Ordinarily she wouldn’t worry about where he was, what he was doing or even who he was with, but Mr. Barkov was a potential new sponsor and this tour of the facilities in Charisma, North Carolina, had been set up weeks ago. She knew because she’d set it up, after ensuring that the date and time worked for Josh. Right now, she was silently cursing the fact that she worked for him.
Their relationship was a mostly, if not strictly, professional one. Josh had been friends with her cousin Daniel for as long as she could remember, and over the past several years, he’d become a regular fixture at family events. He was, in many ways, like another cousin to her, except that she got along really well with all her cousins and her relationship with Josh wasn’t always so amicable.
At the shop, they worked well together because each was focused on the performance of their respective duties. But away from GSR, there was often an uncomfortable...friction...between them.
She blamed Josh for that friction. He seemed to enjoy saying and doing things for the sole purpose of riling her, and even aware of that fact, she couldn’t always control her reactions. Her sisters liked to tease that it was sexual tension and suggested that Tristyn could alleviate the problem by getting naked with Josh, but that wasn’t going to happen—no way, no how, not ever.
But his failure to show up for a scheduled meeting with a new sponsor was completely out of character. Because as much as she occasionally accused him of being immature and unreliable, when it came to the business aspects of GSR, he was the poster boy for responsibility. Of course, he’d sunk a large portion of his own money—courtesy of his interest in Slater Industries, the company owned and operated by his parents—into the business and had convinced her cousin to do the same.
While Mr. Barkov waited, Tristyn called Josh’s cell phone. She also sent a text message and an email, but he didn’t respond to any of her attempts at communication. So she put a smile on her face and apologized to the sponsor, explaining that both the team’s owners were tied up in a meeting elsewhere and offering to either reschedule or give him the promised tour of the facilities herself.
Mr. Barkov opted for the tour.
Two hours later, when he had finally gone and Daniel had returned from his meeting, she gave a perfunctory knock on her cousin’s open door before she stepped through it and into his office. “Where the hell is he?”
Daniel looked up from his computer screen, his dark brows drawing together. “Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “The Slater half of Garrett/Slater Racing.”
“I haven’t seen him yet this morning,” Daniel admitted.
“Because he’s AWOL,” Tristyn said, not even trying to hide her irritation.
“A few hours late is hardly AWOL,” he chided.
“It’s not a few hours,” she argued. “Nobody has heard a single word from him since he left the track Saturday afternoon.”
“He said something about having to deal with a family crisis,” her cousin told her.
Concern immediately edged aside her irritation. “What kind of family crisis?”
Daniel shrugged. “I didn’t ask. I figured that came under the heading of ‘personal’ business, which means it’s none of mine—and none of yours, either.”
Tristyn considered that for a minute before nodding in acknowledgment of the point. “Okay—it’s none of my business,” she agreed. “But I think you should call him.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve tried calling, texting and emailing, with no response, so I’m wondering if there’s a reason that he’s ignoring me.”
Her cousin’s brows winged up. “Is there?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “But he’s never ignored my communications or been out of touch for so long before.”
Daniel hit the speakerphone button, then punched in his friend’s number. The call went immediately to voice mail—as each of hers had done.
You’ve reached Josh Slater. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
The beep sounded, then Daniel began to speak. “Hey, Josh. Give me a call when you get this message. I’ve got Tris in my office with a worried look on her face because she can’t get in touch with you.”
“I’m only worried that I’ll have to cover for him when Dave Barkov shows up to meet the crew and tour the facilities,” she interjected. “Oh, wait—I already did.”
Daniel disconnected the call and slid her a look. “And you wonder why he might be ignoring you,” he noted drily.
“He blew off a meeting with a potential sponsor,” she said again.
“He’ll check in soon,” her cousin assured her, but she suspected he was trying to convince himself as much as her.
“Let me know when he does,” she suggested.
Tristyn went back to her desk. As the administrative assistant and head of PR for the team, she had more than enough work to keep herself busy for the rest of the day. By three o’clock, when Josh hadn’t checked in with her or returned Daniel’s call, she picked up her purse and stopped by her cousin’s office again.
“I’m going to detour past his place on my way home,” she said.
Daniel glanced at his watch, frowned. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
Maybe she was a little concerned, because it wasn’t like Josh to be out of touch. The man practically lived with his phone in his hand, answering calls when they came in and responding to emails and text messages right away. But she wasn’t going to admit her concern to her cousin.
“I’m annoyed,” she said, because that was true, too. “I had to work through my lunch today to make up for the time I spent with your sponsor because Josh was a no-show.”
“I’m sure Dave Barkov was more grateful than annoyed,” her cousin said. “After all, you’re a lot prettier than Josh is.”
She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she drove toward Josh’s condo, she thought about her cousin’s parting remark. While it was true that no one would ever apply the “pretty” label to Josh Slater, there were several others that came to mind. At six feet two inches, with dark blond hair, smoky gray eyes and a mouth that promised all kinds of wicked pleasure, he was tempting. Tantalizing. Hot.
Oh, yes, he was very definitely hot.
And she’d already been burned.
* * *
Josh Slater stared at the disaster zone that used to be his kitchen and tried to decide if he should wade into the mess or call a hazmat team. In addition to the pile of dishes from breakfast and lunch, there was a long drip of dried pancake batter on the oven door, toast crumbs on the counter, Cheerios on the floor and a pot with the congealed remnants of mac and cheese stuck to the bottom. He waded into the mess and had just filled the sink with soapy water when a knock sounded at the door.
He wasn’t expecting any more visitors—he’d already had more than he’d anticipated this weekend and wasn’t eager to add to the number. He decided to ignore the summons and pretend he wasn’t home.
The knock sounded again, louder and more insistent this time. He frowned, thinking that if a knock could exhibit personality traits, this one was brisk and impatient, very much like...Tristyn Garrett.
Because she was on his mind, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear her voice come through the door. “If you’re in there, Josh, you better open this door before I call 911 and have the fire department break it down.”