Page 20 of Racing for Redemption
“Ms. Colton.” His manager rises, extending a hand. “James Pierce, William's manager. Thank you for welcoming us on such short notice.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Mr. Pierce. Mr. Foster.” I nod in the driver’s direction. He gives a curt nod back.
As I take my seat, I sense William’s gaze on me. I was not expecting this level of tension coming from a meeting that they requested.
“So,” I begin, folding my hands on the table. “To what do I owe this… unexpected pleasure?”
James clears his throat. “Ms. Colton, we’ll cut straight to the chase. William is interested in driving for Colton Racing next season.”
I arch an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Is that so? Last I checked, Mr. Foster said our team is a laughingstock. What changed?”
William flinches, but stays silent. James smoothly steps in. “Circumstances have changed for both parties, I believe. We think this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Meaning, “No one wants him, so now, you’re our only chance at a seat in F1.” I can work with this. They are more desperate than I thought.
I lean back, studying William. His jaw is tight, eyes burning with a mix of desperation and determination. He's not even hiding it.
“And what makes you think Colton Racing needs William Foster?” I ask, my tone deliberately cool.
His patience snaps. He leans forward, palms flat on the table. “Because I’m the best damn driver you’re going to get, and you know it. Colton, your team is going downhill fast. I’m offering you a lifeline.”
James winces, but I hold up a hand to stop his intervention. I lock eyes with William, feeling a searing, electric charge between us like a live wire sparking in the air and hitting really close to the water on the floor.
“A lifeline?” I repeat, my voice deceptively soft. “That’s a bold claim, Mr. Foster. Especially from someone who just finished as a runner-up in F2. Again. Against weak competition.”
William’s eyes flash with indignation, but he doesn’t back down. “At least I finished on the podium several times throughout the season. When was the last time Colton Racing scored a single point?”
The barb stings, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I lean forward, mirroring his posture. “You’re right. We’re struggling. But what makes you think you’re the solution? Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Foster. You're prone to… outbursts.” I glance pointedly at James, recalling the confrontation in the paddock and how he was the one to stop it.
His knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table. For a moment, I think he might explode again. But then, something shifts in his expression. The fire dims, replaced by a weariness I recognize all too well.
“You’re right,” he says quietly, surprising me. “I’ve made mistakes. Burned bridges. But I’m not asking for charity here,Violet. I’m offering you raw talent, a chip on the shoulder, and a hunger to prove everyone wrong. Something tells me you understand that better than most.” Then, my jaw drops. He gets on his knees. "I'll do anything. Minimal salary, can even wash the cars. Just… give me this opportunity, Violet."
The use of my first name catches me off guard. I lean back, studying him. The bravado is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that is achingly familiar. Now, guilt surfaces for making a young man grovel for a seat.
James clears his throat, breaking the tension and awkwardness of the moment. “Perhaps we could discuss potential terms? I have some ideas that could benefit both parties.”
I hold up a hand, silencing him. My eyes never leave William’s. “Before we get into any of that, I need to know one thing, Mr. Foster. Why Colton Racing? Really?”
William holds my gaze, his voice low and intense. “Because everyone’s written us both off. You. Me. This team. They say we’re finished. We’re the laughingstock in and out of the paddock. And I want to prove them all wrong.”
A long moment passes as I weigh his words. Finally, I nod, the start of something dangerous and thrilling igniting in my chest.
“Alright, Mr. Foster,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “But...” I pause, holding his gaze. “I need to make one thing crystal clear. If we do this, you work for me. Not the other way around. I won’t tolerate any more paddock tantrums, or social media meltdowns. You toe the line, or you’re out. Understood?”
William grits his teeth, but he nods. “Understood.”
I turn to James. “Now, about those terms…”
As James launches into his proposal, I study William from the corner of my eye. The fire is back in his gaze, tempered now with something similar to… respect? It’s a start.
An hour later, we’ve hammered out the broad strokes of a deal; a one-year contract with a possibility for an extension of two additional years, performance-based bonuses, and strict behavior clauses. As James and I shake hands, William stands.
“Ms. Colton,” he says, his voice gruff. “A word in private?”
James raises an eyebrow, but I nod. “Of course. My office.”
As we walk down the corridor, the silence between us is deafening. Inside my office, I close the door and turn to face William. He’s standing by the window, hands shoved in his pockets, staring out at the Colton Racing test track.
