Page 21 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

“The board is expecting results this season,” she says, addressing all of us, but somehow, I sense she’s speaking directly to me.

“We’ve invested significantly in these developments.

We don’t have a massive budget, but it’s already more invested in a car this year than in the previous two years.

Our goal is to be fighting with the midfield cars, stop being a backmarker and try to get our first points finish. ”

“We’re ready to deliver.” I look directly into her eyes. Back straight. Chin up. Confident. I know what I can give to the team. I just hope the car has a good core, and I’ll extract the rest of the performance myself.

“William,” Johnson murmurs, nudging me. “Why don’t you talk us through what you’re seeing? Might give us some additional insights.”

I move around the car again, focusing on the technical elements, pointing out the details that catch my eye.

As I speak, Violet is clearly listening, her head tilted slightly.

There’s intelligence in her gaze—not just understanding, but analysis.

She’s not just the late Frederick Colton’s daughter who inherited the team; she knows this sport.

“The front wing elements are more intricate than last year,” I observe. “More adjustment range, too, I’m guessing?”

Violet nods. “Good eye. We’ve increased the adjustment range by fifteen percent. Should give us more tuning options through a race weekend. We dealt with too many problems because of that last year.”

I lift a brow and can't help but ask, "You know about engineering?"

"I know about a lot of stuff. This is one of my side passions." Our eyes meet again, and this time, there’s something close to approval in her gaze. A smile slowly settles on my face. I’m having fun. And I love the fact that she recognizes my attention to detail.

“How’s the weight?” I ask. “Last year, the team was almost over the maximum at most races.”

“Just right,” Blake answers. “Shaved off eight kilograms through material optimization.”

“Which means we can place ballast more strategically,” Violet adds.

Nicholas yawns pointedly. “Fascinating stuff. Really.”

Violet’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly.

The tension in her shoulders is evident, the subtle clench of her jaw.

She’s stressed about something, trying not to show it.

And Nicholas is not helping. For what it’s worth, I’ve been working with him for a couple of hours and can no longer deal with him.

I’m close to punching him in the face to see if he shuts up and stops being a disrespectful, entitled prick.

Despite her composed exterior, there’s a frenetic energy about her, like she’s calculating a thousand variables simultaneously.

“Blake,” she says, checking her watch. “We should head to that meeting.”

He nods. “Right. The conference call.”

Violet turns to Nicholas and me. “The car’s unveiling is next week. And testing begins in two weeks in Barcelona. I expect both of you to be thoroughly prepared.” Her gaze lingers on Nicholas. “That means simulator time, Nicholas. Not nightclub time.”

Nicholas forces a smile. “Yes, boss.”

“William,” she continues, her tone softening slightly. “Johnson tells me you’ve been putting in extra hours. I've also seen the data from the simulator. It’s noticed and appreciated.”

A ridiculous surge of happiness floods through me at those simple words. “Just doing my job.”

“Nevertheless.” She offers that small smile again. “If you have any additional feedback before testing, my door is open.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nods once, then turns to Blake. “We should head out now.”

As they speak about logistics, I study her profile surreptitiously. She’s fidgety. Changing her weight from one foot to the other. Yet, there’s a carefully contained energy about her, as though she’s holding back enthusiasm—or perhaps afraid to hope too much.

I recognize that feeling; the superstitious fear that allowing yourself to believe things might go well will somehow jinx it.

“How are you two getting along?” Violet asks suddenly, her attention back to Nicholas and me.

Nicholas drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Like brothers already, right, Will?”

I resist the urge to shrug off his arm. “It’s William,” I correct him immediately. “And we’re finding our rhythm.”

Violet’s eyes narrow slightly, seeing more than I’d like. “Good. Team harmony is essential this season. We can’t afford internal rivalries, or ego clashes.”

“Absolutely,” Nicholas agrees, with his media-ready smile.

I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak honestly without revealing the friction between us.

“We should go,” Blake says, checking his watch. “Johnson, can you finish up here?”

“Of course,” he agrees. “I’ll walk the drivers through the rest of the changes.”

Violet gives the car one last look—almost tender, like a parent watching their child sleep—before turning to leave.

I watch her go, trying not to be obvious about it. The way she walks—confident, determined, like someone with purpose.

“Ice queen strikes again,” Nicholas mutters once they’re out of earshot. “Would it kill her to lighten up a bit? ”

I frown. “She’s running a Formula 1 team. It’s not exactly a lightweight job.”

“She’s been like that since she took over,” Nicholas continues, leaning against the car despite Johnson’s wince. “Cold, demanding, impossible to please. The previous CEO was fun to be around, at least.”

“The previous CEO ran this team into the ground,” I counter, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Nicholas shrugs. “But he knew how to throw a party. Violet Colton wouldn’t know fun if it ran her over in the pitlane.”

My eye twitches. After our confrontation in the marketing studio, you’d think he’d watch his mouth. But no, this guy really loves the attention. And he’s getting on my nerves. I’m dreading being around him for 9 months. “She’s focused on turning this team around, not entertaining you.”

“Whatever you say, Will.” Nicholas pushes off from the car. “Just warning you—don’t expect any warmth from that quarter. They don’t call her the ice queen for nothing.”

“She’s trying to save the team,” I say, my voice hard.

“Yeah, yeah. Noble cause and all that.” Nicholas waves dismissively. “But would it kill her to smile once in a while? To act like a normal human being instead of a robot in designer suits?”

The unfairness of his assessment makes my blood simmer. He doesn’t see what I see—the weight she carries, the determination that drives her, the flashes of passion that slip through her professional facade when she talks about the team’s potential .

A queen , I think. She’s a queen. Powerful, smart, beautiful, and unwilling to back down in the face of adversity. She’s fighting to preserve her father’s legacy, while proving herself in a paddock full of men waiting for her to fail. She's fucking amazing, if you ask me.

She can be an ice queen if that’s what it takes. I’d follow her, regardless.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, I turn back to Johnson. “Tell me more about the power unit mapping. Any changes to fuel consumption strategies from last year?”

As Johnson launches into the technical details, I force myself to focus on the information rather than the lingering scent of vanilla in the air, or the memory of Violet’s almost-smile when she said my observations were impressive.

I’m here to race. To rebuild my reputation. To grab this one chance at F1 with both hands and prove I belong.

Not to notice the way my Team Principal’s eyes light up when she looks at the car that represents her family’s legacy. Not to wonder what it would take to make her actually smile… at me.

Definitely not that.