He shoots me a grim look. "Photos leaked. You and Violet arriving at your place."
My heart drops. Before Christmas. When we drove together to my place, it was supposed to be the best week ever. Ruined by a certain asshole.
"How bad?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the chaos surrounding us.
"Bad," James confirms, turning his phone so I can glimpse the screen. I catch a flash of another photo—Violet and me, standing close together at my front door, her hand on my chest, my arm around her waist. It looks intimate, because itwasintimate. Private. Sacred.Ours.
"Goddamn it." The words escape through clenched teeth.
A journalist I vaguely recognize from the paddock materializes in front of me. "William, care to comment on the nature of your relationship with Ms. Colton? Is this why Colton Racing has shown such rapid improvement this season?"
The insinuation sends a flash of anger through me. I stop walking, James's warning hand be damned.
"Colton Racing is improving because we have an exceptional team of engineers, mechanics, and strategists who work their asses off," I say, my voice sharper than intended. "And a Team Principal with the vision to lead them properly. That's the story you should be covering."
He doesn't back down. "And your personal relationship with Ms. Colton?"
I force my face into something resembling neutral. "Ms. Colton is an excellent Team Principal who's transformed Colton Racing. I respect her enormously. Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"But these photos—"
"Show two colleagues spending a holiday together." I cut him off, aware that every word is being recorded, will be dissected. "Since when is that headline news?"
James tugs my sleeve, a silent reminder to keep moving. I follow, but the questions continue.
"William, fans are saying Violet's using you as a PR stunt to bring attention to the team—"
"Is it true she threatened to replace you unless—"
"What’s it like working with mobsters?"
That last one nearly makes me laugh despite everything. If only they knew how terrified I was when I met Silas. How I nearly pissed myself until I realized the guy was basically a teddy bear with an intimidating exterior. Also, the guy is aformermobster. I don’t see them questioning teams that are in line with arms dealers and criminals of other natures.
My thoughts skitter to Violet. If they're ambushing me here, what is she facing? She's always on top of everything, prepared for every contingency, but this... this feels different. Personal. And she's already carrying so much—the team, the board's expectations, Dominic's threats. She arrived first at the hotel, coming straight from China with Blake. Belforte is also meeting us there because… Well, that’s his hotel we’re staying at.
"No comment," I repeat mechanically, moving forward.
A young woman clutching a homemade sign with my face on it—and it’s not even a good photo!—breaks through the press line. "William, you can tell us the truth! We're on your side! She's manipulating you—"
"You don't know her," I snap before I can stop myself. "You don't know either of us!"
James's grip on my arm tightens. "Easy," he murmurs.
I swallow hard, forcing my expression back to neutral. We push through to the exit, but the crowd follows, phones still recording every expression, every movement.
"If Violet and I are friends, what difference does it make?" I ask one particularly persistent reporter. "We're professionals. The results speak for themselves."
"But the timing of your relationship—"
"My relationship with every member of Colton Racing is professional and respectful," I say, the words bitter on my tongue, because they're both true and a lie. What Violet and I have is so much more than they're implying, but also nothing they could understand. "That's all I have to say on the matter."
James maintains a buffer zone as best he can while scrolling through his phone, his expression growing grimmer by the second.
"It's all over every platform," he says quietly as we push toward the exit. "The photos, speculation, comments... It's ugly, Will."
"God fuckingdamnit."
"There are sexist comments about Violet's management. Questioning how you got your seat. Discrediting the entire team's progress. Some racist garbage thrown in for good measure just because of her Egyptian heritage, and not being the cliché, perfect, white, blonde British woman they like to revere or fantasize about in the paddock." His mouth twists. "The usual toxic cocktail."
