Ex-spouses are perfectly capable of playing it cool professionally...aren't they?
One year ago Mike Lundquist was a nobody sports writer. Now he's the hot racing columnist. And he's genuinely shocked to spot his ex-wife swapping canapes with the guys. What's she doing on his turf?
Taylor Robinson knows the media. She knows NASCAR...and she's determined to be the best PR flack this side of the Smokies. Her swagger lasts all of two hours, though--until she discovers the one reporter she has to woo is her ex-husband!
If they're going to work together they'd better play fair. Especially since there's nothing cool about their feelings for each other....
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
October 31, 2007
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Turn Two by Nancy Warren
Taylor Robinson had envisioned countless scenarios that could ruin her first day on the job as the public relations manager for a rookie NASCAR driver. She had extra panty hose in her bag, an EpiPen in case some new and hitherto-unknown allergic reaction should try to fell her on her first day; she had her makeup bag, a few hair products, a tiny sewing kit, even extra shoes in case she should snap a heel.
But not her worst nightmare--and she was an imaginative woman--could have prepared her for running into the one man she'd planned never to see again.
The day started out promisingly enough.
She entered Winfield Racing headquarters near Charlotte, North Carolina, and was immediately greeted by Reena Boscoff, account manager for Winfield Racing and an old family friend who had tracked Taylor down inAustralia to offer her the PR job.
After a rib-bruising hug, Reena said, "Okay, I'm swamped. We'll catch up later. Here's Hank Mission's schedule."
Taylor blinked back the jet lag and focused on the computer printout. "Is this event this afternoon?"
Reena put on her reading glasses and peered at the printout. "Yep. Rookie of the Year event. Three o'clock today." She let her glasses slip back so they hung from a gold chain around her neck. "Good thing I had your business cards printed in advance. Come on. I'll introduce you to your driver."
And poof, any thoughts of easing into her new job were gone.
Six hours later Taylor walked into one of the big kickoff events for the upcoming season. She realized she'd forgotten one important item in her emergency pack. Beta-blockers. After thirteen months on surfing beaches, she wasn't sure she could handle this much stress in one day.
The usual noises of a social event in full swing hit Taylor as she entered the hotel ballroom with Hank Mission, Winfield's rookie driver, and Dylan Hargreave, Winfield's senior driver.
A country band was playing, a lot of people talking and laughing, probably seeing one another for the first time in months. At one end a stage area was set up for the media event, but for now the atmosphere had more in common with a cocktail party than a press conference.
She recognized a couple of famous racing faces, but most of the people present were strangers.
They walked deeper into the crowded room, and Dylan was soon swapping greetings in a casual, practiced manner as they made their way forward. Hank tended to hang back a little and obviously didn't know many more people here than she did.
Hank was twenty-five years old and hailed from a small town in South Carolina, and he had the accent to prove it. He was medium height with a flop of brown hair and a crooked grin. He came across as shy, but there was a certain expression in his eyes that hinted at devilry. She liked him immediately, which was a good thing considering that looking after him was going to be her full-time job.
She shook hands when introduced, made a point of handing out the new business cards and felt her old reporter's instincts resurface.
Taylor wasn't one to let the grass grow. Maybe she'd only been back in the country three days, still felt like she had sand between her toes and a persistent case of jet lag, but she planned to raise the profile of her driver starting today.
"Jeff," she said to Dylan's PR manager, figuring he'd be an expert on the subject, "who are the media people I really need to know?"
Checking first to see that his driver was happily chatting to Hank and one of the event organizers, Jeff pointed out a bubbly young blond woman who worked for an online publication and then a spotlessly groomed broadcaster, telling her a bit about each. She wished she could pull out a reporter's notebook and write it all down. Instead she concentrated, trying to memorize everything Jeff told her.
"And over there is the man whose racing column has become the single most significant source of racing news."
Her gaze followed Jeff's.
And then snagged on a most unwelcome sight.
Her breath caught.
"Mike Lundquist," she blurted in the tone she might have used if Freddy Krueger was eyeing her from across the room.
"That's right," Jeff said, as though she'd answered a skill-testing question correctly. "Somebody's been doing their homework."
Mike Lundquist was the man she'd been married to for three years. The man she'd gone halfway around the world to forget.
His hair was the color of dark chocolate, his eyes even darker. He had round cheeks, weighed ten pounds more than he should, and had a humorous grin that was, as she knew too well, a chick magnet. He wasn't movie-star handsome, yet he drew people to him with a combination of charm and easy humor.
The sight of him across a crowded, noisy ballroom had her churning with a mixture of emotions so confused she couldn't begin to separate them.