Page 28 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Generational rivalry

Violet

I take a deep breath, smoothing my violet-accented suit jacket.

The door looms before me, a barrier between the calm of the hallway, and the chaos that awaits.

My first pre-season press conference as Colton Racing’s Team Principal.

My heart thunders. I’m a bit nauseous, and my palms are sweaty, but I force my face into a mask of composure.

I push the door open.

A sea of faces turn toward me. Flashes pop. Microphones thrust forward like accusatory fingers.

“Ms. Colton! Over here!”

“Violet, a moment, please!”

I smile, tight-lipped, and make my way to the long table at the front of the room. My heels click against the floor, each step mirroring a calm I’m lacking internally. I take my seat between Dominic Harrington of Vortex Racing, and Marco Baretta of Baretta Racing .

Dominic’s cologne wafts over, cloying and overpowering. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. This guy smells worse than a grandma’s closet.

The moderator clears his throat. “Welcome, everyone. We’ll begin with opening statements from each Team Principal, starting with the reigning champions, Vortex Racing.”

Dominic leans forward, his smile predatory. “Vortex Racing is poised for another dominant season. With James Farrant at the wheel, and our superior technology, we’ll be leaving the competition in the dust.”

His gaze slides to me, challenging. What's the matter with him?

The questions begin, a rapid-fire assault. I field them with practiced ease, my responses crisp and professional. But as the minutes tick by, a shift occurs. The atmosphere grows charged, tense. They start their attack.

A reporter turns to me. “Ms. Colton, how do you respond to concerns that Colton Racing lacks the resources to compete at the highest level?”

Before I can answer, Dominic interjects. “I think we all know Colton Racing is… How shall I put this… Punching above their weight class.”

I try to keep my eye from twitching and force a smile. “Colton Racing has a long history of innovation and success. We may not have the biggest budget, but we have heart, determination, and a talented team. ”

Dominic scoffs. “Heart doesn’t win races, Ms. Colton. Neither does nepotism.”

The room goes silent.

My cheeks burn, but I keep my voice level. “I earned my position through hard work and experience, Mr. Harrington. Just as I’m sure you earned yours.”

He narrows his gaze. Everyone knows he didn’t attain that position through traditional methods. He was sleeping with the owner’s daughter, eventually marrying her and inheriting the team.

The battle lines are drawn.

As the questions continue, Dominic takes every opportunity to undermine me, his comments growing increasingly pointed. I parry each thrust, but inside, my anger simmers.

I will not let him see me falter. I will not give him the satisfaction. Hell no .

The press conference drags on, each question feeling like a minefield. I scan the room, taking in the other Team Principals. To my left sits Marco Baretta from Baretta Racing, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.

“We’re aiming for consistent top 10 finishes this season,” Marco announces, his Italian accent thick with excitement.

“Our new aerodynamics package shows promise, and both drivers are hungry for success.

Felix Becker is particularly excited about this season as well!

He's on his last year of contract, so we're looking into renewing with him. ”

I nod, appreciating his respectful tone. No jabs, no backhanded compliments. Just pure, unbridled ambition.

To my far left side, Victor Bronte from Klip Motorsports, and Yuki Tanaka from Velocity Racing, exchange glances. Their teams, like mine, struggle at the latter half of the grid. If anything, this season, they are the ones we should consistently beat on track.

Victor leans forward. “Klip is focusing on incremental improvements. We may not be fighting for podiums yet, but we’re committed to moving forward.”

Yuki nods in agreement. “Velocity shares a similar philosophy. Our goal is steady progress, building a foundation for future success. We know we’re still not where we want to be, but the way is up.”

A sense of kinship surfaces. We’re all fighting an uphill battle, yet, there’s no animosity, no attempts to tear each other down.

A sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. “While the… lesser teams focus on participation trophies, Vortex Racing has our sights set on championship glory. Again.”

Dominic’s words drip with condescension. I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting iron. Stay calm, Violet. Don’t let him bait you.

But as the questions continue, I can’t shake the feeling that this is more than mocking. Dominic’s attacks feel personal, calculated to rattle me.

Why? What’s his endgame?

I straighten my shoulders, meeting his gaze with steely determination. Whatever game he’s playing, I refuse to be a pawn .

Dominic leans back, a smug smile playing at his lips.

“Vortex Racing isn’t just a team—we’re a dynasty.

Three consecutive Constructors’ Championships, and our star, James Farrant, gunning for his fourth World Title.

” He pauses, savoring the attention. “We’ve secured groundbreaking sponsorships that will further improve our state of the art tech.

The competition?” He chuckles. “They’re racing for second place… or last.”

Damn, this man really loves his own voice. I grit my teeth. The arrogance radiating off him is suffocating.

A reporter turns to me. “Violet, your thoughts on Colton Racing’s prospects this season?”

I force a smile, willing my voice to remain steady. “We’re focused on consistent growth. Our new car shows promise in simulations, and we’re excited about the potential.”

“Any specifics on the improvements?” presses another journalist.

I shake my head. “We prefer to let our performance on track do the talking. But I can say we’ve made significant strides in aerodynamics, and power unit efficiency.”

“And your new driver, William Foster?”

My smile becomes genuine. “William brings fresh energy and perspective to the team. His feedback has already proven invaluable in development.”

Dominic scoffs, barely audible. I ignore him, determined not to let him rattle me.

"Our goal," I continue, "is to be consistently within the top 15. If there aren’t any freak situations, and the circuits suit our package, we may be fighting for some points.

However, I don't want to oversell it. We’re building something special at Colton Racing, but it'll take a while until we become a menace for the top teams.”

Sensing Dominic’s stare boring into me, I keep my gaze locked on the reporters. This is my moment, and I won’t let him steal it.

A new reporter leans forward, his gaze uncomfortably focused on me. “Miss Colton, as the only female Team Principal, do you feel added pressure to prove yourself in this male-dominated sport?”

The question hits like a slap. Heat rises in my cheeks, but I force it down.

Why aren't you asking the men ‘how does it feel to be a man in the sport’? Deep breath. Smile. Rise above them. “There’s pressure to deliver results, just like with any Team Principal. My gender doesn’t factor into our performance on track. ”

He persists. “But surely, being a woman in this position—”

“Being a woman,” I interject smoothly, “gives me a unique perspective. Diversity drives innovation. Our focus is on building the best car and team possible.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Dominic’s smirk. “Oh, come now,” he interrupts. “We all know Colton’s glory days are long past. Your father flew high but couldn’t keep up, and now…” He trails off, his implication clear.

I ball my hands into fists under the table. Don’t rise to it, Violet. Don’t let him see he’s getting to you.

The moderator clears his throat. “I think we’ve covered quite a bit of ground today. Thank you all for your time.”

As chairs scrape back, Dominic catches my eye, that infuriating smirk still in place. I turn away, gathering my notes, but his hand lands on my shoulder.

“A word, Ms. Colton?”

I steel myself, facing him. “What is it, Dominic?”

He leans in, voice low. “You know, it’s admirable, really. Trying to save Daddy’s sinking ship. But let’s be honest—you’re out of your depth.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Racing’s in my blood. You? You’re just playing dress-up in your father’s shoes.”

I open my mouth to retort, but he continues. “Face it, Violet. Colton Racing is a joke. Your drivers are mediocre, your tech is outdated, and you? Well, you’re just a pretty face trying to distract from the fact that your team is circling the drain.”

My blood boils. I want to scream, to punch that smug look off his face. But I can’t. Not here.

I clench my fists, nails digging into palms. Breathe. Stay calm. He's trying to get a rise out of you .

“Is that so, Dominic?” My voice is icy. “Funny, I didn’t realize you were so invested in our performance. A backmarker’s performance, would you look at that? Worried, perhaps?”

His gaze narrows, nostrils flaring. “Hardly.”

“Then why the constant attention? One might think you’re obsessed. ”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. Got him.

I lean in, voice low. “We may be down, but we’re far from out.

Underestimate us at your peril. When you least expect it, we’ll be there, winning the World Constructors’ and Drivers’ Championships.

” I pause and make the boldest claim ever.

But hell if I don’t want this to become true.

“3 years. Give us 3 years, and the story will be very different. Mark my words, Dominic.”

He scoffs, but I catch a flicker of doubt.

Suddenly, Blake appears at my side. “Violet, we need to go. Strategy meeting.”

He gently but firmly steers me away. As we exit, Dominic chuckles behind us.

In the hallway, I explode. “That arrogant, condescending and sexist bastard! I swear, Blake, I’ve never wanted to punch someone so badly in my life.”

Blake’s expression is sympathetic. “He’s playing mind games, Violet. Don’t let him get to you.”

“How can I not? He’s—”

“Trying to throw you off your game. Don’t give him that satisfaction.”

I take a deep breath, my fists still clenched. “I hate him. That smirk… God, I wish I could wipe it off his face. And that tone—”

Blake squeezes my shoulder. “You will. On the track. That’s where it counts. Not now, but we will.”

I nod, but inside, I’m seething. 3 years, Dominic Harrington. If my projections are right, give me 3 years, and I’ll make you eat those words.