Page 10 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Welcome to Colton Racing

Violet

T he roar of jet engines fades as I stride through Heathrow’s arrivals hall, my mind already racing ahead to the meeting. Blake waits by the sliding doors, his usually impeccable suit slightly rumpled from what I suspect was a long night at the office.

“Welcome back,” he says, reaching for my carry-on. “How was Bali?”

“Too sunny. Too short,” I reply, handing him the bag. “Any updates?”

Blake falls into step beside me as we head for the parking garage. “Foster’s manager has been pushing hard for this meeting for over a week. They’re being tight-lipped about the agenda, but…”

“But you have theories,” I finish, glancing at him.

He nods, a glimmer of excitement peeking through his exhaustion. “I do. But, let’s wait until we’re in the car. ”

Sponsors jumping ship. Potential ones not wanting to be associated with us. The board growing restless. Nicholas’ manager demanding a contract extension despite his abysmal performance. Now, it’s William Foster’s camp wanting a meeting out of nowhere.

We peel out of the parking garage, the Taycan’s electric motor humming softly as we merge onto the highway. The early morning traffic is light, the sky a palette of pinks and oranges as the sun crawls above the horizon. For a change, it’s a nice day in the UK.

“Alright, Blake,” I say, eyes fixed on the road. “Let’s hear those theories.”

He shifts in his seat, tablet balanced on his knee. “Well, Foster’s F2 season ended in disaster. He’s burned bridges with half the paddock, he had an altercation with you in front of the cameras, and his reputation is in tatters. But his raw talent is undeniable.”

I nod, remembering the fierce determination in Foster’s eyes during our confrontation. “You think he’s looking for a seat.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Blake confirms. “He’s desperate, and we’re… Well…”

“Also desperate,” I finish, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not exactly a match made in heaven.”

“He’s a good shot for us. The best one, I reckon. Still, his behavior leaves a lot to be desired,” Blake adds.

I mull over the possibilities. Foster in a Colton Racing car. The hot-headed F2 almost-champion paired with the struggling legacy team. It’s a powder keg waiting to explode. And, somehow, I see some appeal in that.

The Colton Racing headquarters looms ahead. As I pull into my reserved spot, I can’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation. Well, I stopped my vacation for this; let’s hope he didn’t come here to trash my team again. Because this time around, I’m not taking it in stride.

The familiar glass doors slide open as I stride through, Blake at my heels. The receptionist is caught off guard.

“Ms. Colton! We weren’t expecting you back until—”

“Change of plans,” I cut her off, not breaking stride. “Is the conference room ready?”

She nods, flustered. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Foster and his manager arrived a few minutes ago. I thought Mr. Simmons was going to receive them…”

My step falters for just a moment. They’re early. Eager. Nervous. Or both.

I straighten my jacket, squaring my shoulders. “Right. Let’s not keep them waiting then.”

Trophy cases line the walls, a time capsule of triumphs past. I trace my fingers over dusty plaques, remembering. I experienced some of those recent wins. Fun. Hard fought. Deserved. How did we fall so low?

As we approach the conference room, I glimpse William through the glass walls. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his pockets. His manager sits calmly at the table, tapping away on his phone. The contrast is striking.

I pause, hand on the door handle. “Blake, let me handle this.”

He nods, stepping back. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door, the creak echoing in the silent room.

William spins around, his eyes locking onto mine.

His jaw is set, and his shoulders are tense, as if he’s bracing for impact.

Yet, behind the defiant glare, his brows are slightly knit together, hinting at a flicker of uncertainty.

“Ms. Colton.” His manager rises, extending a hand. “James Pierce, William's manager. Thank you for welcoming us on such short notice.”

I shake his hand firmly. “Mr. Pierce. Mr. Foster.” I nod in the driver’s direction. He gives a curt nod back.

As I take my seat, I sense William’s gaze on me. I was not expecting this level of tension coming from a meeting that they requested.

“So,” I begin, folding my hands on the table. “To what do I owe this… unexpected pleasure?”

James clears his throat. “Ms. Colton, we’ll cut straight to the chase. William is interested in driving for Colton Racing next season.”

I arch an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Is that so? Last I checked, Mr. Foster said our team is a laughingstock. What changed? ”

William flinches, but stays silent. James smoothly steps in. “Circumstances have changed for both parties, I believe. We think this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Meaning, “No one wants him, so now, you’re our only chance at a seat in F1.” I can work with this. They are more desperate than I thought.

I lean back, studying William. His jaw is tight, eyes burning with a mix of desperation and determination. He's not even hiding it.

“And what makes you think Colton Racing needs William Foster?” I ask, my tone deliberately cool.

His patience snaps. He leans forward, palms flat on the table. “Because I’m the best damn driver you’re going to get, and you know it. Colton, your team is going downhill fast. I’m offering you a lifeline.”

James winces, but I hold up a hand to stop his intervention. I lock eyes with William, feeling a searing, electric charge between us like a live wire sparking in the air and hitting really close to the water on the floor.

“A lifeline?” I repeat, my voice deceptively soft. “That’s a bold claim, Mr. Foster. Especially from someone who just finished as a runner-up in F2. Again. Against weak competition.”

William’s eyes flash with indignation, but he doesn’t back down. “At least I finished on the podium several times throughout the season. When was the last time Colton Racing scored a single point? ”

The barb stings, but I don’t let it show.

Instead, I lean forward, mirroring his posture.

“You’re right. We’re struggling. But what makes you think you’re the solution?

Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Foster.

You're prone to… outbursts.” I glance pointedly at James, recalling the confrontation in the paddock and how he was the one to stop it.

His knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table. For a moment, I think he might explode again. But then, something shifts in his expression. The fire dims, replaced by a weariness I recognize all too well.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, surprising me.

“I’ve made mistakes. Burned bridges. But I’m not asking for charity here, Violet .

I’m offering you raw talent, a chip on the shoulder, and a hunger to prove everyone wrong.

Something tells me you understand that better than most.” Then, my jaw drops.

He gets on his knees. "I'll do anything.

Minimal salary, can even wash the cars. Just… give me this opportunity, Violet."

The use of my first name catches me off guard. I lean back, studying him. The bravado is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that is achingly familiar. Now, guilt surfaces for making a young man grovel for a seat.

James clears his throat, breaking the tension and awkwardness of the moment. “Perhaps we could discuss potential terms? I have some ideas that could benefit both parties.”

I hold up a hand, silencing him. My eyes never leave William’s. “Before we get into any of that, I need to know one thing, Mr. Foster. Why Colton Racing? Really? ”

William holds my gaze, his voice low and intense. “Because everyone’s written us both off. You. Me. This team. They say we’re finished. We’re the laughingstock in and out of the paddock. And I want to prove them all wrong.”

A long moment passes as I weigh his words. Finally, I nod, the start of something dangerous and thrilling igniting in my chest.

“Alright, Mr. Foster,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“But...” I pause, holding his gaze. “I need to make one thing crystal clear. If we do this, you work for me. Not the other way around. I won’t tolerate any more paddock tantrums, or social media meltdowns.

You toe the line, or you’re out. Understood? ”

William grits his teeth, but he nods. “Understood.”

I turn to James. “Now, about those terms…”

As James launches into his proposal, I study William from the corner of my eye. The fire is back in his gaze, tempered now with something similar to… respect? It’s a start.

An hour later, we’ve hammered out the broad strokes of a deal; a one-year contract with a possibility for an extension of two additional years, performance-based bonuses, and strict behavior clauses. As James and I shake hands, William stands.

“Ms. Colton,” he says, his voice gruff. “A word in private?”

James raises an eyebrow, but I nod. “Of course. My office.”

As we walk down the corridor, the silence between us is deafening. Inside my office, I close the door and turn to face William. He’s standing by the window, hands shoved in his pockets, staring out at the Colton Racing test track.

“Well?” I prompt .

He turns, his expression conflicted. “I… I wanted to apologize. For my behavior in Abu Dhabi. It was unprofessional and… Well, you didn’t deserve that.”

The admission catches me off guard. I study him, searching for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, I nod slowly.

“An apology? From you?”

William’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Yes. Look, I know I have a reputation for being reckless, and a bit of a hothead, but I promise I’m committed to making this work. For the team and myself. I need this.”