Chapter 5 #2
"And how is our Team Principal handling all this progress?" Blake asks, his tone shifting to something gentler. "You've been pushing nonstop since you took over. I’ve not seen you take a break."
The question surprises me—a reminder that, beneath our professional relationship, Blake has known me since childhood, has watched me grow from Frederick Colton's headstrong daughter into the woman fighting to preserve his legacy.
"Seriously, Violet," Blake persists, his voice gentling in that way that always manages to slip past my defenses. "How are you? Not the Team Principal. You." His steady gaze makes evasion impossible. "You tend to forget about yourself."
I exhale slowly, allowing my shoulders to drop from their stiff alignment. "I'm tired," I admit, the words surprisingly freeing once spoken. "All this traveling after the end of the season and barely spending more than two minutes at my place is draining me."
Blake nods, his silence encouraging rather than pressing.
"But..." I continue, surprising myself with the lightness that enters my voice, "I'm taking next week off. Christmas through New Year's. A proper break."
Blake's eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "You're voluntarily stepping away from work?" He places a dramatic hand over his heart. "Should I call medical services?"
"Very funny." I try to look stern, but a smile tugs at my lips. "The factory is closed during the coming week, so I’ll try to change things around and relax for a change."
His expression shifts from teasing to genuinely curious. "What prompted this uncharacteristic bout of self-care? The last time you took voluntary leave was..." He pauses, thinking. "Actually, I can't remember the last time."
My gaze drops to the papers on my desk, suddenly finding the contract language fascinating. "I just need some time to recharge before testing begins."
"Mmhmm." Blake's response drips with skepticism. He studies me for a long moment before understanding dawns on his face. "Ah. This wouldn't happen to involve a certain tattooed driver with a penchant for trouble, would it?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks before I can control it. I open my mouth to deliver a professional deflection, but what emerges is a half-hearted, "That's not... I mean, it's not entirely..." My cheeks are on fire.
Blake's eyes widen with genuine surprise. "My God. You're blushing. Violet Colton is actually blushing."
"I am not," I protest, knowing full well I am. "It's warm in here."
"It's December in England. Nothing is warm. Weather is shitty." His expression softens into something almost tender. "I haven't seen you like this about anyone since that engineering student in university. What was his name?"
"We are not discussing that guy," I say firmly. "And this is entirely different."
"Different how?"
The question hovers between us, demanding more honesty than I usually permit myself in this office. I move to adjust the thermostat—a transparent excuse to escape Blake's perceptive gaze.
"William is..." I begin, then stop, unsure how to encapsulate something I've barely defined for myself. "He's complicated. Challenging. Infuriating sometimes."
"All qualities you've historically found attractive. You’re one to go after challenges, solve puzzles," Blake observes dryly.
I shoot him a look, but continue. "He's also sweet.
Gentle in ways that surprise me. He sees me, Blake.
Not just Team Principal Colton. Not Frederick's daughter.
Just... me. And I like it." The admission feels more revealing than I intended, so I add quickly, "And he's fun.
Has this ridiculous, almost childlike excitement about things.
Like a golden retriever who's just discovered tennis balls. "
Blake's laugh is warm and genuine. "That's quite the description of our number one driver."
"You know what I mean. He's intense and focused when it matters, but he doesn't take himself too seriously off the track. It's..." I search for the right word. "Refreshing."
"So you're spending Christmas with William." Blake says it matter-of-factly, not a question.
I nod, giving up the pretense of adjusting the thermostat and returning to my chair. "At his farmhouse. He invited me. Said neither of us should be alone for the holidays."
Something soft passes across Blake's features. "He's right about that."
"It's not a big deal," I say quickly, though we both know it is. "Just a few days away from everything. No pressure, no schedules."
"No board members, no media, no need to maintain professional distance," Blake adds, his tone gentle rather than teasing now. "Sounds exactly like what you need."
I look up, caught off-guard by his lack of judgment. "You don't think it's inappropriate? The Team Principal spending Christmas with her driver?"
Blake considers this as he takes a seat in the chair opposite mine.
"I think you spending Christmas with William is entirely appropriate.
Necessary, even." He leans forward slightly.
"You've dedicated everything to this team, to honoring your father's legacy.
But Frederick wanted you to have a life, too, you know. Not just achievements."
I lean back in my chair, and my chest constricts unexpectedly. "He said that to you?"
"Many times. After all, you were a one-track mind kid." Blake's eyes are kind, filled with memories I wish I could access. "He worried you'd inherit his single-mindedness without his capacity for joy. Said you were too much like him in all the difficult ways."
I blink rapidly, fighting an unexpected surge of emotion. "I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do." Blake reaches across the desk to pat my hand—a rare gesture from him. "I'm happy you won't be alone in that penthouse for Christmas. I've worried about that every year."
"I would have been fine," I say automatically.
"Being fine isn't the same as being happy." Blake's voice drops slightly. "William makes you happy. It's written all over your face when you talk about him."
I open my mouth to protest, but I can’t help but be honest. "He does," I admit quietly. "When he's not driving me absolutely insane with his recklessness."
"Sounds like a proper relationship to me." Blake's eyes crinkle with amusement. "Margaret still claims I'm the most aggravating person she's ever met, and we're celebrating thirty years together in February."
The comparison to his marriage makes my heart stutter, a reaction I choose not to examine too closely. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just Christmas. And we’re friends… Sort of."
"Of course." Blake agrees too easily, his knowing expression undermining his words. "Just Christmas. With the man who makes you blush like a schoolgirl at the mere mention of his name."
"I hate that you know me this well," I grumble, but there's no heat in it.
"Occupational hazard of watching you grow up." He stands, straightening his sweater with a satisfied expression. "Well, I fully support this development. Both professionally—a rested Team Principal makes better decisions—and personally."
"I wasn't asking for permission," I point out, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Didn't think you were. Nor do I want to tell you who to let into your life." Blake moves toward the door, then pauses. "But for what it's worth, I think you've chosen well. William may be a handful on paper, but he's a good man where it counts."
The simple approval warms me more than it should. "Yes," I agree softly. "He is." Even if, right now, I want to scold him for his reckless behavior that got him a black eye.
Blake reaches for the door handle. "I'm wrapping up the week early, so enjoy your week off, Violet. You've more than earned it."
Something in his tone—paternal, proud, genuinely caring—catches me unexpectedly.
On impulse, I step forward and briefly hug him, a gesture foreign to our professional relationship but natural to our longer history.
He's been like family since the start. An uncle, almost a fatherly figure. It’s a great feeling to have someone like that, having my back.
"Thank you, Blake," I say quietly. "For everything."
He pats my shoulder awkwardly, clearly surprised but pleased. "Off with you, then. The team won't fall apart in a week."
"Debatable," I reply with a small smile.
"We'll all be recharging batteries during the week thanks to you." He steps into the corridor, adding over his shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Violet."
"Merry Christmas, Blake."
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone in my office.
Christmas with William. No pretenses, no need to maintain professional distance or worry about prying eyes, looking over our shoulders as we steal a touch.
Just us, in his cozy farmhouse with its mismatched furniture, that ridiculous blue blanket with his racing number, that soft sofa and a wall of racing trophies.
The prospect sends a pleasant shiver down my spine—anticipation mixed with something that feels dangerously like happiness.
Happiness. Yet another foreign concept for me.
I've measured everything in my life. Until now, success was signing a contract with a sponsor who was being difficult in the early negotiation stages.
Happiness was seeing the projects or companies I'm managing thriving and exceeding the quarterly goals.
But what is true happiness for me now?
Only one word comes to mind.
William.