Page 3 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

There will be no more meddling with a team with this much tradition and name in the sport. No more accepting pay drivers just to have some money in the bank. No more partnering with shady energy drink sponsors just for quick cash.

I want full control. Unfortunately, just like seeing this team winning again, it feels like a distant dream.

You can cut the tension with a knife. I hold my breath, waiting for their verdict.

Reeves leans back, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “You’ve got guts, Ms. Colton. I’ll give you that. For a moment, it was like Frederick was between us again. ”

He glances around the table, gauging the reactions of the other board members. Some look skeptical, others intrigued. One or two even seem impressed.

“Very well,” Reeves finally says. “You have until the end of next season to prove yourself. But make no mistake; we’ll be watching your every move. One wrong one, and you’re… out. ”

I nod, relief flooding through me. “Thank you, gentlemen. You won’t regret this.”

As I turn to leave, Reeves calls out, “One more thing, Ms. Colton.”

I pause, my hand on the door handle.

“Your father built this team on results, not promises. Remember that.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, but I keep my face neutral and flash a professional smile to counter them. “I always do, Mr. Reeves.”

I stride out of the boardroom. As the door closes behind me, I sag against the concrete wall, letting out a shaky breath. Hands trembling. Sweating.

Change gears, Violet. Change gears.

Walking down the pristine hallway of Colton Racing’s headquarters, each step is deliberate, even if rushed.

I grit my teeth as I push through the double doors into the main engineering bay in the factory section of our headquarters. The usual hum of activity dies down, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. I scan the room, my gaze sharp.

“Status report,” I demand, my voice crisp and cold .

Johnson, our lead engineer, steps forward. He hesitates, fidgeting with his tablet. “Ms. Colton, we’re still having issues with the—”

“Show me,” I cut him off, gesturing to the nearest workstation.

As he pulls up the schematics, a familiar tightness grips my chest. The pressure is crushing, but I can’t let it show. Not here. Not now. I’m going to break at any moment. I hate this—feeling powerless.

It seems no matter which direction I go, there is only negativity or bad things awaiting me. Things slip through my fingers. Opportunities are missed.

I lean in, studying the design flaws. My mind races, searching for solutions we haven’t tried. “Have we considered adjusting the rear wing angle? I heard Kevin mention that before he… ghosted us.”

Johnson blinks, surprised. “Oh, did he? We… haven’t explored that option yet.”

“Then do it,” I order, straightening up. “I want simulations run by tomorrow morning. We need to be proactive in improving the car for next season, not waiting until it crashes or self-destructs piece by piece.”

As I turn to leave, my reflection looks back at me on a nearby monitor.

My face is a mask of cool professionalism, but my eyes…

God , my eyes look tired. When was the last time I slept well?

A good eight hours, had some “me” time, or relaxed?

That seems like a distant dream. Since I took over at Colton Racing, it has been relentless.

Meetings.

Traveling to the races.

Parties to appease sponsors.

Groveling.

Dealing with the press.

There are no kind words to describe how I look right now.

I’m a husk with dark eye bags and a fancy suit, facing all the pressure of managing a Formula 1 team while playing all the backroom games, dealing with investors, and a board that has found a hobby in pestering me…

Giving up would be too easy, even though it sounds quite appealing.

But hell if I can’t and won’t give up. I’m too stubborn to go through that.

I push the thoughts away. There’s no time for weakness and doubt.

In the corridor, I nearly collide with Blake. He steadies me, concern etched on his face as he gently squeezes my arms. “Violet, you’ve been going non-stop since before the board meeting. Maybe you should—”

“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I intended.

He flinches, and I immediately regret it.

I force a polite smile. “Thank you for caring, Blake. But we have work to do.” He keeps up as we walk to my office.

“Simply put, the board hates my guts. They haven’t said it outright, but they want me out.

I proposed a crazy deal. Next season. Eighth place, or I’m out. ”

Blake widens his eyes. “Eighth? That’s… ”

“Ambitious? Impossible? A pipe dream?” I finish for him, my voice sharp.

“Pick your poison, Blake. It doesn’t matter.

It’s what we have to do. The strategy here was to give them a sense of power and control in the negotiation to ensure I bid more time for myself.

Now, I just need to be crazy and achieve this goal.

At least I’m holding on to this team for a while longer. ”

He nods, understanding both the gravity and urgency of the situation. “So, what’s our next move?”

I glance at my watch. “We have a meeting with potential sponsors in an hour. After that, compile a list of every available driver for next season. And I mean every driver , Blake. From F2 champions who never got a chance to be in F1, to IndyCar, DTM, LeMans, and even retired veterans. We can’t afford to be picky.

We need someone. Anyone at the moment with enough Super License points and willing to drive for us, ready to breathe new life into this team. ”

As we walk towards my office, my phone buzzes. I ignore it, putting it on silent, knowing it’s probably another meme or scathing article about our team’s downfall. Note to self, turning off all notifications related to Colton Racing. It is damaging me more than anything else.

“Oh, and Blake?” I add, pausing at my door. “I don’t want a single stone left unturned.”