Page 3 of Sweet Venom

My parents were shit. I take that back; they were more than just shit. They were horrible, miserable excuses for human beings, and why? Because of so-called love. At least, that's how it was portrayed in my mother's journals. I wouldn't know what truth exists outside of the black ink of her pages, because she never felt inclined to do anything more than the bare minimum for me. The woman I knew in her journals' pages was not the cold, distant, miserable excuse for a woman I was forced to endure and call ‘mom.’

At one point in time, she was happy and full of life—until the love she spoke of took it all away. Somewhere along the line, she let that four-letter word carve out her heart and leave her a shell of a woman. I grew up believing if what they had was love, I wanted nothing to do with it. As the product of that so-called love, I was shipped between houses from an early age, neither wanting me, my mere existence a stain. I was an unwanted mistake they were forced to endure.

The second my mother learned of my existence, my father was convinced she intentionally got pregnant to trap him and take his money. Whatever feelings he thought were there were instantly stripped away and replaced with ugly hate. It's because of them I never knew what love was. It's also why I never take risks with my heart. Some people can only learn through experience. I am not one of them. I don't need to make bad choices to know they are bad. I never wanted to end up bitter and scorned like my father or broken like my mother because I let a four-letter word rule over my better sense.

Before I can let the emotional scars of my childhood run away with any more of my time, my phone rings, practically startling me out of my boots. I pull the phone away from my chest and see it's my contractor.

"Hey, Mark," I answer as I glance down at my watch and realize I'm running twenty minutes behind schedule for our walkthrough.

"I'm assuming you're stuck in the mess on Bayshore. I've started making a list of things I want to bring to your attention, but I didn't know if this is something you wanted to oversee from top to bottom or if you'd be okay with me starting the walkthrough alone and just pointing out my findings once you arrive."

"Yes, Mark. That would be great. I'll be there shortly. I'm not too far out." I don't bother telling him I haven't even left the house. I'm paying him good money; however, I don't want to start our working relationship looking like an unorganized rookie. I'm a firm believer in the concept of faking it until you make it. He doesn't know me from Adam. All he knows is what I let him see.

"Okay; I'll see you soon." He clicks off the phone, and I grab my helmet and keys before looking around the place, ensuring I don't forget anything. I don't bother taking the elevator down. I need the steps to clear my head and erase the fog that thoughts of Ellis and my past have brought on, allowing me to forget myself. While I did come back for Ellis, he's not the only reason I returned.

When I reach the garage, I can't help but jog over to my Ducati. I haven't ridden in months, and I've missed it. Riding is genuinely a type of therapy. There is something truly cathartic about every ride. I'm not sure if it's the thrill of the speed and power beneath me, or if it's the wind in my hair and the open road before me, but the freedom I feel every time I climb on is intoxicating. It frees my mind. I thought about repurchasing one back home, but my grandmother hates that I ride, and because I respect her, I do it hundreds of miles away where I know she can't see me. The woman can get me to do just about anything, and not just because she held the purse strings to my wealth for the past four years.

My father's mom has been my only true parental figure. I am Julian's only heir. While he has been married five times now, he has never had any more children, and though I was the only one he had, I was only ever a transaction to him. He took me because he didn't want my mother to have me. If she had me, that meant she got more of his money. Were it not for his mother, Indie, coming to take me from time to time when it was his week to have me, I would have been forced to endure his sharp tongue and loathsome glares. The alternative was locking myself in my room. My father lived in a mansion, yet my room was four walls and a bed. I was his to torment, his retribution. It's how he got his vindication for being bested by the treacherous woman he claimed to love. I was her mirror image, and for that, I received his ire.

Reaching my bike, I can't help but run my hand along the leather of my seat before taking a walk around to make sure everything looks good. But as I swing my leg over to take my seat, the car next to mine registers. It's Sebastian's blacked-out Range Rover. When I didn't run into him this morning, I assumed it was because he left, not because he was still asleep. Determined not to give him any more energy he doesn't deserve, I pull on my helmet and fire up my bike.

As I pull out of the garage, the traffic on the side streets seems to be flowing, but since Mark mentioned Bayshore was backed up, I take El Camino Real to Southbay Fairway and head into downtown San Jose. The place I've picked for my studio is only two blocks from Ellis's club. Covet is an exclusive gentlemen's club. The first floor moonlights as an expensive club, but the upper levels are for members only. His club is actually what gave me the idea to open my studio, and you could say it also helped me decide on a location.

Before I left San Jose, I started working at the club, filling in for Charlie since she quit after getting together with Mason. There's no way he would have allowed her to stay on. I never held a real salaried job until Covet. After high school, I went straight to college, and at twenty-one, my inheritance kicked in. I told him he didn't need to pay me. I viewed it as a way to occupy my time until I figured out what I wanted to do with my own life. Nonetheless, I was happy to assist. But Ellis insisted I take a salary. Working there and meeting the women put the fire under my ass to find my way. I always knew I wanted to do something with my inheritance. Something that no one could take away from me, and that's what I'm doing with Blush.

I make it to Green Meadow in record time. That's one of the perks of riding a bike. I cut through traffic in ways a full-sized vehicle can't. Is it reckless? Yes, but today is important and worth any traffic ticket I could have received, and because I got here without issue, I feel like that's a good omen. I'm making good choices. This is where I am supposed to be.

Walking through the front doors of the commercial space I bought, a sense of pride washes over me. The place is a complete wreck. The floors are trashed. Every wall will need to be redone, not just with paint, but none of that matters. What's important is the space and the location.

"Fiori, you're here," Mark yells down from the second floor.

"Yeah. Do you want me to come up there, and we can work our way back down?" I haven't met Mark in person yet, but I can tell from where I'm standing that he's got that hot, older blue-collar man vibe going. He's got to be in his early forties. Which, yes, for me, is older. I'm only twenty-five. The age gap between Ellis and me is ten years, and that's my max. Not that I wouldn't give Mark a ride, but he's definitely not relationship material.

Not that I am, either.

"Yeah, come on up. I'm just about done up here, and I was going to head down."

As I cross the space to the open staircase along the far wall, I ask, "Is there any reason the space is so trashed? This was a nice bookstore when I bought the place a month ago. I can't imagine Cecil and Walter doing this on their way out. This place was their baby."

The old couple I bought from decided to close up shop and sell. They were finally ready to throw in the towel and retire. I take the steps two at a time as Mark says, "I'm assuming they paid people to take everything out, and if you didn't have a clause in the contract on how the space needed to be left after they exited…" As I reach the top step, he shrugs and throws his arms out wide before adding, "This is how movers will do you. They are paid to haul shit out, not keep it clean."

Now that we're only feet apart, I can see that Mark is definitely a catch. His arms are ripped. I don't think his black t-shirt could stretch over his biceps any more without tearing. His pecs are clearly defined, his jeans hug his thighs in all the right places, and he's wearing no wedding ring. Great. Temptation is the last thing I need. Hell, it's why I ran in the first place.

Needing to get my mind off the thoughts threatening to steal my focus away from the business, I throw him a nod before refocusing my eyes on the space around me. It looks completely different without all the shelves, tables, and reading nooks. The place has literally been stripped bare. I knew I'd change everything anyway, but it's somewhat overwhelming. Mark must sense my unease because he says, "Don't worry. I've seen worse, and honestly, everything you see now is basically aesthetics. This place has great bones. The old owners definitely kept it up over the years."

I pull in a cleansing breath and try to let go of the melancholy threatening to settle. "Can I ask you something?" Mark asks. He rubs his jaw with a studied look in his eye as he takes in my appearance.

"Shoot," I say as I walk away from him and further into the space. I already know what's coming. Nothing about me says businesswoman. I don't look the part. I'm dressed from head to toe in black leather. Black boots, leather pants, and a leather jacket. Make no mistake; I realize I don't look the part, but I also don't believe in checking the boxes just because they are there. Just because it's what has always been done, doesn't mean it's what should be done. I don't need to look the part. Money talks, and for this project, I still have it.

"Is this your first rehab?"

And there it is. I knew it was coming. Our business has been handled over the phone thus far. Mark couldn't tell my age, but now that I'm standing before him, whatever level of respect he may have had for me is probably gone. But I am a master when it comes to fake fortitude.

"What rehab this is for me is none of your concern."

I hear him chuckle, and I can't help but swing around and blatantly stare. "Is something funny?"

He straightens quickly, but his smirk remains until he says, "I mean, no offense, but I'm probably old enough to be your father. I was merely asking because, unlike you, this is my area of expertise, and I can tell you are green. I was only going to give you some advice, but hell, I don't even think you need it."

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