The CEO I Built Called Me Bankrupt

The driver didn't take me to the Atlas Racing offices.

He took me to the private garage behind the track. It was the kind of place sponsors only saw on tour days.

I rehearsed in the back seat the whole way.

I'm sorry. Arden Industries can't increase the sponsorship this season. We'll honor the current terms, but nothing more.

Polite. Firm. Final. I'd said no to bigger men than a race car driver.

The garage smelled like rubber and hot metal. A crew member nodded me inside and disappeared.

Then Nolan Rourke walked out from behind the car.

His race suit was unzipped to the waist, the sleeves knotted around his hips. A black fireproof shirt clung to his chest. His dark hair was damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead, as if he'd just pulled his helmet off.

He was taller than he looked on TV. Broader. He moved like the room belonged to him and he was only letting me borrow it.

Every word I'd rehearsed slid out of my head.

"Ms. Arden." His voice was low and a little rough. "Thanks for coming."

I gripped my folder. "Mr. Rourke. Before you start, I should be clear about something—"

"I'm not asking for money."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He reached into a duffel bag on the workbench and pulled out a pair of gloves. They were worn soft at the knuckles, and the stitching was frayed along one thumb.

He held them out.

"These are from my first podium. Third place in Monza. I want you to have them."

I didn't take them. "Why?"

"Because three years ago I hit a wall at two hundred and ten miles an hour." He turned the gloves over in his hands. "My team dropped me from the medical plan. Somebody paid for two surgeries and eight months of rehab. Anonymously. It took me a year to find out who."

My throat went tight. "That was a business decision. Arden needed a driver."

"Arden had four drivers." He stepped closer. "You picked the one who might never walk right again."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

"You sent a card with the first payment," he said. "Want to hear it?"

"You don't remember a card from three years ago."

His mouth curved, just slightly.

"A crash doesn't decide who you are. The next lap does. Take as long as you need to get there. I'll be watching. C.A."

Every word. Even the period after my initials.

"It's in my helmet case," he said. "It goes to every race."

Something warm and dangerous moved in my chest. I shut it down fast.

An hour ago, I'd learned exactly what a man's sweet words were worth.

"That's a nice story, Mr. Rourke." I made my voice cool. "But you heard what happened today. You know my company's in trouble. You're worried your sponsorship is about to disappear, so you're reminding me how much I care."

His eyes narrowed. "That's what you think this is?"

"I think you're a public figure with a lot to lose." I tapped the folder against my palm. "And I think I'm done being handled."

He didn't argue. He just looked at me, steady and quiet, like I was a corner he hadn't figured out yet.

Then the garage door rattled open.

Two crew members walked in carrying a ladder. A third followed with a roll of vinyl decals. Bright blue. HaloPulse blue.

They set the ladder against the car's side panel and started peeling off the Arden logo.

I watched my father's name curl away from the paint in one long strip.

"Careful with that," a voice called. "We'll want the space clean."

Grant.

He strolled in with Bianca on his arm. She'd changed into a white dress since the boardroom. The silver watch flashed on her wrist.

Grant spotted me and stopped. Then he smiled.

"Camille. You get around today."

"What are you doing here?"

"Atlas needed a new sponsor." He spread his hands. "HaloPulse stepped up. Signed this afternoon."

So that was why the investors had been nodding. He'd planned this, too.

Grant turned to Nolan, all friendly charm. "Nolan. Big fan. Word of advice, from your new partner?" He tilted his head toward me. "I'd keep my distance. She couldn't even hold on to her own company. You don't want that luck rubbing off before the final."

Bianca giggled and squeezed his arm.

"Oh, Grant, be nice." She looked me up and down. "Camille's obviously been a very generous sponsor. Very hands-on." Her smile sharpened. "What's the plan, Camille? Buy a little company to get over a breakup? I hear it's cheaper than therapy."

One of the crew members on the ladder froze with a decal half-peeled.

My face went hot. I lifted my chin to answer.

Nolan stepped in front of me.

Not beside me. In front. His back blocked out Bianca's smile completely.

"You're Grant Mercer," he said.

"That's right."

"I know who you are. Everybody in the paddock does." Nolan's tone was almost lazy. "You're the guy whose first investor was Arden Industries. Whose first big client came through an Arden introduction. Whose first racing sponsorship came through an Arden recommendation, because nobody else in this sport would vouch for you."

Grant's smile thinned. "That's ancient history."

"It's four years." Nolan shrugged. "Your company. Your reputation. Your seat at this track. Every piece of it came from her. And you walked in here to tell me she's bad luck?"

Bianca's grip on Grant's arm tightened.

Grant's jaw worked. When he spoke again, the charm was gone.

"Careful, Rourke. I'm the one paying for your car now. One phone call and you're driving for some team in the minor leagues."

The garage went silent. Even the crew stopped moving.

Nolan didn't raise his voice.

"If your money requires me to insult the person who saved my life," he said, "you can take your check and leave. Today."

Grant stared at him.

Bianca let out a short, shocked laugh, like she was waiting for the joke.

Nobody laughed with her.

Nolan turned around. He picked the gloves up off the workbench and pressed them into my hands. Then his fingers closed around mine.

"We're going."

"Nolan—"

"Walk with me, Camille."

It was the first time he'd said my name. It sounded different in his mouth.

He led me past Grant without a glance. As we reached the open garage door, his hand slid from my fingers to the small of my back. Then it settled at my waist, warm through the silk of my blouse.

Outside, cameras were already waiting. Someone must have tipped them off about Grant's big announcement.

They got a different picture instead.

Flashes went off in a white storm. Questions flew at us.

"Nolan! Is it true HaloPulse is your new sponsor?"

"Ms. Arden, are you two together?"

"Nolan, look this way!"

He didn't answer a single one. He kept his body between me and the lenses. His hand never left my waist, not once, all the way to the car.

The black sedan was idling at the curb. He opened the back door for me but didn't let me get in yet.

Instead he leaned down, close enough that I could see a thin scar under his jaw. A souvenir from that wall, I guessed.

"Can I ask you something?"

My pulse was doing strange things. "Go ahead."

"You really thought I asked you here for money." He searched my face. "This whole time. You thought that's why I wanted to see you."

There was no point lying. "Yes."

He didn't look hurt. He looked like a man who'd just been handed a challenge.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Then have dinner with me tomorrow night. Just us. No contracts. No sponsors. No one says the word money all night."

I stared at him. Behind us, a camera shutter clicked.

"And if I say no?"

His thumb brushed once along my waist before he let go.

"Then I'll ask again after the final," he said. "When I win."