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Jake stands at my arrival and gives a low whistle. “Gorgeous as always, Princess.”
“I have a date tonight, and there wasn’t enough time to change first.” It’s a complete lie, but so what? Jake doesn’t need to know I went home to reapply my makeup and try on several outfits before settling on my silver dress.
My date later is only a text conversation with Martin while we watch some reality shows, but that still counts.
Jake says, “He’s a lucky guy,” without even a trace of jealousy. He hands me a napkin as we both take our seats.
“We’ll need to get straight to business because of it,” I say. “This isn’t a date.”
Our booth is one of those circular ones, which means we’re seated close. It’s also in the restaurant’s back corner, with no nearby guests to invade our privacy. Could he have deliberately picked this spot?
Yes, Jake would do that.
“I looked for you in Atlanta,” he says after we order drinks. “A friendly face.”
“Your spotter was there. What’s his name? Derek. He’s friendly.” They’re close, which isn’t unusual. I’ve wondered how much the man acts as Jake’s invisible wingman, pushing him to go after Boone on the track. It’s also possible I’m paranoid. “Sorry again about that penalty. It must be frustrating.”
Jake looks down at his empty salad plate and then back at me, showing off his infamous cocksure grin. “It happens. Las Vegas will be my turnaround.”
I’ll be there, with Julian already in my back pocket. “Will you tell me what we’re meeting about?” I ask. Curiosity has been eating at me since his phone call, plus any time in Jake’s presence is dangerous.
“Before I begin.” He swallows. “No one knows about this, not even Derek, any member of my pit crew, or my team’s owner. Just you.”
“This is serious.” Jake comes alive inside a race car. He loves it too much to quit. He shares that with my brother, even if they can’t stand each other. “Are you going to NHRA? ARCA? That makes little sense.”
He draws back at the idea, which answers my question. “That never even occurred to me. You know how I started, right?”
I heard most of it when we were in bed together. “Yes, until BPR signed you.” His contract is over at the end of the season. “You’re leaving for another team,” I guess.
That doesn’t make sense either. Jake has spent his entire career with Bert Deere, and I can’t imagine him leaving without an excellent reason. Jake speaks well of his team’s owner.
“No one has offered.” Jake licks the corner of his lip and slides closer to me. “BPR is great; they treat me well. They’re an institution, and I’m lucky they let me drive.”
“You earned it.”
Jake glances at his salad plate again, and I wonder, for the first time, how much positive feedback he gets. Not from family or nameless fans but from those who know him more intimately. Does he even have any friends besides Derek? Hislack of supporters at races comes back to me. “Thanks, but that’s not why I asked you. How do I approach BPR and convince them to let me have an ownership stake?”
This is unexpected. “BPR is, well, they’re like old money in NASCAR. Reputation, relationships, legacy. You’re competing with decades of it.”
“Well, that’s why I’m asking you.”
Because I’m a Rivers. He wants my experience. I want to throw a drink at him. Almost. “Well, the easy answer is that you don’t. My advice is to perform well and negotiate for a better contract. Maybe create rumors that other teams have approached you.”
“That’s simple stuff. That part is figured out.”
“I don’t know.” Boone is my only direct experience, and his ownership is because of our father. Tom Rivers is considered one of the best drivers of all time. Jake doesn’t have that advantage. “What can you offer that they don’t already have? Understand that an ownership stake means giving you a share of profit.”
He wants to be an owner. Jake’s rivalry with Boone suddenly looks very different. I always knew his ambition on the race track, but what else is he hiding if we’re having this conversation? When viewed from a fresh perspective, some of that competition looks close to envy.
Jake’s smile aims for cocky and fails. “I’m popular, and that rubs off on BPR. My sponsorship is secure for the season, which not every driver can speak of.”
“That’s not enough. It would be best to have a backer or the ability to fund a team yourself. Jake, you’re terrific but not a Cup champion or in the hall of fame.” I struggle for some positive angle or tidbit to say his dream is possible; all I can think of are meager crumbs. “If we were having this conversation in ten years, with you keeping up this level ofperformance, it would be a very different one.”
“I expected you to say that,” he says. His voice is even, almost upbeat, but his sloped shoulders and expressionless features show disappointment.
“Then why ask me to meet you?”
“Because you’re going to help me,” Jake says, and his cocky grin is back. “Figure it out.”
