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.