter.
But unfortunately, it does.
“I don’t know. I didn’t mention it because that’s not what’s important. Stats are. And your stats are incredible.”
I smile warmly at Vic, even though I’m still nervous as hell inside.
I’m scared that Jackson Powell is going to walk in here, see that I’m a woman, and tell me there’s no place in racing for a female.
Even though there have been several amazing female drivers before me, it’s a very hard niche for women to get into.
“I just want a fair chance. If he’s interested in me because of my tapes, but then comes in here and finds out that I’m a girl and kicks me to the curb … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Relax, Sawyer. Jackson Powell isn’t your average team owner. Trust me on this. It’s my job.”
“Okay. I trust you.”
“Good,” he says with a wink.
Several minutes pass before I hear heavy footsteps heading in our direction. I sit up and straighten my top, creating the pristine appearance that I pride myself for having all the time.
“Oh, and Bethany,” I hear a familiar voice echo from the hall, replacing the footsteps that were just there. “Can you…”
The voice fades out as my eyes go wide, and I look at Vic.
“What’s wrong?”
“I … I know that voice.”
The nuisance from the elevator. The incompetent driver from the garage.
What is he doing here?
Before my mind can go through all the possibilities, the Penthouse Prick walks through the door with a shit-eating grin on his face and a black, leather-bound Powell Racing portfolio tucked underneath his arm.
I’m paralyzed as he places his things down then stands at the head of the table, like the arrogant ass he is, as if he owns the place.
“Hey neighbor,” he quips with his smug, cocky smirk plastered on his face. “Told you I’d be seeing you.”
That’s when it truly hits me. He does own the place.