Violet's eyes widen slightly, and a flush creeps up her beautiful russet neck and ears. She glances quickly down the corridor—empty, but potentially not for long—and steps back, putting professional distance between us again. But her eyes... Her eyes stay locked on mine.
"You're insufferable," she says, but there's a glint in her eyes.
"You like me anyway," I counter, emboldened by the color in her cheeks.
"I tolerate you because you drive my car fast." She hands back my sunglasses, fingers lingering against mine a moment longer than necessary. "Though I may reconsider if you keep showing up looking like you're on the run from the law."
I slip the glasses into my pocket instead of putting them back on. No point hiding now that she's seen the damage. "You're telling me this doesn't look dashing?" I gesture to my bruised face. "Very rugged and mysterious."
"Very idiotic and reckless," she corrects, but her lips twitch. "Are you in any actual pain? Do you need anything for it?"
There's that concern again, warming me from the inside out. Violet Colton, who commands an entire racing team with steely efficiency, is worried about my stupid eye. I want to pull her into my arms right here, audience be damned.
Instead, I edge slightly closer, lowering my voice. "Just your company. That's better than any painkiller."
Her breath catches, and for a moment, I think I've pushed too far. Then she rolls her eyes, but the smile playing at her lips gives her away. "Always the charmer, aren't you, Foster?"
"Only for you, boss." I wink with my good eye. "Is it working?"
"Marginally better than your disguise attempt." She glances at her—my—watch. "Shouldn't you be heading to the simulator? EJ's probably waiting."
"Trying to get rid of me already? And here I thought we were having a moment."
She gives me her patented Team Principal look—raised eyebrow, slightly narrowed eyes—but there's a warmth there that wasn't present months ago. "We can have all the moments you want next week," she says quietly. "When we're not in the middle of headquarters."
The reminder of our Christmas plans sends a jolt of anticipation through me. Seven days. Just us. No interruptions.
"I'm counting down the hours," I tell her, not bothering to hide the sincerity in my voice. "When we clock out today, get in your car and come to my place. I can even escort you to make you feel like a queen."
Something flickers across her face—vulnerability, desire, maybe both—before she rebuilds her professional façade. But now I know what's behind it. I've seen her walls come down, felt her body against mine, heard her laugh without restraint. And in 8 hours, I'll have her all to myself again.
The thought makes me grin like an idiot, even as my battered face protests the movement.
"What?" she asks, suspicion coloring her tone.
"Nothing," I say, still smiling. "Just happy you're back. Even if you're cruel to injured drivers."
She shakes her head, but her eyes are soft.
Out of the corner of my eye, someone is walking fast to engineering. So, therearesome people here today.
"Walk with me to grab coffee first? I need caffeine if I'm going to keep up with that kid."
Violet hesitates, glancing at her watch. "I don't have any meetings today. Just emails to answer."
"So that's a yes?" I grin, already turning toward the break room. "Good. I've missed your scintillating conversation."
"You talked with me on Monday," she points out, falling into step beside me.
"Exactly. Four days. An eternity."
She rolls her eyes but matches my pace as we walk down the corridor. The few staff members we pass nod respectfully to Violet, then do double-takes at my face. I've removed the beanie along with the sunglasses, giving up all pretense of hiding the injury.
"How's your week been?" I ask as we turn the corner. "Since you got back from Italy, I mean."
Violet sips what is left of her coffee, considering her answer. "Busy. Finalizing arrangements with sponsors, working with Blake and Johnson on next season's car specs based on your sim and EJ’s data." Her lips quirk into a small smile.
We reach the break room—empty, as I'd hoped. The new espresso machine gleams on the counter. Violet leans against the wall, watching as I select a cup and punch buttons. She grabs some napkins to clean the spilled coffee from her shoes.
