by Amelia Jade
“Well, lucky you. I hit three and I’m done.”
“You need to open a shop,” he insisted, getting back on topic. “You could make so much. Those are unbelievable.”
“Thank you.” She seemed genuinely flattered, which was good. He wasn’t faking a single thing about his reaction. Though thinking it back over, he may have had fourteen, not twelve. “But it costs a lot of money to do that. Money I don’t have available.”
“Yes, but you’d make it back,” he insisted. “I know you would.”
“Probably. But I need to find the money somewhere first. The banks won’t just lend me that much. I have no real credit history with any of them.”
Ivore smiled. He had it. He knew how he was going to ensure he could spend much, much more time with Violet.
“I’ll loan you the money.”
Chapter Two
Violet
She coughed into her elbow to hide her surprise.
“I’m sorry, it sounded like you just said you’d loan me the money.” She tucked some wayward strands of purple hair back behind her ear, making a mental note to put it back into a ponytail in a bit.
“I did.”
“Ivore, you barely know me. Why would you do that?”
“Three reasons.” He held up a hand with one finger up. “One, because I know you’ll be amazing at this.”
He lifted a second finger. “Two, I’m going to make money off of this. I’ll give it to you for forty percent, along with any more money we may need.”
She thought about that. Forty percent was a lot to give up, but if he was going to fund it all… “And three?”
“Three, you saved my brother’s life. That means a lot to me, and it also shows a lot about your character, who you are. That can’t be bought.”
Violet wasn’t sure how to react. First he nearly tramples her, and now he wanted to give her lots of money? She eyed him up and down, trying to figure out if he was lying to her, pulling a fast one perhaps.
The most obvious thing about him was his size. Tall, broad in the shoulders, with a bit more thickness than she’d seen in Cowl, whom she knew far better thanks to Andria. It seemed to be a common trait among his friends. They were all like that. Towering above her, beefy muscles and beautiful features that caught the eye and kept it. A potent distraction, but that was all she would allow it to be. There would be nothing more.
The dark blue jeans he was wearing seemed to have escaped the worst of her spilled drink, but she couldn’t say the same for the white V-necked T-shirt. It was splashed liberally with pink, and she could see hints that indicated most of it had gone down his back. Despite that, and despite the damage done to his hairdo, he didn’t seem to care worth a damn about it. His attention was fixed on her, which left Violet a little unsettled. She didn’t like being the center of attention.
Just like she was uncomfortable with just accepting his offer. “What if I can’t pay it back?”
Ivore waved her objection off. “Not a possibility. You’re going to do amazing. Your cupcakes are delicious.”
“Thank you. But baking doesn’t always translate to business, you know?”
“We’ll figure it out. That’s why I’m going to take a percentage. So that I can be comfortable with making some of the decisions too. But it’s going to work, trust me.”
Violet fidgeted, twiddling her fingers before picking up her drink and taking a sip.
There was no denying a part of her wanted it. She wanted to reach out and shake his hand and make the deal. This was her dream, and it was being served up to her on a platter by a white-haired investment angel. Why wasn’t she jumping all over this?
“What do you say? Tomorrow we’ll go look at some properties.” He grinned. “And you have no excuse not to, since you already told me you aren’t working right now.”
Violet was about to answer when someone else spoke up.
“Go look at some properties for what?”
She looked over Ivore’s shoulder where two men had entered the bar. They both wore light-wash jeans, tan-colored boots, and plaid button-ups that looked so similar she had to wonder if they were related. Both were tall, like Ivore, but lacked the…whatever it was about him that made him feel gigantic.
They also both looked quite mean.
Ivore took one look at her face and turned to face the newcomers in a slow, measured move.
“Violet, call Greg over, pretend to order another drink and tell him to go into the basement and wait there. Understand?”
The big man spoke so softly she could barely pick it up. Nervously she turned to the bar and called Greg over. He was the only other person inside; everyone else was enjoying the patio weather.
“Ivore says get in the basement and wait. I guess trouble?” She leaned in to talk to him, while shaking her glass.
Greg didn’t blink. He just nodded, pretended to search through the alcohol bottles and then shrugged. “I gotta get a new one.” Then he disappeared down the stairs.
“I asked a question.”
One of the newcomers spoke again.
“Well, where I come from,” Ivore said, sliding smoothly between her and their uninvited guests, “it’s considered rude to ask questions without introducing yourself first.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Ivore.”
His hand hung there for several seconds, earning him nothing but sneers. Violet couldn’t understand what was going on. Why were these men here, and why did they seem to want to cause trouble? She’d never seen them before in her life.
“We know who you are. We’ve got a message for you.”
“Oh, you’re the delivery boy?” Ivore was obviously baiting them now. “How nice. Why don’t you let me know what it is, and then scamper on home. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” the bigger one said, his dull brown eyes gleaming in the bar’s yellow light. “This message comes courtesy of Richard Malkin. He says to get out of Barton City.”
“Ivore look out!’
Her warning was redundant. It had to be. There was no way the big man could have missed the two linebackers rushing at him. She backpedaled in fear, sliding down the edge of the bar as the three crashed together.
Ivore roared in anger as he was borne to the ground by the duo, the entire building shaking from the impact. Violet lost her balance and spilled to the floor with a yelp. Something cracked, and she saw one of the attackers roll off of Ivore with a loud groan, his limbs flopping wildly for a moment before falling still.
“Stop it!” she shouted, getting to her feet. “There’s no need to fight!”
“You heard the lady,” Ivore growled. “This fight is over.”
The remaining attacker drove a knee into Ivore’s midsection, but he didn’t go down. Instead he slammed both hands down on either side of the joint, and with a mighty heave flipped the man around like a ragdoll. The thug spun violently before crashing to the ground on top of his partner.
“Like I said. It’s over.” Ivore crouched warily while she watched, ready to engage either of them. The pair got to their feet and headed for the door.
“This isn’t over,” the apparent leader said, his left eye already swelling shut.
“Yes it is. Go home,” Ivore said, straightening wearily. “Get out before it’s too late.”
The two disappeared through the front door, barreling over Ivore’s brothers as they fled, escaping only because of their surprise exit.
“I’m fine,” Ivore said as his brothers surrounded him. He brushed them off and walked over to her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine. But what the hell was that all about?”
His eyes went flat, closing until they were slits. “I’ll tell you later. Greg!” he shouted.
“Yes?” the voice was faint and echo-y from somewhere in the basement.
“While you’re down there, can you grab us some more beer? We need refills.”
“Sure?”
“Good man.” Ivore p
ut an arm around her. “Sorry to scare you like that.”
“I’m fine.” She moved away from him and his muscles, still swollen with blood and adrenaline from the fight. “Now tell me what that was about. I thought Malkin was after Andria.”
Richard Malkin was a powerful figure in Barton City. Most thought he was a businessman and mild politician. Those who really knew him knew he was the cities preeminent crime-lord. His sons had gotten involved with Ivore and his brothers a few weeks back, and it hadn’t gone well for the Malkin clan.
“Not anymore.” Ivore graciously accepted a fresh beer from Greg. “If I had to guess, I’d say that when his sons died from the drugs they were taking, he decided that we were at fault.”
“We, as in you and your brothers?”
Ivore downed half the beer. Greg saw this and grabbed a new one. By the time he came back Ivore had finished the rest. “Yeah.” He said it as a sigh after swallowing his beer.
“Well that’s just fantastic. So the biggest mob boss in town is after you guys now.”
Ivore shrugged. “We’ll be fine. He doesn’t know what he’s up against.”
“His sons are dead,” she stated.
“They killed themselves.” Ivore’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Their deaths are tragic, but the only person to blame is the one peddling that shit, and we all know who that is.”
“Malkin.”
“Precisely. So he’s upset with himself and trying to take it out on us. But he won’t succeed.”
“You seem so sure of that. How can you be?”
“I just am.” Ivore stepped back from her and addressed the crowd. “Now that all of you are finally in here—after I was attacked by a couple of scruffy pups, I might add—let’s kick this party up a notch. Greg, more beers for everyone!’
The crowd laughed and cheered.
Violet frowned. Scruffy pups? They had been big men with clean faces. What the hell did he mean by that? She was confused. And why was everyone treating this like it was nothing?
“Now, who wants to try some more of Violet’s cupcakes?” Ivore bellowed, pointing a finger at her. “And if you haven’t, watch out, because you’re in a hell of a lot of trouble!”
There were more cheers, and someone brought in some platters of cupcakes from outside. They were passed around and she watched in awe as the crowd devoured them. People she didn’t know started coming up to her and telling her they were the best cupcakes they’d ever had, asking her where she got them, or what the flavors were.
Bit by bit, Violet was pulled back into the party. Greg brought her another drink, which she was forced to sip from as she talked. The alcohol loosened her tongue, and before long she was completely swept back up into the party vibe, more than willing to talk about her cupcakes. Baking was something she was good at, and she didn’t mind discussing shop.
She never quite forgot the fight, but it quickly diminished in importance.
Chapter Three
Violet
Note to self: Drink more water next time. You’re not twenty-one anymore.
Or twenty. Or nineteen. Though of course if anyone asked she had never drank underage. Ever. Nope, not her.
Hah.
Now that she was thirty-one though, she got the worst hangovers. Today wasn’t so bad, because she’d eaten a lot of food and stopped drinking by eight. She had a bit of a headache and was feeling a little—okay, a lot—sleep-deprived. Lounging in bed she stretched, letting loose a jaw-popping yawn before snuggling deeper into the pillow.
Staying in bed as late as she wanted was one of the few up-sides to not having a job, though she suspected it would get boring sooner rather than later. For now though she was going to milk it for all she was worth. Closing her eyes, she decided that maybe an early-morning nap would help her hangover.
Pounding at the front door caused a mirroring sound inside her skull.
Violet sat up with a hiss of anger. What the fuck was some people’s problems? Couldn’t they just leave her the hell alone so she could wallow in her own self-pity and hatred, as she’d been doing for years now?
Someone’s fist decided to beat up the door, and consequently her head some more.
Fine, she would get up.
“I’M COMING!” she shouted before immediately clutching her head in pain. “Argh. Why would you do that?” She cursed and swore at herself, stumbling toward the front door.
Whoever the solicitor was, they were about to get an earful from her about disturbing her sleep. Didn’t they know it was normal for people to sleep in until—she glanced at the clock on the TV box as she went by—eleven thirty?
Violet stopped in her tracks. Eleven thirty? Holy shit. Okay, maybe it was time she got up. But still, screw the people at the door.
She pulled it open, clad in her sleeping T-shirt and pajama pants.
“Hey, are you ready to go check out some properties for your cupcake shop?”
“Ivore…”
“Yep, that’s me.”
She looked him up and down. He was dressed much the same as the day before.
Dark jeans, these nearly black. Check.
Stylish casual brown shoes. Check.
White shirt nearly ripped to shreds by his biceps and chest muscles. Double check.
She did.
Chiseled jaw. Downturned mouth that would leave him perpetually looking sad if he weren’t always smiling. Dark blue eyes and white hair pulled over from left to right in the modern styling. Not gray hair, but platinum-white so bright it could only be natural. Some sort of genetic defect she figured, since his brothers both had the same color hair.
He looked brilliant.
She looked like shit.
“Violet?”
She slammed the door in his face.
“Uh, hello?” His voice was muffled by the door, but she could still hear him.
“One minute!” she shouted abruptly, wincing at the accompanying spike of pain.
The agony jolted her from her stunned immobility and Violet ran for her bedroom. Clothes flew everywhere as she tore hers off and started the search for ones that she could wear. Hopping into a pair of jeans, she frantically ran her fingers through her hair before twisting it up into one ugly-ass bun. Thankfully most guys couldn’t tell the difference, but it was all she had time for.
A quick brush of her teeth, water on her face, and deodorant, and she was ready to go. Mostly. Okay not even close, but taking any more time just wasn’t really feasible.
Walking slowly back to the front door to catch her breath, she opened it again.
“Hey Ivore. What’s up?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, giving her a look that was equal part bemused and exasperation. If it could speak, it would say something along the lines of “women.”
“We’re going to look at some potential properties for your shop today.”
It was her turn to shoot him a confused look. “You’re serious.”
“Did I ever give you the impression I was joking?”
“Well no, but…”
The big man lifted his hands as if to say “so why are you surprised?”
“Okay…”
“Great, let’s go.” He reached out to grab her hand and pull her along, but she deftly evaded it.
“Hold on there, playboy. What’s the catch behind all this?”
“Catch? No catch. I told you the details.”
“Yeah…about that.” Violet crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’m willing to give up that much percentage right away.”
Truthfully she didn’t want to give up any of it, but without having any collateral it was unlikely that she could get a simple loan. Equity was going to have to change hands. It was just a question of how much.
“Okay.” Ivore looked contemplative. “We can come to some different arrangement if you’d like.”
“Like what?” Violet didn’t believe that he was just going to give her the money. It didn’t work like that. There would be a
catch. Maybe he wouldn’t demand money. “And keep it professional. I’m not going to be paid for anything else. I’m not a prostitute.”
Ivore’s face grew dark and angry, thunderclouds forming in his brow and clouding his eyes, turning them from a royal blue to navy. “What did you just say?”
Violet swallowed nervously at the sudden change in his mood.
“Did someone tell you that’s what I was going to do?” he hissed, furious at the accusation. “That I would stoop so low as to think you would accept money for sex just because opening the shop is your dream? Is that what you think I am?”
She looked away. “No. I guess not. But people don’t just go around offering up tens of thousands dollars or even hundreds if we have to purchase the place! Do you even have that much money?”
Now Ivore looked wounded. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” he said grumpily. “And to answer your question, though I shouldn’t have to, no, I’m not interested in an exchange for sexual favors. I simply meant another percentage.” There was a slight but noticeable pause before he continued, and now it was Ivore’s turn to look away. “You may tell your boyfriend that.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. And no, not a fiancé or husband either before you ask.”
Not anymore. She looked away as ice and snow rose up in her vision, willing it away. Not now, please, not now.
“I see.” Ivore cleared his throat. “Well, how about twenty-five percent then? I think that’s still quite fair.”
“Twenty,” she said without pause.
Ivore contemplated it for a few seconds. “Fine, twenty percent it is.” He stuck out his hand.
Violet took it, giving it a firm shake, and tried to drop it before the tingles from the warmth of his skin made their way any farther up her arm. What the hell was going on with her? She needed to remain in control around him, and not let his looks get to her. That wasn’t allowed.
This was her one chance to fulfill a promise made long ago. That was worth the discomfort he caused in her, but she needed to keep it under control.
So far that was turning out to be easier said than done.