Page 2 of Kiss & Collide (Racing Hearts #2)

Eldham, England

V iolet stood in the main atrium of Pinnacle Motorsport, eyeing the water damage on the ceiling and the scuffed paint on the walls, and wondered if she’d made a mistake.

This was a significant step down from the Lennox Motorsport factory.

Had she really left the number-one team on the grid to come here, to the team that had ranked last for the past five years?

This move was strategic, she reminded herself.

At Lennox, she was always going to be Simone’s assistant, and however great Simone was, Violet’s prospects were limited there.

Now, somehow, she’d talked her way into head of PR at Pinnacle.

That was a big deal, even if Pinnacle was the worst team on the grid.

Whatever. This was a huge step up the career ladder for her, one she could parlay into something even bigger in a year or two. This wasn’t forever. And in the meantime, she’d figure it out like she always did.

The double doors on the other side of the atrium banged open and a young girl with long, dark blond hair and a frantic expression raced through. She looked on the verge of tears as she scanned the atrium.

“Are you Violet Harper?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“That’s me.”

“I was supposed to bring you to meet Richard, but now he’s been fired and everybody’s cross and I—”

Violet’s chest gave a thump of dread. She’d interviewed with Richard. He was the reason she’d landed this job. “Hold on. Richard Clewes? The team principal? He’s been fired ?”

The girl—who, on closer inspection was older than Violet initially thought, just a bit younger than herself—nodded shakily, her pale blue eyes filling with tears. “Just this morning and …” She pressed her knuckles against her lips, letting out a muffled sob.

“Oh, don’t …” Violet shifted back onto her heels in discomfort. “It’s not worth crying about. Personnel changes happen all the time in Formula One.”

“It’s not just that!” the girl exploded in a wail. “We’ve been sold ! To Americans !”

“What??”

At that moment, her phone, clutched in her hand, vibrated with a text from Mira.

I’ve just heard some unbelievable dirt. Tell me it’s not true.

Violet blew out a breath and typed out a reply.

Did you hear Pinnacle’s been sold to some Americans? Because I just got here and that’s what I’m hearing, too.

Sold to Carter Hammond! Mira replied.

Violet looked up at the girl currently weeping in front of her. “Carter Hammond?”

The girl let out another wail and buried her face in her hands.

She typed out another text to Mira. Obviously walking into a shitstorm here. Will call later.

You better!

Violet closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay, so the situation at Pinnacle would be a little more …

volatile … than she’d been expecting. It was fine.

She started her career wrangling an irresponsible rock band.

She would need to handle this, whether she was ready for it or not.

This was the problem with talking your way into things.

Sometimes you ended up dumped into the deep end.

Opening her eyes again, she focused on the crying girl. “What’s your name?”

She broke off sobbing and blinked at her. “Imogen Hubert. Assistant to the team principal.” Her face, flushed and wet with tears, screwed up again. “Who was Richard …”

Imogen seemed like a far cry from Mira, who was also the team principal’s assistant, with her spreadsheets and lists and scary competency. But then again, when she’d first met Mira, she’d underestimated the spine of steel behind the princess face. Maybe there were hidden depths to Imogen, too.

Imogen let out another wail.

Maybe.

“Stop crying,” Violet said as gently as she could manage. “Crying doesn’t solve anything.”

Imogen sniffed, then stared up at Violet with a trembling lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Let’s deal with one crisis at a time, okay? So Carter Hammond has fired Richard Clewes. He must have someone he wants to put in his place?”

Imogen nodded shakily. “His son. Reece Hammond. He’s already here.” Her lip wobbled dangerously.

Violet pointed a finger at her. “British stiff upper lip and all that rubbish, right?”

Imogen gave a shaky smile. Progress.

“You’d better take me back so I can meet him for myself.”

Imogen nodded and turned to lead the way, but just then, the double doors she’d come through minutes before, evidently leading into the bowels of the Pinnacle factory, banged open, vomiting a stream of people into the atrium.

The one in front she immediately pegged as Reece Hammond.

His American accent booming off the high atrium ceiling was a dead giveaway.

She had nothing against Americans. Mira was American and she was her best friend.

But why did he insist on being so loudly American?

Violet sensed in an instant that she wasn’t going to like one bloody thing about Reece Hammond.

He was younger than she might have expected, had she been expecting any of this.

Maybe in his mid-thirties. Beginning to get a bit doughy in the middle but trying hard not to let it show.

Dark haired, tanned, like he spent a lot of time on the beach.

Expensive dress shirt, no tie, dark jeans that were too tight on him, very expensive titanium Rolex.

He was talking—loudly—at the older man next to him. She recognized him from around the track. Oscar Davies, Pinnacle’s chief technical officer. Old-timer in Formula One. Hadn’t designed a winning car as long as Violet had been alive.

When Reece reached her, he stopped, running his eyes down her body and back up. If she hadn’t already decided she hated him, that would have sealed the deal.

“Who’s this?” He must have thought his oily, overly whitened smile was charming.

She plastered on her brightest fake smile. After all, she worked in PR. She could bullshit with the best of them. “Violet Harper. Pinnacle’s new head of PR.”

“Great timing! Big changes at Pinnacle! We’re going to want lots of media coverage.”

She maintained her smile. “I’d like to talk through your vision for the team, so we can plan—”

“Hold that thought, sweetheart. I’m going to say a few words to the staff. That’ll get you up to speed.”

Good god, she loathed him. But she just kept smiling, gritting her teeth so hard it felt like her molars might crack.

More people had streamed into the atrium, filling the edges of the room two and three deep. There was an upper balcony, and people clustered there, too. She moved off to one side with Imogen, who looked on the verge of tears again.

“Everybody here?” Reece shouted. Imogen flinched. There was no response from the sullen, stone-faced employees of Pinnacle, but Reece’s manic confidence didn’t waver. “Okay, folks, are you ready to shake things up? Because I am here to shake it hard !”

At that point, he did a little shimmy. Violet could only imagine that’s what he did on the dance floor, because he bit his lip, lifted his arms, and wiggled his ass.

If she were capable of feeling secondhand embarrassment, she’d be dying of it right now.

“Here’s what I want you to do,” Reece boomed, putting his serious face back on.

“I want every person in this room to look to their left.” He waited while they awkwardly did it.

“Now look to your right.” Another painful pause.

“At the end of this season, only two of you will still be here, because Pinnacle is going to become a lean, mean, race-winning machine.”

The deafening silence greeting his announcement should have told him he’d just massively fucked up, but Reece seemed to not even notice that he’d uttered all of five sentences and managed to turn every single person in this facility against him.

Violet might have been impressed at the sheer volume of his awfulness if she weren’t as fucked as the rest of them.

“There’s no reason that world championship can’t be ours if we’re all committed to the grind.

If we’re all willing to give two hundred percent.

If we’re all on our hustle. If we’re all ready to live, eat, and breathe Pinnacle Motorsport.

What this team needs is a win! If we win a world championship, we can turn this thing around! Now, who’s with me?”

More silence from the crowd.

“Winning a world championship. Why didn’t we think of that?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Violet smothered a laugh.

At least there was someone funny here. She turned to look at the woman next to her who’d muttered those words under her breath.

Mid-forties, short, and Southeast Asian, she had her black hair pulled back in a messy bun, and was wearing a gray Pinnacle button-down shirt.

“So simple, right? Violet Harper, head of PR,” she whispered.

“Rabia Dar. Associate design engineer.” She raised her eyebrows. “Last year they gave me a better title instead of a raise.”

“You work with Oscar Davies, then?”

“Lucky me,” Rabia muttered. She blew out a long breath, ruffling a strand of hair that had escaped her bun, and squinted through her dark-framed glasses at Reece.

Understandable. Oscar had a reputation for being an out-of-touch blowhard. Working under him had to suck.

Reece was still talking, but a low-grade murmur had started up amongst the staff, so they could speak without being heard.

“How’s the new team principal?” Violet asked. She’d formed her own opinion, but she wanted to get a read on the rest of the Pinnacle staff.

“He knows fuck all about racing, which is …” She shook her head grimly. “Honestly, we’re sunk.”

Reece was still out there in the middle of the atrium, making an ass of himself.

“Now let’s take Pinnacle to number one! Woo!” Reece thrust his fist in the air and shouted. The sound of shuffling feet and a few scattered, tepid claps followed.

He turned to talk to Oscar Davies, oblivious to the black mood that had fallen across the room. People began escaping, first a trickle, then a stampede.