Page 66 of Racing for Redemption
“Violet?” His voice carries surprise, but he controls it quickly. “Everything okay?”
My throat tightens. Of course, he thinks it’s work-related. What else would it be?
“Everything’s fine,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m calling about that live show you mentioned.”
A beat of silence. “The live show?”
“In Barcelona. You invited me to go see a band once we were both back in the UK.” My words speed up. “If you don’t remember, or if you’re busy, that’s perfectly—”
“I remember.” The smile in his voice is audible. “I just didn’t think you’d actually call about it.”
I sink onto my couch, tension draining. “Well, I’m back in London. Have been for a few days. And I realized I never asked you about it, so I’m following through.” I sound so awkward. Thank god this is a call, because in person, I'd be hiding by now.
“And here I thought you were avoiding me.” He chuckles, the sound unexpectedly warm through the phone. “I was going to head to this place in Birmingham tonight, actually. Small venue, great acoustics. Band called Hollow Crown.”
“Tonight?” I check my watch. It’s 5 PM. “That’s… sudden.”
“Best decisions happen on impulse.” A pause. “Unless the great Violet Colton needs two weeks’ notice, and a formal invitation?”
I snort before I can stop myself. “I’ll have you know I’m very spontaneous.”
“Says the woman who color-codes her schedule.”
“How do you know I color-code my schedule?”
“Blake told me. Red for urgent meetings, blue for media, yellow for technical reviews, purple for—”
“Okay, okay.” I laugh, surprising myself. “I see you’ve been gathering intel.”
“Know thy enemy, right?” His tone shifts, softening. “Though we’re friends, but you get what I mean, right?”
“Yeah, we are,” I say finally.
“I hear a smile in your voice. Good. So, Birmingham tonight? I was going to go alone, but company would be nice.”
I hesitate, scanning my mental calendar. Tomorrow’s meetings don’t start until 10 AM. “What time would we get back?”
“Late. Or, we could crash at a hotel. Your call. I’m driving, by the way. No arguments.”
“I can drive myself—”
“Nope. Birmingham’s a maze if you don’t know it, and we’ll need to park in some sketchy places. Plus, I know exactly where we’re going. Consider it my tour guide service.”
“Are you this bossy with everyone, or am I special?”
“Definitely special.” The teasing in his voice makes something flutter in my chest. “Now, since I’m guessing you haven’t been to a hardcore show in a while—”
“What makes you think that?”
“Just a hunch about the CEO lifestyle. Anyway, some friendly advice: no heels. Wear boots or sneakers. Your feet will thank me. And stay away from the mosh pit; those guys don’t care if you’re running an F1 team, they’ll knock you sideways with their elbows.”
“I’m not completely clueless,” I protest. “I’ve been to concerts before.”
“Beyoncé doesn’t count.”
“It wasn’t—” I cut myself off, because it actually was a Beyoncé concert, the last big show I attended before Anna’s indie band adventure.Am I that predictable?“Fine. No heels, no mosh pit. Anything else, oh wise concert guru?”
“Wear something you don’t mind getting beer spilled on. And earplugs might be smart, but I have extra. Nothing cute or professional, but it’ll work. They’re new, by the way.”
