"Probably," I agree, though I'm reluctant to end the call.
"I'll text you later about arrangements. When you can come over, what to pack. Hint—not much."
"Will…"
"Kidding. Mostly." Then softly, "Thank you for saying yes, Violet. It means more than you know."
"I should be thanking you for the invitation."
"No thanks needed. Just bring yourself and that gorgeous smile." He pauses, then adds in a voice gentle as a caress, "Take care, Queen. See you soon."
The call ends before I can respond, leaving me staring at my phone, lips parted in surprise.
Queen.
I chuckle at how ridiculous it sounds. But somehow, in the back of my head, I can only think that a Queen needs her King.
And I think I’ve found mine.
Chapter 5
What is happiness?
Violet
After the meetings are over and done, I slouch in my plush office chair. Eyes closed. It's been a while since I've experienced a relentless streak of meetings. Thankfully, all went well, board of directors included, even if they keep pressing the Belforte situation.
Then, the door opens. Blake enters with his usual efficiency, tablet tucked under one arm, eyes already seeking mine for confirmation. I allow myself a small, satisfied smile.
"Violet, did everything go well?" he asks.
I tap the portfolio. "Thankfully, yes. Come here, see what I've brought home."
Blake closes the door behind him, his tall frame folding into the chair opposite my desk with familiar ease. I slide the leather portfolio toward him, unable to fully suppress the triumph in my gesture.
"So," he begins, accepting the portfolio with careful hands, "how was Italy? Beyond the obvious success." He gestures at the contract.
"Beautiful. Productive." I lean back in my chair, allowing my professional posture to relax incrementally. "I know you didn't want to come with me because of that, but believe me, Silas was accommodating." I tap the contract. "Open it. See for yourself."
He complies, scanning the document efficiently. His eyes widen slightly at the figures, then again at the signatures. Satisfaction spreads across his features—subtle, but unmistakable in the slight upturn of his mouth, the easing of tension around his eyes.
"Fifty-five million euros," he says quietly. "Plus—"
"—an additional eighteen million for majority investor status," I finish for him, unable to keep pride from coloring my tone. "That wasn't part of our original negotiations. He offered it on the final day, over breakfast. Said he'd been thinking about it all night."
Blake lets out a low whistle. "Seventy-three million total. That's..."
"Game-changing," I supply. "The board's already received confirmation. Part of the money was already invested in the first upgrades we made to the factory. But the second transfer cleared yesterday."
"And the stipulations? There must be some."
I shake my head. "Surprisingly few. He wants visibility, of course. Branding on the car, the driver’s suits, the usual hospitality requirements." I reach for my refilled cup of coffee, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. "But his main request was personal involvement. He wants to attend races—not all of them, but the European circuit, definitely. Monaco, Imola, Barcelona, Monza. Also Singapore, because he’ll be opening a new resort there later this year."
"Understandable for an Italian investor."
"And factory visits. Quarterly, at minimum. He wants to be involved." I remember Belforte's unexpected enthusiasm when he'd made the request. "He actually seemed genuinely interested in the technical side, Blake. Asked intelligent questions about the chassis development, the new regulations. This isn't just a vanity project for him."
Blake's brow furrows slightly. "Most financial backers prefer to remain at arm's length. Enjoy the glamor without the grease."
