"One of my many talents, Mr. Foster."
His laugh rumbles through the speaker, deep and genuine. "I've missed that."
"Missed what?" I ask, sorting through papers while we talk.
"Your voice. The way you say my name when you're trying not to smile."
I pause, caught off-guard by his honesty. "I've been gone a week, William. And we've been calling each other occasionally."
"Sixteen days. And we only called each other four times. But who's counting?"
"Apparently, you are," I say, warmth spreading through my chest despite my efforts to remain professional.
"How are you really doing?" he asks, his tone shifting to something more serious. "And don't say 'busy'—that's not an answer. You're always busy."
"What do you want me to say? That I've been in back-to-back meetings with Belforte and his team, negotiating terms that could make or break our season? That the board is too excited that it's breathing down my neck for more results before we've even hit the track? That I've barely slept, because my brain won't shut off long enough to let me rest?" The words spill out, more honest than I intended.
"Yes," he says simply. "That's exactly what I want you to say. The real stuff, mygoddess. Not the picture perfect version ready for a press release."
His use of that nickname—something he does sparingly, often saving it for our most intimate moments—makes my breath catch.
"I miss you," he continues into my silence. "Not just Team Principal Colton.You, Violet."
I close my eyes briefly, allowing myself one moment of vulnerability in the privacy of my office. "I miss you, too."
"So when do I get to see you outside of work? I mean, apart from you yelling at me for my face during testing in a couple of weeks."
"I'm not going to yell at you," I counter. "Much."
He chuckles, then his voice softens. "Seriously, though. Christmas is this week. New Year's the week after. Got any plans?"
The question hangs in the air, deceptively simple yet loaded with implications. Christmas plans. As if the holidays were ever simple for me—just another day to mark on the calendar, another reminder of what I've lost. My fingers hover over a contract revision, suddenly forgetting what I was looking for.
"Violet?" William prompts through the speaker.
"Nothing special," I finally answer, aiming for casual but landing somewhere near dismissive. "Just the usual."
"Which is...?" He's not letting this go.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. The truth is embarrassingly mundane. Christmas Day in my penthouse, surrounded by technical specifications rather than wrapped gifts and loving laughs. Maybe a glass of my father's favorite scotch while I read a romance novel I have in my to-be-read pile. Takeout from my favorite Chinese restaurant that stays open through the holidays.
And New Year's Eve? More work, some wine, possibly falling asleep before midnight while pretending that solitude is a choice rather than a condition.
"I usually catch up on work," I admit. "It's quiet. No interruptions."
"That's not a plan, that's a punishment," William responds, his voice softening with something that sounds dangerously like concern. "You’re not your job, Violet."
"What about you?" I deflect, not ready to explore the raw edges of my holiday solitude. "Heading back to the USA? Maybe Australia?"
"Actually, no. My parents are flying to Michigan to see my grandparents. I'm staying put." There's a brief pause before he continues, his voice taking on that tone he gets when an idea strikes him. "You know what? We should spend the holidays together."
My heart stutters in my chest. "That's not necessary. You should—"
"What? Sit alone in my farmhouse watching Die Hard for the fortieth time?" He laughs. "I mean, that's not the worst way to spend Christmas, but I'd rather spend it with you."
"William..."
"Think about it," he continues, enthusiasm building. "No pressure. No schedules. No need to pretend we're just Team Principal and driver. Just us, good food, warm cocoa, maybe some terrible Christmas movies. I'll even let you pick."
