Page 40 of Racing for Redemption
Violet’s expression doesn’t change, but something cools in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear it, Nicholas. Your feedback will becrucialduring testing.” She’s diplomatic enough not to call him out.But hell if that comment didn’t almost make me laugh. She has a deadpan brand of sarcasm that nearly sends me into a laughing fit.
She steps closer to the car, and I catch a hint of her perfume—something subtle and complex, like vanilla and blue lotus. It’s sweet, yet refined, without being obnoxious. My fingers twitch at my sides.
The way she moves is mesmerizing—precise, but never rigid, confident, but never arrogant. I watch her hands as she gestures to different parts of the car, the elegant movement of her fingers emphasizing her points.
“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 himfor 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 thoughshe’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?”
