Too Late: Desired By The Rival Boss

Summer

d no birthday dinner. My husband, Grant Mercer, president of the Red B

models for the upcoming High Desert invitational. I dropped my laptop bag on the entryway console and checked my

rcer property since before Grant took over the chapter

eyes landed o

hurried whisper. "You're home early. Mr. Mercer said

sland, pouring myself a glass

nsation stung

ering a tired smile. "It's my birthday, Marlene. I wan

ay, staring hard

her mouth working silently befor

He's down at the Red Basin clubhouse in Fernl

ightened aro

win, and he'd taken everyone out to celebrate

y thought

red, refusing to meet my eyes. "

own and dialed Gr

e rang f

cemail was about to pick

ss, screaming electric guitars, clinking beer bottles, and th

he racket. "I finished the race package early to c

ht now. He just called a church meeting to announce the new racing management structure. He named me Directo

lf-si

d, the one who had spent the last two years hovering around the e

, his hand resting on her thigh. Every time, they'd acted

on his lap, and now he'd handed her t

oke. If he's giving you my j

h a soft laugh. "You can

free hand clenched

know how to parse a CAN-bus data log. Take the t

not someone hiding behind screens in a dark trailer," Brooke purred. "He sa

, a roar of male

whistled

ce-younger, eager, an

he sponsor deck! I

Harper

n foster home, the kid I had spent three years teaching

alongside the men who used

ed at the sound

ke laughed softly. "Don't wait u

n finish the season package.

all before sh

er hands wringing her apron, he

nt me to fix you somethin

omething to t

celed the scheduled delivery of the new-season files.

ontained the custom mathematical formulas that gave Grant's bikes a four-mile-per-hour exit speed advantage on ever

he stone fireplace

lder, struck it against the brick, and touch

aper

dwritten equations bli

e hearth, watching his plans for an

n a losing season without

t my face, warming the

p the chimney. "Call the bakery in town. Order a

ffled, nodd

'am. Rig

and walked up the carpeted

n the heavy

he Red Basin three-piece patch, hung in the c

black duffel bag f

ought me to show off at club runs, nor the desi

f jeans, my work boots, and my own faded leather

to the mahogany d

t I had drafted six months ago, back when I still believed

papers flat a

he cap of my

neath the words Petition for Dissol

e Su

rk and final und

d file the petition. T

the time o

ght in th

ercer name would