Thorn in My Side (Bunch-A-Blooms Book 1)

  By

  Shyla Colt

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Thorn in My Side

  Copyright © 2017 by Shyla Colt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are

  either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by:

  Dreams 2 Media

  Edited by:

  Elizabeth A. Lance

  EAL Editing Services

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

  any means without written permission of the author.

  The Luminers: Ho Hey

  James Arthur: Say you won’t let go

  Halsey: Walk The Line

  Lana Del Rey: Love

  Girl: Jim Sturgess

  All my Loving: Jim Sturgess

  Something: Jim Sturgess

  To my family, friends, and fans who embraced my step into a new genre with open arms, and asked for more.

  Olive Bateman is living her dream. Selling her Jewelry and all natural Bath and Body products, she’s on the cusp of making a name for herself, when an opportunity she can't refuse arises. Heiress Rachael Davenport hires her to design a cohesive look for her wedding. The stumbling block keeping her from reaching her goal comes from an unlikely source. A sexy six-foot-one, sandy-brown-haired, blue-eyed perfectionist hell-bent on driving her insane. Big brother extraordinaire and Head of the Davenport family, Luka Davenport.

  In charge of his siblings and the family candy empire since the death of his parents fifteen years prior, Luka's used to running things. So when his only sister decides to get married, he's determined to give her the wedding of her dreams. When she chooses a local small business to cater the affair, he's less than pleased. Working with the quirky visionary is trying as they bump heads and go toe-to-toe in a way few others are brave enough to attempt. Though he loathed to admit it, Olive made his blood boiling in more ways than one.

  If they can avoid killing one another, they might discover something else worth fighting for.

  Shyla Colt

  Olive

  Davenport candies are world renowned. Their chocolate is a tiny sliver of heaven one must unwrap and savor as it melts on the tongue while a choir of angels sing, and taste buds do the Charleston. The old time dance reminds me of the family and their branding. The Davenport logo with its gold lettering and raised seal stand out against their black boxes. The combination always reminded me of everything shiny and glamorous about the1920s. I assume they kept the same style as a nod to the time-period when the company was first established.

  The local company had grown and gone on to conquer far beyond the area of Loveland, Ohio where their roots are still firmly planted. I pop a strawberry champagne truffle in my mouth to remind myself of one of the perks that came with the new contract. Free candy. That alone should be enough to help me deal with the pompous, arrogant, perfectionist, Luka Davenport.

  Truly, it’s one of life's ironies that the man who is the head of the candy empire never failed to leave a sour taste in my mouth. You'd think it was his wedding I was bringing to life instead of his sister's. A knock sounds on the door and I sigh. Of course, his highness is punctual. It wouldn't do to keep us peasants waiting. I rise from the couch and prepare to meet the devil. Like Lucifer, this bastard is more gorgeous than any mere mortal dared be with cornflower blue eyes and thick, wavy, light-brown hair that frames his angelic face.

  I open the door and find his full pink lips fixed in an ever-present tiny frown that exudes displeasure. He has a killer set of dimples that paired well with his strong jawline and slight cleft chin. The indent was just enough to give him character, without being overwhelming like some clefts. It’s like a sculptor worked on his features. Clearly God made him so pretty because he knew what a pain in the ass he’d become.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Bateman."

  There's something cold in the way he addresses me. Now it's my turn to scowl.

  "Mr. Davenport. Please, come in." I step back, and he slips inside my apartment. I wonder how it must look to him. His wool coat and the tailored pants that rest on Italian loafers are worth more than I make in a month. I stand a bit taller as I close the door.

  I love my life. I might not make money hand over fist, but I live on my terms, I support, myself, and I get to create daily. It's the crafting of jewelry that drew Rachel to me in the first place. Despite her wealth, the simplistic, rustic, and down-to-earth bride wanted a very specific look for her wedding, and she insisted on hometown talent to provide it. Getting to work with my bestie, and floral shop owner, Petunia on what was the wedding of the century in our small town is a windfall. With her upgraded building, she’s able to handle the large order, and make back a portion of what she and her husband and business partner, Mason have recently invested.

  “You have the item ready for me to inspect?” he asks.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Every piece I make has to be approved by him before they go to Rachel because he didn’t want her to get her heart set on something inappropriate. I understand wanting to keep up appearances. For someone at their level of wealth and influence, it must be stifling. But it is her wedding. She should have everything she wants, and nothing she doesn’t. Who cares if she goes more simplistic than most with her bank account would? I am crafting everything from the bridesmaid’s jewelry to wedding guests’ gifts, and table centerpieces. When she said she wanted her wedding customized, she meant one of a kind. My bank account and reputation are thanking her profusely. My nerves after dealing with her older brother, are not.

  “Yes, I made three for you to choose from. If you’ll take a seat on the couch, I’ll go get them.”

  He looks at the couch I lovingly refer to as the big green monster and grimaces. I turn away to hide my smirk as he perches on the edge, completely out of place. I hurry away into my workspace and grab the breakfast tray where my rectangular black velvet jewelry displays hold the napkin rings. Rachel is taking the fairytale theme to a whole other level as they recreate a wondrous garden with whimsical elements and insane architecture. I suppose when you’re marrying a man who designs buildings for a living, it makes sense that you both get what you want when you tie the knot.

  Pinecroft, the Crosley Estate, is the perfect blend of old world charm, sophistication, and spacious enough for the number of guests they’d like to attend. The 17 acres house a garden pavilion and a historic mansion. I struggle to keep my hands from shaking as I set the tray on the table in front of him and hold my hands behind my back. Luka Davenport makes me more than a little nervous.

  He picks up the silver strands of wire I’ve woven together and his brows furrowed.

  “You realize we’re having an upscale event, don’t you?” He arches his hard angled thick eyebrows, casting shade like it’s his job.

  I grit my teeth. “That’s why there are three options. She wants simple, he cares about angles, and you want decadence. It's a tall order to fulfill, so I am offering multiple options to please you all. You may have the first say, but Rachel has the final. It is her day after all.”

  “And yet, I’m the one footing the bill. Believe me, Ms. Bate
man, I’m quite aware of whose day it is, because my little sister has yet to let anyone forget it, and the blasted day is still six months away.” The accent he’s procured from working in England is attractive.

  I bite my tongue. Arguing with the man holding the credit card is never a smart idea. Don’t let anyone mess with your money. The phrase handed down in my family keeps me grounded. He can play the part of Oscar the Grouch all he wants. As long as he doesn’t disrespect me, I can handle his prickliness.

  The twitch of the corners of his lips, betrays his affection for Rachel regardless of his cross tone. You have a heart after all, tin man. He picks up the brass rose I hammered to perfection. With angled petals, it was a thing of beauty.

  “Better.”

  My jaw drops, and I close it quickly before he notices. He has no clue what it takes to manipulate metal.

  He moves on to the silver circles I’d carefully clustered to look like a flower and adorned with crystals.

  “Are these?” He narrows his gaze. “Rhinestone?”

  “Yes, for this prototype. However, if you like the design, I can easily switch it out for the stone of your choosing.”

  “We’d need Swarovski of course.” He sets the pieces down and taps the area between the rose and the flower cluster. “I’m okay with either of these two. Rachel’s pick will decide.”

  How nice of you to include her in your choices.

  “I’ll bring this to the meeting we have with Petunia this weekend, so I can get started making more as soon as she chooses.”

  “And you’ll be able to produce three-hundred and fifty of them for the wedding?”

  “You’re paying me handsomely for a reason, Mr. Davenport. You have me pretty much exclusively dedicated to this event for the next six months. I would never have agreed if I couldn’t deliver. So, if you’re worried about me falling short, don’t.”

  “I wasn’t. But it’s good to see you’re so committed.”

  “You wouldn’t have hired me if you didn’t know that,” I counter.

  He smirks. “No, I wouldn’t have. One thing down, a million more to do. What else are you currently working on?”

  “We’re knocking out all of the reception things first because it’ll require the largest quantities. I’ve thought about toying with the theme, but it’s difficult to come up with just one thing for both men and women, so I ended up with the idea of having cufflinks for men and a bracelet for women. They’re pretty universal, and small enough that I’ll be able to make the right number easily.”

  “I like that. What kind of cufflinks did you have in mind?”

  “One of two things. I can hammer down a texturized circle set, or do a square set with a more intricate pattern etched onto it.”

  “Hmmm.” He rubs his chin, and I can’t help but focus in on his lips. I’ve never seen a man with lips so pouty and pink before in my life. I watch them form words. He’s elegant without trying.

  “Do you have an example?” he asks.

  “I have two loose interpretations. I’d have to tweak it to match their style, though, so you’ll have to keep that in mind and use your imagination.”

  “Understood.”

  I return with the items I have ready to wrap and ship out for a customer.

  “How would you change it? Because right now it’s so…”

  “Plain?”

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  “Well.” I sit beside him, grab my sketch book and pop open the pencil box on my cocktail table. I began to sketch, and the world fades around me as I work to put what I see in my head onto paper. I tilt the pencil, shading the areas in as I add depth and detail. It’s therapeutic in a way. The tension rolls off me like water off a duck’s back. He hums, but remains quiet. As the sky opens up outside, and the rain taps a rhythm all its own against the building, I’m in my happy place. I tuck my legs under me and lean back into the corner of my couch.

  I put the finishing touches on my sketches and hold it out in front of me, turning it this way and that as I squint. Does this speak to the couple and the theme? I think so.

  “This is more of what I had in mind. I could even do a combination of round and square.”

  He takes the sketchbook from me, and his entire demeanor changes. Suddenly he’s lighter and less closed off. “These are quite good, you know.”

  “The cufflinks?”

  “The drawing.”

  “Oh, thank you. It’s something I’ve always done.”

  “It shows.”

  “Do. Do you draw?” I ask hesitantly. We’ve never crossed over into personal territory before.

  “Yes, and paint, when I can find the time.”

  He shuts down like a home with a tripped alarm. His eyes lose a bit of their shine, and the joy is hidden behind his stiff posture and dour expression. “I like where you’re headed with both of these. Now tell me what you had in mind for the women’s bracelets.”

  I mentally sigh, wondering why Rachel puts up with his heavy-handed ways. He’s like an overprotective mother on crack. What is he going to do once she’s married and her loyalties lie elsewhere first? I launch into a new drawing and quiet the voices in my head. Here we have common ground. As long as I keep sketching, he’ll be tolerable, and we’ll get one step closer to him walking out the front door until the next inquisition, I mean, meeting.

  Luka

  I'm neurotic. I can recognize it, yet I remain powerless to resist the emotions triggering my need to control every last detail. It’s my coping mechanism. The way I handle the fact that there are a vast number of things out in the universe, I have no say so over. Rachel is more daughter than sister at this point. I’m not marrying off my younger sibling, as much as I’m losing a daughter. Soon, she’ll be out in the world where I can’t soften blows. It’s terrifying. I was at my wits in when our parents died. She was barely fourteen, and I was twenty-five. I knew nothing about parenting, especially a little girl. Yet we’d muddled through it all. Kane, Asher, Micah and I banded together to keep the business strong, our family together, and Rachel stable. It was a tender age to lose one's parents. Perhaps that’s why we indulged her more than we should have. Thank God, she had our mother’s sweet nature, or she’d be a spoiled rotten brat by now.

  I run my fingers through my hair and peer in the mirror. That’s the last one accounted for, out of the house with a career, and a life. Now, what am I going to do with myself? Life’s been about nothing but work and family for so long. A slight panic has begun to creep over me. This is the end of an era. The silence in the mansion is stifling. After she returned from college and promptly moved out to live with Joseph, I noticed how huge the place is with everyone gone. The weekend visits allowed me to pretend I wasn’t totally isolated, but those have trickled down to once or twice a month.

  She pops by once a week, but I know it’s because she feels she has to. I should tell her she doesn’t have to. No, I will tell her, just not yet. I’m not a man who likes change. Fate’s been a hateful bitch to me, so I distrust the future with an intensity that borders on paranoia. When you plan for the worst and expect nothing, you’re already ahead of the game when it comes to not being disappointed.

  I push away from the sink, feeling closer to fifty than to my actual forty years. I feel like I’m back in college and waking from a bender with my frat brothers. I flew back in from our London branch on a redeye, caught a few hours, and now I’m headed to brunch at Sugar N’ Spice. Once a month we all come together for a meal. The place changes frequently, but we all show unless there’s illness or an emergency situation. It’s a family tradition. We’re staunch about those. Strange to some, but not us. Not when we know how very quick life can be snuffed out. I throw on a pair of jeans, a white long-sleeved Henley t-shirt to ward away the chill, and a fresh pair of sneakers. I welcome the casual attire and relaxed vibe.

  We’ve been expanding our business and developing a new line we want to launch around the same time as Rachel’s wedding. Th
e double duty has me running ragged. Kane, Micah, and Asher hold positions in the company, but I bear the brunt of the negotiations. Kane is more artistic, and Asher and Micah are good with people, so they make the majority of public appearances. I don’t envy them that. They traveled just as much as I do, but I’m working with our products, which I prefer. People are tedious, needy things much of the time. I make my way to the garage, and opt to take the Black Escalade.

  There’s a high chance of snow, and I’m sick of sedans. I’ve been driven around in a black town car for the better part of a week now. As I pull out of the garage and close the door behind me, the air gets lighter.

  The garish pink building makes me cringe the same way it always has. It’s like someone took a massive bottle of Pepto-Bismol, coated the building and shellacked it to preserve the finish. They took the phrase Sugar N’ Spice a little too far. But the good food and stellar customer service make up for any let downs I get from the décor. The statue of the pig covered in syrup with a stack of flapjacks balanced on his snout makes me snicker. I think it’s illegal to not walk out feeling like he looks when you leave. The building has been around since the nineteen fifties, and there’s an authenticity to their food that tricks your brain into thinking you can eat more than your belly can handle every single time. I pop the collar of my coat and step out into the wind. The chill climbs its way inside and slides down my spine as I walk quickly to the building.

  Inside, there’s an explosion of colors and signs. A silly mural of a chef slipping on an egg flying into a pan, and the white and yellow diamond pattern represents a time gone by, which wars with the bright colors of the vinyl booths. I walk up to the counter where the Davenport crew plus Joseph have staked out the chairs.

  “Hello, family.” I peer down the row of familiar faces, and my spine stiffens. “And Ms. Bateman. I’m sorry, I was under the impression that this would be a family breakfast.”