by Maggie Marr
Again Felicia nodded. She held up her hand to stop the flow of Ilana’s words and smiled. “I understand, sweetie, truly I do, but the market value for rent for that building is a whole lot more than what you’re paying, right?”
Ilana nodded. She knew she’d gotten a great deal on the property. That great deal and the location were the very reasons that she’d agreed to take over Mrs. Luskey’s lease.
“Mrs. Luskey said that the assignment was legit, that I could take over the rent payments and keep the space.”
“And where is Mrs. Luskey again?”
Ilana swallowed and took a long breath. “Belize.”
“Right. I’m guessing with your money, too.”
Ilana said nothing. Yes, she’d given Mrs. Luskey some money to buy the lease from her, but Mrs. Luskey wasn’t the type of woman to cheat or steal or lie to get money to move to Belize…was she?
“Here’s the thing, sweetheart”—Felicia pressed her hand to her chest as a shark’s smile played over her lips—“I know how much time and energy you’ve put into that tiny little dump of a building, so I convinced the owners to give you six months before you have to leave or start paying full market value for the unit.”
“Six months?”
Felicia nodded. “Let you earn back some of your investment.”
“Do you know what I’d have to charge in the next six months to earn back what I’ve already spent?”
“Well, that’s why they call it capitalism. Charge what the market will bear. With all these young families that make gobs of money moving into Venice, I’d think you could charge a whole lot more than sixty dollars a month for four art classes. My God, you’ve got Amelia DeLoitte teaching an art class to kids. Every hipster in L.A. knows that name. Who wouldn’t want their precious little darling taught art by the Amelia DeLoitte?”
“That’s not the intent of The Children’s Enrichment Center,” Ilana said. “The idea is to provide a space for all children to explore their creativity, kind of like an artistic co-op, and—”
“That’s sweet.” Felicia’s sharkish smile ratcheted up another notch. “Precious, really. But darling,”—Felicia leaned forward and lifted a brow—“does it pay the rent? Because while I understand what you’re saying and what you want to do, you’ve got six months before the lease price goes up to market value.”
Ilana swallowed. “Market value?”
Felicia exuded the predatory air of a great white circling a sinking boat as she waited for Ilana to ask the obvious follow-up question.
“How much is”—Ilana licked her lips, she could barely ask—“market value for the location?”
“You know what you’re paying?”
Ilana nodded.
“Just multiply by twenty.”
Ilana’s heart stopped. No. Blood drained from her face and a roar sounded in her ears. There was no way…no matter what she charged, she could never make that kind of money on enrichment classes for children. No. Way.
“You have six months.” Felicia dismissed her with a smile and a wave. “Enjoy!”
Ilana stumbled from the building and into the street. She stared at the Ballerina Clown sculpture that adorned the CVS at the corner of Rose and Main. How could she come up with twenty times her monthly rent? She exhaled through her mouth and closed her eyes.
Venice had changed. This wasn’t the Venice she and Mama had moved to from the Bronx when Ilana was six years old. That Venice had been eclectic and artistic and, yes, sometimes a little weird, but still, not the capitalistic hot spot with hip restaurants, rehabbed buildings, and five-figure rents that the beachside town had become now.
Ilana’s heart hurt. She closed her eyes. Her dream was dead. Demolished by her own inability to read a contract and proclivity for frugality. She should’ve known the deal was too good to be true. Shit. What could she do now? She’d put every penny of her own money, plus some of Amelia’s, into the Center. She covered her mouth with one hand. Six months. She shook her head. There was no way she could make enough money in six months to keep the space. Was there?
Chapter 2
“When are you coming home?” Justin leaned forward and settled his hands on the conference room table. An entire country separated Devon from his three brothers, who sat in the Travati Financial offices in New York, and yet the internet connection clearly conveyed his oldest brother’s disapproval over Devon’s continued absence.
Justin still thought of himself as the leader of the Travati family, even though the three younger Travati brothers were well past the age of needing to be led. Devon suppressed his automatic flash of annoyance. If he wanted Justin and the others to listen to what he had to say, he needed to keep his cool.
“Your office is empty and waiting for you. Plus, the hospitality division of Travati Financial could use your magic touch. The past quarter wasn’t good,” Justin continued.
Devon frowned. Even if he were to return to New York, he wouldn’t be running the club and hospitality division. Didn’t his brothers realize that after he testified in Sergey’s criminal trial and endured the death threats that followed, he’d never run nightclubs again?
After a short pause, Justin glanced toward Anthony. “We’ve actually received an offer for that division. If you don’t think you’re going to come back to run it—”
“If the offer is competitive, take it.” Devon flicked his gaze past his computer screen to the window that showcased a view of the Pacific. In the distance blue sky met ocean. A cool breeze blew through the window, carrying the scent of the sea right into his office. Devon couldn’t run nightclubs anymore. Not after his failure. How could he have been so blind? “If I return to New York, I won’t return to hospitality.”
Justin steepled his fingertips. “I see.”
“You’re considering staying in California?” Anthony lifted an eyebrow.
Devon shrugged. He didn’t feel like discussing where he wanted to live with his brothers. He’d save that fight for a different day. “I can’t do hospitality anymore.”
Justin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t or won’t?”
Did it matter? Explaining his reasons to Justin wasn’t on the meeting agenda for today. The guilt. The shame. The facts that Devon had discovered after Sergey’s arrest by the Feds. He’d been oblivious to Sergey’s dealings until the Department of Justice had laid out their case against him. Was it the booze? The late nights? The parties for clients and investors? Or had he simply not noticed because he didn’t want to know? Interrogation by FBI agents had pierced the fog that surrounded Devon and focused a spotlight on the illegal business that Sergey Rashnikov ran out of Devon’s nightclubs. Now that Devon saw clearly what he’d become during that time, he wasn’t going back. “That lifestyle isn’t good for me.”
Justin shrugged. “We all went through that lifestyle. The women, the booze, the drugs…we came out the other side and so did you. You have the magic touch where nightclubs are concerned.”
“Not anymore.” He looked squarely at his brother, his tone definite. Justin always pushed, but this time, Devon pushed back. “I’m thinking real estate.”
Leo, the second oldest and more gregarious of Devon’s two older brothers, studied Devon with his dark-eyed gaze. “What do you have in mind?”
“Economic social activism.”
The corners of Leo’s mouth lifted into a grin. He shook his head. Devon knew that Leo, the brother he was closest to in easygoing personality, was already anticipating the response of the two more reserved and conservative Travati brothers.
Justin squinted. “What exactly is economic social activism?”
“I want to create positive social change through economic investment. Commercial real estate that helps to build community.”
“You say ‘build community,’” Anthony frowned, “and I hear ‘below market value.’”
“I need to do something more important than just making money.”
“Excuse me?” Leo said. He sat back in his
chair, his grin growing wide. “Where is my little brother? Who the hell are you?”
Justin scowled. While Leo might be getting a huge kick out of watching his youngest brother torture Justin and Anthony, Devon realized that he’d lose them if he couldn’t explain what he wanted to do and why he wanted to do it.
“There’s more to life than simply making money.”
“Are you kidding?” Justin leaned forward. “The family is growing. This isn’t just about us anymore, it’s about the next generation and the generation after.”
“I’m not suggesting that we close Travati Financial. Or even change what we’re doing much at all. I’m simply suggesting that we start a division that does more than just create profit. You keep on making your gazillion dollars, and I’ll make investments that turn a profit and do some good for the community.”
Justin sighed. His internal war showed on his face. Money was the way he kept score.
“I’m not giving anything away,” Devon said. “I’m looking to invest in businesses that can not only make money, but can also create a positive impact.” He didn’t really know how much he cared about the making money part at this point, but he had to attempt to assuage Justin and Anthony’s concerns if he wanted them to give him a chance.
“Look.” Justin scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “If you want to run the Travati Foundation, I can talk to Aubrey. With Max leaving for college and the baby, she’s busy, and I’m sure she’d love the help.”
Devon shook his head. “This isn’t charity work. What I’m talking about is doing business with a bigger social conscience.”
“You’re totally going to put us out of business, aren’t you?” Leo teased, a wicked smile playing over his lips. “Have the alfalfa sprouts and avocados gone to your head? You’ve become a hippy dippy socialist.”
“Stop.” Devon smiled, knowing Leo wasn’t serious. “You know that’s not true. All I’m saying is I’m starting something different out here. There’ll be profit, but the margins will be thinner because success won’t be measured by dollars alone.”
Justin shook his head. “Sounds like a huge risk.” His gaze darted from Leo to Anthony and back to Devon. “I want to support this decision, but I’m not sure we can.”
Leo shot Justin a look. “What’s the ‘we’ shit?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m with him. It’s called loyalty. You two number crunchers remember that word?”
Both Anthony and Justin paled at Leo’s stern tone. Yes, Devon had shown his loyalty to them by how he conducted himself during the trial. He’d stood alone when he testified and he’d been selective but honest with his words, never dragging his brothers into the scandal. Anthony’s nostrils flared. Now he was asking for just a little support from them in return. Nope, Devon wasn’t making any of his brothers happy by doing so. Except maybe Leo, who had some twisted love of watching the two uptight Travati brothers (as he called them) become uncomfortable.
“We’re loyal. We’ve had his back since before the trial, and he still has a job,” Anthony shot out.
Devon’s chest tightened. So that was it. According to at least one of his brothers, he was damaged goods. Hmm…of course…so Justin and Anthony thought they were doing him a favor by allowing him to return to Travati Financial, and it annoyed them that he wasn’t doing it on their terms. But Devon didn’t want favors or handouts. He simply wanted to invest in businesses that he believed in for more than financial gain.
“I need more specifics,” Justin gritted out.
“That’s fair.” Leo turned his gaze toward Devon. “Get us a plan.” He leaned forward. “And make it solid.”
That was exactly what Devon intended to do.
*
Sleep evaded Ilana. She’d chased zzz’s all night. Wide awake and restless. What was she going to do? Had she truly managed to lose her entire investment and her best friend’s investment before their new business even opened?
And the phone calls.
There’d been more from the same number. She closed her eyes. Whoever it was had left voicemails. Three exactly. She couldn’t listen. She didn’t want to listen. My God, who was trying to find her?
Her heart hammered. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Damn, damn, damn…if she’d only hired the attorney Amelia had recommended. If she only had a different life…a different past…
Deep breath.
There was a solution to every problem. Hadn’t Mama always said that? Granted, the solution wasn’t always what you wanted, but still…there had to be a solution. She somehow had to find a way to manage the rent increase, keep the Center in business, and deal with whomever was trying to contact her.
Ilana jumped out of bed and took two steps to the window. No point in pretending she was going to get to sleep now. The streets were still dark, but light touched the edges of the horizon. When the clock ticked a few more minutes, sunlight would begin to illuminate the Venice sky.
To save money, she’d opted to move into the postage-stamp-sized studio apartment above the Community Enrichment Center. Now, after her meeting with Felicia, Ilana realized she lived in what soon would be the most expensive five hundred square feet in Venice.
She pulled on a sports bra and running gear. Plopped down on her bed to tie her shoes. If she couldn’t sleep, then she’d clear her head with a run. Mama had always believed the best way to find the solution to a problem was with a clear head, and nothing cleared Ilana’s head like running. Down the stairs, through the front lobby, and out the front door.
The scents of salt water and someone cooking bacon for breakfast hit her nose. She turned west and started a slow pace. In two blocks the Pacific spread out before her. She trotted across a parking lot and took a right onto the cement walking and bike path, a ribbon through the sand that went all the way north to Malibu. In the distance, surfers bobbed up and down on their boards, waiting for waves. You had to admire their dedication. Too cold for her. Climbing into a rubbery wet suit and then paddling out in the water? Nope. A run at five a.m. was more than enough of a challenge for Ilana.
Her footfalls on the pavement created a steady rhythm. Each crunch of sand beneath her rubber-soled shoe ground an anxious thought into obscurity. Deep breaths. The ocean, the breathing, the silence…dodging other runners and some bicyclists. Yes. She needed this. Focus. Clarity.
The tense knot in her shoulder that had been bothering her untangled, and the persistent pain slid away with the sway of her motion. She glanced again at the ocean and took a deep breath. Sunlight attempted to split the clouds. Surfers took turns catching waves. Slow and easy pace, her feet pounding out the beat, the sound similar to—
“Ow! What the fuck, lady?”
Her foot landed on something soft and uneven instead of pavement. Her ankle twisted and a sharp slice of pain jolted the joint. She thudded into the pavement, the cement scraping her knees and palms. Her teeth clacked together as her chin struck the ground. She closed her eyes and took an inventory. Everything seemed okay, although her hands, knees, and her chin throbbed. Her ankle ached. She slid her tongue over her teeth to make certain all remained firmly in place and unchipped.
Then she opened her eyes and looked up.
The guy who peered down at her hadn’t been so lucky as far as teeth were concerned.
“You stepped on my hand.” He leaned closer. Yep, he was definitely missing two teeth—an upper right and a bottom left. From the smell of his breath, it was most likely from failure to brush.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” Ilana asked. She pushed her hands against the pavement to get up, but a vile, woozy sensation cascaded through her head. She rolled over onto her back instead, closing her eyes again.
“Lady, I think you hit your chin pretty hard.”
Cement pressed into her shoulder blades and the grit of the sand bit into her skin. Her chin burned. “I’m okay.” She opened her eyes.
Oh. Holy Mother of God. Was she hallucinating? The semi-toothless, scraggly-bearded homeless
guy with rancid breath and questionable hygiene had been replaced by a clean-shaven man with a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and vivid blue eyes kneeling next to her. Eyes that Ilana could get lost in. She had to be hallucinating…totally hallucinating. His black hair dripped water down his bare, well-muscled chest.
“Wedge, you okay?” The guy asked without removing his fixed stare from her.
“Yeah, man, she just got the edge of my hand. Broke a fingernail. But hell, she came down hard.”
Mr. Gorgeous-Beyond-Belief continued to stare at her. He reached out and touched her chin, tilting it up slightly to get a better look at the scrape, his fingertips cool against her skin. The soft touch sent a warm tingle down her neck. His lips tightened.
“That looks kind of nasty.”
His baby blues could put the Pacific and a California sun-kissed sky to shame. No one deserved to have eyes that color and full lips and that strong chin plus thick, jet-black hair. Ilana’s gaze traveled over his shoulders, pecs, and abs was she having one of those dreams only in hallucinatory form? And why was there a toothless homeless guy in her fantasy?
“Can you stand?” The gorgeous man reached out his hand. Ilana nodded. Maybe not a hallucination. Maybe he was real. Maybe really real. She clasped his outstretched hand. White-hot desire pulsed down her arm. Every cell in her body jolted with energy. She shook her head. Closed her eyes and opened them again. Yep, he was still there, kneeling beside her on the bike path at Venice Beach, this gorgeous guy who sparked longing down to her core.
He pulled her up to a seated position. No vertigo this time. Ilana looked to her left where—what was his name?—Wedge stood beside his tent.
“That’s Wedge and I’m Devon.”
“My name’s Ilana,” she said.
“You stepped on my hand. Broke my thumbnail.” Wedge stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked on the injured digit. “Hurts.”
“Right, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I was—”
“You were too damn busy looking at the drink is what you were doing.” Irritation in Wedge’s voice. “You’re gonna run in somebody’s backyard, you gotta look where you’re going.”