Page 19 of Racing for Redemption
Chapter 7
Welcome to Colton Racing
Violet
The 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.Howdid 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.
