"Nothing's certain yet," I caution, not wanting to get ahead of ourselves. "But Blake's daughter may join us for an internship if everything aligns."
Blake beams with fatherly pride, pulling out his smartphone. "That's my Emma," he says, turning the screen to show us a photo.
The image shows a young woman with Blake's intelligent eyes but softer features. Her smooth, auburn-brown hair frames a face that manages to be both striking and approachable. She's standing next to what looks like a university project display, her expression confident and focused.
"She has your eyes," William says, leaning over to get a better look.
"But her mother's temper," Blake adds with a laugh that the whole table joins.
Tom and Johnson immediately launch into an animated discussion about all the different projects they could involve her in, their enthusiasm for mentoring evident. I watch them with a sense of satisfaction—this is exactly the kind of supportive environment I've tried to foster at Colton Racing. People who are passionate about sharing knowledge, about lifting others up.
My attention shifts to EJ, who's staring at the photo with an expression I can only describe as dazzled. A slight flush creeps up his neck to his cheeks, his usual animated confidence momentarily replaced by something more vulnerable.
William notices, too, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Blushing, EJ?" he asks, voice loud enough to draw attention.
"I'm not!" EJ protests, the deepening color in his face contradicting his denial. "It's hot in here, that's all."
Blake's eyebrows shoot up as he recognizes what's happening. He pulls his phone back protectively. "My precious daughter is off limits," he warns, his tone only half-joking. "Don't get any ideas."
I can't help but chuckle at his reflexive paternal protectiveness. "Emma would probably kick your ass if you start policing who she gets involved with or not," I point out gently.
Blake looks slightly abashed, knowing I'm right.
"Also," I continue, "I'm not saying anything will happen, but I only employ good people at Colton Racing. So if she finds love here—hypothetically—she'll be with a good person." I straighten slightly, adding with mock seriousness, "And if that person is an ass, I'll personally kick their ass."
Blake's expression softens. He reaches over and gives me a side hug. "Thanks for wanting to protect my angel."
From the corner of my eye, I notice EJ still blushing furiously as William continues to tease him in hushed tones.Poor kid.I remember what it was like to be his age, when a single photo of someone attractive could send your imagination spinning into elaborate fantasies.
I lean back in my seat, taking in the scene around me—the laughter, the conversations, the casual touches that speak of comfort and trust. This is what we're fighting for, what we're protecting. Not just Colton Racing as a business entity or a competitive team, but Colton Racing as a family.
A family that, against all odds, has room for me, too.
Chapter 30
No more distance
Violet
The headline glares from my tablet:Harrington Doubles Down: 'Frivolous Lawsuit Won't Distract Vortex From Winning.'I clench my jaw, scrolling through his latest interview where he somehow manages to paint himself as the victim while slinging more mud. Despite the recording, despite the public backlash, despite his sponsors' very public "discussions" with him about conduct unbecoming of their brand, Dominic still doesn't get it. Or worse—he does, and simply doesn't care.
"That man doesn't know when to shut his mouth, does he?" Blake leans over my shoulder, peering at the screen with thinly disguised disgust.
"Apparently not."
I flick to the next paragraph where Dominic claims our lawsuit is merely a publicity stunt to distract from Colton Racing's "mediocre performance." I snort.Mediocre.We've scored points in six races. William sits fifth in the driver standings. If that's mediocre, I'll take it.
"The world heard him admit to stalking my driver and leaking private photos," I say, unable to keep the edge from my tone. "He was recorded making sexist comments that would make the 1950s blush. People on social media are demanding he resign. And still, he acts like he's the wronged party."
Blake straightens up, adjusting his Colton Racing jacket. "That recording was the best move you've ever made. His sponsors are furious, his drivers are distancing themselves in interviews, and half the paddock won't even make eye contact with him anymore."
He's right. When the selected portions of that conversation hit the media—carefully edited by our legal team to include only Dominic's admission of leaking the photos and his tirade about women—the reaction was swift. I know this is a risk, and I'll probably get the short end of the stick, but for now, public opinion has swung dramatically in our favor. And we needed this. Even James Farrant, when pressed in an interview, could only muster a lukewarm "The Team Principal's views don't represent mine," before quickly changing the subject.
I close the article with a sharp tap. "Did you see Quantum Tech Ventures' stock dropped eight percent after his comments went public? Their female CEO looked ready to personally strangle him at the last race."
"Violet," Blake says gently, "you've won this round. Let it go for tonight. We've got a race tomorrow."
I sigh, shutting down the tablet. He's right as usual. Monaco waits for no one, and certainly not for my fight back against Dominic Harrington. The circuit requires absolute focus—from the drivers, from the engineers, from me. William's P5 qualifying gives us our best chance at a podium here in years. I can't afford to be distracted.
