"It's not a big deal," I say quickly, though we both know it is. "Just a few days away from everything. No pressure, no schedules."
"No board members, no media, no need to maintain professional distance," Blake adds, his tone gentle rather than teasing now. "Sounds exactly like what you need."
I look up, caught off-guard by his lack of judgment. "You don't think it's inappropriate? The Team Principal spending Christmas with her driver?"
Blake considers this as he takes a seat in the chair opposite mine. "I think you spending Christmas with William is entirely appropriate. Necessary, even." He leans forward slightly. "You've dedicated everything to this team, to honoring your father's legacy. But Frederick wanted you to have a life, too, you know. Not just achievements."
I lean back in my chair, and my chest constricts unexpectedly. "He said that to you?"
"Many times. After all, you were a one-track mind kid." Blake's eyes are kind, filled with memories I wish I could access. "He worried you'd inherit his single-mindedness without his capacity for joy. Said you were too much like him in all the difficult ways."
I blink rapidly, fighting an unexpected surge of emotion. "I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do." Blake reaches across the desk to pat my hand—a rare gesture from him. "I'm happy you won't be alone in that penthouse for Christmas. I've worried about that every year."
"I would have been fine," I say automatically.
"Being fine isn't the same as being happy." Blake's voice drops slightly. "William makes you happy. It's written all over your face when you talk about him."
I open my mouth to protest, but I can’t help but be honest. "He does," I admit quietly. "When he's not driving me absolutely insane with his recklessness."
"Sounds like a proper relationship to me." Blake's eyes crinkle with amusement. "Margaret still claims I'm the most aggravating person she's ever met, and we're celebrating thirty years together in February."
The comparison to his marriage makes my heart stutter, a reaction I choose not to examine too closely. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just Christmas. And we’re friends… Sort of."
"Of course." Blake agrees too easily, his knowing expression undermining his words. "Just Christmas. With the man who makes you blush like a schoolgirl at the mere mention of his name."
"I hate that you know me this well," I grumble, but there's no heat in it.
"Occupational hazard of watching you grow up." He stands, straightening his sweater with a satisfied expression. "Well, I fully support this development. Both professionally—a rested Team Principal makes better decisions—and personally."
"I wasn't asking for permission," I point out, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Didn't think you were. Nor do I want to tell you who to let into your life." Blake moves toward the door, then pauses. "But for what it's worth, I think you've chosen well. William may be a handful on paper, but he's a good man where it counts."
The simple approval warms me more than it should. "Yes," I agree softly. "He is." Even if, right now, I want to scold him for his reckless behavior that got him a black eye.
Blake reaches for the door handle. "I'm wrapping up the week early, so enjoy your week off, Violet. You've more than earned it."
Something in his tone—paternal, proud, genuinely caring—catches me unexpectedly. On impulse, I step forward and briefly hug him, a gesture foreign to our professional relationship but natural to our longer history. He's been like family since the start. An uncle, almost a fatherly figure. It’s a great feeling to have someone like that, having my back.
"Thank you, Blake," I say quietly. "For everything."
He pats my shoulder awkwardly, clearly surprised but pleased. "Off with you, then. The team won't fall apart in a week."
"Debatable," I reply with a small smile.
"We'll all be recharging batteries during the week thanks to you." He steps into the corridor, adding over his shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Violet."
"Merry Christmas, Blake."
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone in my office.
Christmas with William. No pretenses, no need to maintain professional distance or worry about prying eyes, looking overour shoulders as we steal a touch. Just us, in his cozy farmhouse with its mismatched furniture, that ridiculous blue blanket with his racing number, that soft sofa and a wall of racing trophies. The prospect sends a pleasant shiver down my spine—anticipation mixed with something that feels dangerously like happiness.
Happiness. Yet another foreign concept for me. I've measured everything in my life. Until now, success was signing a contract with a sponsor who was being difficult in the early negotiation stages. Happiness was seeing the projects or companies I'm managing thriving and exceeding the quarterly goals.
But what is true happiness for me now?
