Page 67 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Securing the future

Violet

A soft knock on the door of my makeshift office in the motorhome breaks my reverie.

“Come in,” I call, straightening the lapels of my blazer.

James enters with his characteristic easy confidence, his hair pulled back in that neat bun that’s become his trademark in the paddock.

He’s changed since I first met him—still intense, but with a quiet serenity that comes from guiding a driver through the tumultuous waters of Formula 1 and seeing them succeed.

“Violet,” he greets me warmly, extending his hand. “Always a pleasure. ”

I shake his hand firmly. “Likewise, James. Thank you for making time before the race weekend properly begins.”

“For William’s future? I’d make time at 3 AM if needed. The kid deserves it.” He settles into the chair across from me. “So, end of the season. End of contract.”

I don’t waste time with small talk. “Let’s get straight to it. This season has been a learning curve for everyone, but William has exceeded our expectations.”

James nods, his expression neutral but attentive.

“The points finish in Melbourne,” I continue, “the podium at Silverstone—these aren’t flukes. They’re glimpses of what he can achieve with the right machinery, and the right team behind him.” I lean forward slightly. “And I believe Colton Racing is that team.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” James asks, though the glint in his eye tells me he already knows.

“A multi-year contract. Three years, minimum.” I slide the folder toward him. “We want to build the team around William. He’s shown the maturity, the speed, and the dedication we need to climb back to where Colton Racing belongs.”

James flips through the contract, scanning the figures. Then he laughs—a genuine, surprised sound.

“What’s funny?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t expect anything less from you, Violet. Direct and ambitious.” He closes the folder. “But I’m pleased. I’ve watched William mature since joining the team. Those anger management issues from his F2 days? Gone. He’s happier, more focused.”

I keep my expression neutral, though my pulse quickens at the unspoken implication. “He’s found his place.”

“More than that.” James leans back, studying me. “He’s found purpose. I haven’t seen him this passionate about racing since his F4 days. He’s putting in extra hours in the simulator, working with engineers late into the night, and mentoring Ethan like he’s been doing it for years.”

Pride blooms in my chest. “He’s a natural leader when he wants to be.”

“Indeed.” James pauses, and I know what’s coming next. “I should be transparent, Violet. I’m aware that things between you two have… evolved since Melbourne.”

I don’t flinch. “And?”

“And nothing. It’s not my business.” He shrugs. “But as his manager, I need to ensure that William’s desire to stay with Colton Racing is about more than just proximity to you. And that your desire to keep him isn’t clouded by personal feelings.”

The question stings, though it’s fair. I’ve asked myself the same thing during sleepless nights.

“I understand your concern,” I reply carefully. “But I run this team based on results and potential, not personal attachments. William has proven his worth on track. That’s why I want him in that seat for the next three years.”

James nods. “And what about William’s concerns? The car development, the financial stability of the team? ”

“We’re making progress on both fronts.” I shift forward, passion bleeding into my voice despite my best efforts. “The points we’ve scored this season have already improved our standing for prize money. And we’ve secured a title sponsor for next year.”

“Belforte Construction?” James asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. I’ve personally overseen the due diligence.

” I don’t mention the hours spent investigating Silas Belforte’s mafia connections, traveling to meet our Italian lawyers conducting the investigation, ensuring his money is clean enough for our purposes.

“Their funding will allow us to accelerate our development program significantly.”

James considers this for a long moment, then reaches for a pen from his jacket pocket. “William trusts you, Violet. He believes in what you’re building here.” He pauses, hovering over the contract. “And so do I.”

Relief washes through me as he signs his part of the contract. Eight million guaranteed, with performance bonuses that could push it to fourteen million over three years. A substantial investment, but one I believe will pay dividends as we climb the Constructors’ standings.

“Welcome to the next chapter of Colton Racing,” I say as we both stand to shake hands again.

James’ grip is firm. “Just one more thing,” he says, his tone light, but his expression serious. “Take care of him—both the driver and the man. I like him a lot, almost like a younger brother, and I would prefer not to see him broken. ”

The words hang between us, acknowledgment of the dual relationship I’ve found myself navigating with William. I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. And I silently thank James for not judging any of that.

After he leaves, I remain at my desk, tracing the partially signed contract. Only William’s signature left. But that’s one piece of the puzzle secured. William stays. The thought brings a warmth that has nothing to do with business strategy.

My phone buzzes with a message from Blake, reminding me about the press release for Ethan’s announcement.

We’ve prepared it carefully, emphasizing Ethan’s potential while thanking Nicholas for his contribution to the team.

Not that Nicholas deserves much gratitude after his childish reaction to being replaced.

Or the years he spent with the team enjoying more DNFs than race finishes.

I send back a quick confirmation, then pull up the mock-up for our new livery with the Belforte Construction logo prominently displayed.

Silas Belforte had been unexpectedly charming during our negotiations—dangerous in that distinctly Italian mafioso way, but with a genuine passion for racing that makes me trust his commitment to the team.

The sponsor is lined up.

The drivers are secured.

The technical department is finally making real progress after years of stagnation.

For the first time since taking over this team, we’re truly moving forward rather than just treading water.

The board of directors can’t touch me now—not with these developments, not with the upward trajectory we’re on.

Only if something freaky happens will I again be under the looming threat of being sacked.

There’s one more thing I want to do. Something I’ve been feeling, thinking about more and more over these past months. Something that has nothing to do with contracts, or sponsors, or team management.

After the contract was promptly signed by an ecstatic William, I stand at the head of the table, champagne flute in hand, surveying the faces around me.

My team. My family, in many ways. The glow of the private dining room softens their features, casting warm light over tired smiles and bright eyes.

Abu Dhabi is behind us now—not our finest showing, but not our worst, either.

What matters is that we’re here, together, at the end of a season that began with whispers of failure, and ended with the promise of something better.

Nicholas is notably absent, already seen cozying up to the Vortex Satellite crew before we’d even left the paddock. His empty chair is a reminder of changes to come. Good changes.

I clear my throat, and the hum of conversation dies down. All eyes turn to me, expectant. William’s gaze is particularly intense, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth .

“Before we dive into this excellent food that I’m absolutely not paying for out of my own pocket,” I begin, drawing chuckles from around the table, “I want to thank each of you for your extraordinary work this season.”

Blake raises his glass in a silent toast, and others follow suit.

“When we started this year, the board gave me an ultimatum—improve, or get out. I was bold and promised P8.” I don’t sugarcoat it; they all know the stakes we’ve been playing for.

“And while we might not have set the world on fire, we’ve moved from P10 to P8 in the Constructors’.

That’s progress after years being in last place. ”

A small cheer erupts from the engineering corner of the table. Johnson, our head engineer, beams with pride despite the exhaustion evident in the lines around his eyes.

“We scored points in Melbourne—” I continue.

“Even if they were technically disqualified,” Tom interrupts with a grin, causing William to roll his eyes dramatically.

“Yes, well.” I smirk. “Some people just have very punchable faces, don’t they, William?”

The room erupts in laughter as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “In my defense, Dominic had it coming.”

“He absolutely did,” I agree. I’ve been holding it in for months, and honestly, I would have loved to have my fist connecting with Dominic’s jaw. “And let’s not forget Silverstone—our first podium in a decade. This was a year of many ‘ firsts in a decade’ for us.”

More cheers, and Ethan watches William with blatant admiration. The kid has integrated seamlessly with the team, his enthusiasm infectious.

“We’ve laid the groundwork for this year,” I say, my voice softening with sincerity. “Next season, we build on it. With new partnerships, new talent”—I nod toward Ethan—“and the continued dedication of everyone in this room, Colton Racing is on its way back.”

I raise my glass higher. “To Colton Racing. To each of you. And to what comes next.”