Page 103 of Kiss & Collide
“It’s now or never.”
“Do you really think we have a shot at this?” Rabia asked.
Violet shrugged. “Probably not? But look at it this way, if we fail, we’re no worse off than we already are.” And Violet felt weirdly … hopeful, after everything with Chase.
Rabia drew in a deep breath. “Right. I’ve updated my CV. Just in case.”
Violet barked a laugh. “Good plan. Wait here. I’ll see if I can get him.”
She summoned every ounce of her confidence—earned and aspirational—and strode toward Carter’s group. She was going to need all of it to pull this off.
Carter Hammond was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His hair had gone completely white, but it didn’t age him. She knew he was nearly seventy, but he carried himself like a man two decades younger. There were hints of Reece in his face, but where Reece was soft and flushed, Carter was lean and as chiseled as granite.
He turned to face her as she approached.
“Mr. Hammond, I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you. Could we steal you for a few minutes?”
He gave one brisk nod of his chin. “Gentlemen, business calls. Lead the way, Ms. Harper.”
She ignored the butterflies in her stomach as she led Carter down a hallway to a small conference room at the back of the hospitality suite. Usually, it was where department heads met when they needed to work through lunch or dinner, or if a sponsor had a pitch to make. Today it was carefully set up for a very different sort of presentation.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked Carter. Behind him, Rabia nervously stuffed her hands into her pockets, then pulled them back out and smoothed down the front of her gray Pinnacle button-down shirt.
“Whiskey, please.”
Violet licked her lips, trying to dispel her nerves as she poured him a hefty glass of thirty-year Laphroaig. Might as well grease the wheels with the good stuff.
She handed him his glass and motioned to Rabia. “You’ve met Rabia Dar, Pinnacle’s chief technical officer.”
“Briefly. Replaced Davies after that ugliness came to light, right?”
“Rabia’s been with Pinnacle for ten years. She’s instrumental to our success so far this season.”
“Not much of that, is there? Pinnacle’s what … last?”
“The team is currently ranked ninth, actually, but Dieter Gruber is ranked seventeenth and Chase Navarro is currently twelfth, which is remarkable, considering how new he is to the team.”
Carter chuckled. “Okay, Ms. Harper, let’s have it.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“I know the windup to a pitch when I hear it. What are you here to propose?”
Violet glanced to Rabia, who nodded tightly.
“Why don’t we sit down, Mr. Hammond?” Rabia said, motioning to the glossy mahogany conference table behind them. “We have some information we’d like to go over with you.”
Forty minutes later, the conference table was littered with printouts, and the wide-screen TVs mounted around the room, which usually just aired the race live stream, were populated with spreadsheets and design specs cast from Rabia’s iPad.
Despite not knowing a single thing about auto racing, Carter Hammond had kept up with the dense flood of information admirably. Violet had to concede, he’d earned his place in the business world with his brains. Nothing got by him.
“I will admit, Ms. Dar, that the designs you’ve shown me for next year’s car do look intriguing, to the extent I understand them. That’s some pretty sophisticated engineering.”
“You’ve picked up a lot more than most newbies do.”
“And you don’t really need to understand the mechanics of it to appreciate the data coming out of the simulator sessions.” Violet slid the spreadsheet of sim times back in front of him. “Compared to this year’s times, you can see the remarkable improvement.”
“But as I understand it, this car”—he tapped the paper—“is still theoretical?”
