Page 44 of Kiss & Collide (Racing Hearts #2)

A s a rule, Violet did her best to cut through life like a knife.

Cut through the bullshit and do what you have to do to get what you need.

It worked for pleasure as well as business, and in both worlds, she didn’t bother with guilt.

It just wasted time, and left you worse off.

As she saw it, at work her ruthlessness was just ambition, and no man would ever be faulted for it.

And as for her personal life—men and sex—well, it was exactly the same.

She never felt guilt about it because she was up-front about it.

But she’d stayed in the hospitality center for the whole of race day, to avoid crossing paths with Chase.

It wasn’t guilt, she told herself. It was just …

cleaner this way. She stayed busy, too. Chatting up sponsors and arranging press events for the upcoming race in Miami.

As long as she kept moving, she was fine.

If she had one moment to sit with this, she felt like she was crawling out of her skin.

Which was why, when Rabia found her in hospitality, she was staring into space, picking at a pastry she suddenly had no appetite for.

“Hey, mind if I join you?”

Violet waved her into a chair. Please, distract me.

“We had one of the reserve drivers trying out the new design in the simulator back at the factory last week.” She passed her iPad across the table. “Check out these times.”

Violet scanned the chart and her eyebrows shot up. “Can you replicate this in the car?”

Rabia shrugged. “You never know. Gremlins can always sneak in and fuck you up. But right now there’s no reason to believe we can’t.” She shook her head, smiling. “When we get our hands on that Sokia power unit, and with Chase behind the wheel, next season could get very interesting.”

Violet’s stomach knotted up with misery.

When Carter’s sale went through, the flow of money would stop. They could very likely be forced to race this year’s car next season, with no upgrades at all. They’d tread water for a season or two, until they finally went under for good.

But at least Chase would be okay. He was free now to go to Allegri.

Chase.

It felt like someone was sitting on her chest. She took a breath and refocused on Rabia.

Rabia, whose tablet glowed with plans that would never come to fruition. Carter had made her promise not to spread the word of the potential sale, but fuck that. What did it matter now?

I should have just told Chase.

She pushed the thought aside. Well, she couldn’t undo that, but she could help Rabia. Rabia deserved to know that none of this was going to happen.

She passed the iPad back across the table. “Rabia, I have something to tell you.”

When Violet had finished sharing the bad news, Rabia sat back in her chair, deflated. “Fuck.”

“I know. Fuck. Double fuck.”

Rabia’s eyes skated over the glowing screen of her iPad. Usually she was so no-nonsense and unsentimental, but for a second, Violet saw a flash of genuine sorrow in the other woman’s eyes. The look on Rabia’s face was like a knife to her chest.

“Guess that’s that, then.” Rabia sighed, pressing a button to shut down her iPad. “I should have known.”

“You couldn’t have seen this coming, Rab.”

“Not this, but I’ve been beating my head against the wall in this industry long enough to know better.

Do you have any idea the kind of shit I’ve put up with to get here?

There are more women in the garages these days, but when I was starting out, that wasn’t the case.

And Brown women? Forget it. I was top in my class at uni, and yet I took a job at Pinnacle , because it was the only team that would hire me. ”

“I’m sorry.” Violet tore her pastry into pieces. “And I can’t imagine Oscar made it any easier.”

Rabia scoffed. “He was a fucking nightmare. And I didn’t dare say a word because as bad as this team was, at least I was here .

But if Hammond’s decided he’s done with us …

honestly, I should just give it up. Move over to aerospace and be done with all this racing nonsense.

Nine to five in an office, home with Rajan every night, watch the races on the telly like normal people. ”

Her words were at odds with her eyes, so full of frustration and sadness.

Walking away from racing would kill her, for all those same reasons Chase had given her back at that bar in Eldham months ago.

People who worked in racing did it for one reason—because this sport was buried in their souls.

Their hearts beat in time with the roar of the engines.

Fuck this. Fuck all of it. They’d all worked so hard, and for nothing. So some investor class assholes could strip them for parts. It wasn’t fair, and she hated—absolutely hated —feeling helpless to prevent it.

She was good at one thing. And that was her job.

If she wanted or needed something done, she just kept pushing until it happened, like making Chase a star, like yeeting Oscar Davies into the sun, like pummeling this ragtag team into something marginally competitive. So why not now?

“Rabia, maybe I’m delusional, but what if we could convince Carter not to sell?”

“You want Carter Hammond to keep running a Formula One team?”

“Why not? We’re figuring out how to make it work, aren’t we?”

“Carter’s not interested in racing, Violet. I can’t imagine finding an angle that suddenly makes him interested.”

Violet’s mind raced as she flew through every angle she could think of. “He likes good press, though. He’s been paying attention. What if we pitched him? On what we could be? Every Pinnacle success is a Hammond success.”

“Do you think he’d really go for that?”

“I have no idea, but we won’t know until we try. Are you in?”

Rabia threw her hands in the air. “Why not? What the fuck do we have to lose?”

The jolt of inspiration, of purpose, had powered her through the rest of the afternoon, but once she was back in her hotel room, all alone, the walls began to press in on her.

She put in her earbuds and blasted some Black Flag, but it didn’t bring the release it usually did.

A vodka on the rocks didn’t help. Neither did two. She felt restless and unsettled.

So she decided to do what she always did when she wanted to get out of her own head—she went out.

ILM Cloud Storage was considering sponsoring Pinnacle next season, and Zak, the company rep who’d come to the race weekend, had invited her to a party they were hosting at Mexico City’s Museum of Modern Art.

She hadn’t planned on going, but as she pulled up, she was sure this was just what she needed.

It was hard to get lost in your own head when you were lost in a crowd.

Inside the museum, the lights had been dimmed, and throbbing techno music was being piped into every room. The crowd was pretty sedate, but at least there was a crowd. And champagne. She plucked a flute from the tray of a passing server as she made her way through the room.

“Hey, look who it is!” Zak’s eyes lit up when he spotted her. She didn’t miss the quick perusal he’d made of her body. She’d thought she’d caught a vibe from him earlier, and now she was sure of it.

He wasn’t bad-looking. Decently tall, with thick dark brown hair and a square jaw. He was a bit sporty and laddish for her taste, but he’d be a distraction, at least.

“Couldn’t stay away,” she said.

He reached out to wrap a hand around her upper arm as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. The warm rasp of his palm and the pressure of his fingertips sent an unpleasant jolt through her body, and suddenly she had to fight down the impulse to yank her arm back.

“You’re looking stunning tonight, Violet.”

Her throat closed up around any witty reply she might have made, so she just forced out a smile and threw back the rest of her champagne.

Surely this would get easier? She was just out of practice after no one but Chase for all these months.

Chase.

Suddenly it was hard to draw in a full breath, like her chest was caving in on itself.

Zak had moved closer, all into her personal space. “What do you say we get out of here?” he murmured in her ear.

Hot, moist breath on her neck, his fingers caressing her arm … a shudder ripped down her spine and she squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation, against the almost overwhelming urge to run away from Zak, run away from this party, run away from—

“Violet?”

Her eyes snapped back open. “Will!”

He was standing a few feet away, one hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other gripping a champagne flute. The stupid flood of relief she felt at the sight of him was unreal.

He glanced between her and Zak. “You okay?”

Zak held his hands up and grinned. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was poaching on the world champion’s turf.”

Another shudder of revulsion rippled through her. Honestly, what the fuck was she thinking?

“I’m not turf. He’s my friend’s fiancé.”

“Oh, well then—”

When he reached out for her again, she sidestepped him, grabbing for Will’s arm instead. “Glad I found you, Will. Something to … um, discuss.”

“Sure thing,” he said, turning them both away and propelling them through the crowd.

“Hey, Violet—”

Zak’s protest was swallowed up by the crowd.

“Thanks for that,” she muttered.

Will shrugged. “You looked like you needed a rescue.”

Had she? She could always handle herself with men. Why had that suddenly felt so different? So wrong?

“Um, is Mira here?” Maybe she just needed to spill her guts to Mira and get her take.

“She’s at an event with her dad tonight. Do you need me to call her for you?”

She shook her head and forced out a smile. “It’s not that serious.”

Will stopped walking and turned to face her, eyeing her in a way that made her feel twitchy. All that concern .

“You sure?” he asked.

“I think I need another drink,” she muttered.

“I think you need more than a drink, but we’ll start there.”

As a waiter passed, Will snagged a glass of champagne from his tray and pressed it into her hands. “Now, wanna tell me what’s bothering you? Where’s Chase?”