"Well, for what it’s worth, your father would have liked him," he says finally.
A lump forms in my throat. "You think so?"
"Frederick appreciated straightforward people with genuine passion. Even those with rough edges." Blake's smile turns wistful. "Especially those with rough edges. He always said the polished ones were hiding something."
The memory of my dad—his booming laugh, his intuitive understanding of people—fills the space between us, warm and painful all at once. Blake is right; Dad would have appreciated Belforte's directness, his refusal to pretend to be anything other than what he is.
"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 TeamPrincipal 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."
