Bed of Thornes (Bed of Thornes Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bed of Thornes Trilogy Book 1

  By Angel L. Woodz

  This book is fiction. Name, characters, businesses, places, events and situations are all products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2015 by Angel L. Woodz

  Bed of Thornes, Book 1

  Cover Art by J.N. Sheats: http://www.jnsheats.com/

  All rights reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in book review.

  First Printing, 2015

  Acknowledgements

  I am thankful for the encouragement of my close family and friends to take control of my dreams and turn them into a reality. Writing is a passion, sharing it with the world is truly my dream come true. I am grateful for my readers, knowing my work has made it into your hands for you to enjoy is all I have ever wanted.

  To my husband, for being there for me through it all. You are my bed of roses.

  Thank you, Andrew, for introducing me to a fellow Author and friend that has inspired me in many ways to simply just be me... Brooke Warra, thank you for bringing the Author community into my life. Most of all; thank you, my lovely, for being you.

  My endless gratitude goes to J.N. Sheats for your beautiful talents, including your work on my book covers and promo materials. Thank you for your time, generosity, helping hand, and your friendship.

  Raven, PA. Thank you for your patience, time, and energy poured into editing. Your services and support have helped make this possible in so many ways. I am honored to have you as a special part of my journey.

  Countless thanks goes out to all of my Author friends, for your inspirations and guidance.

  To my awesome Street Team – Angel Wingz, and to those of you that have stood by me since day one, your support is beyond appreciated.

  Lots of love to all of my number one fans... you know who you are, as do I!

  (Yes mom, this includes you.)

  Dedicated to the struggles faced with any form of addiction;

  shame, doubt, fear, secrets, lies.

  Believe...

  You are more than your addiction, than what society makes you out to be.

  You will not be defeated.

  You are not alone.

  You are loved.

  Is he aware? Does he know about my obsession? These cravings within me are out of my reach, nothing seems to suppress them. Wanting something so badly and so often, that there is never complete satisfaction. Like an out of control addiction.

  That's it! "I'm addicted." I whisper as if shocked. Considering my behavior has been out of character every time my mind wanders about him, I should not be shocked. Aware, maybe. Aware that at this very moment I have a problem. I don't like this feeling of something dark that I have to hide from society. Why haven't I noticed this before?

  Wait. Is it wrong? Why would I automatically assume it to be corrupt? Sure, there are addictions that need to be treated, not all of them are bad though... right? I let out a big sigh of frustration, "I really need to get a grip." I say sternly to myself.

  As I pull up into the driveway, I double check myself in the mirror to be sure my hair isn't a wreck from the drive to work this morning. I fix the tousled curls of my long dark brown hair, making sure the caramel brown and blonde highlights are lying just right. Presentation is important in my career. I pull out my nude lip-gloss to add a touch of shine to my lips.

  My friends and family have always complimented my features. That I have pretty, full lips, and big emerald colored eyes that could melt the heart of anyone. I have even heard the term "bedroom eyes". Although that's not how I see myself. It's not that I have low self-esteem; I know that I'm not ugly. I just don't have the confidence that I probably should have. I am natural mostly, wearing just enough makeup to showcase my best qualities. I keep my nails manicured, and wear a small amount of jewelry that I cherish. I have my dad's dimples.

  Growing up, my father owned a classic 1966 Ford Mustang Convertible, Tahoe Turquoise and Pearl in color. So many memories were made in that car. He traveled a lot with his job, mom and I would ride along and turn the commute into family road trips. We have seen many places that most aren't fortunate enough to see. Dad made a good living, he did estimates for architecture work all over the nation, they paid him well to do the dirty work the company didn't want to do themselves. I still remember seeing his short jet black hair blowing around in the wind. My dad was Italian, through and through. My mother, half Caucasian and half African American. Yes, I am quite the mix, but I love every morsel of my background.

  Though I had everything that I could have ever needed as a child, I was never spoiled. I was taught how to earn money and appreciate everything in life, even the little things. After dad's passing from cancer when I was 25, mom had the car restored and gave it to me as a gift. I miss him often. Dad was my mentor, everything he taught me I have carried with me and it is what made me the successful woman I am today.

  I own an art gallery, which features my personal collection of paintings that I have gained establishment from. I also alternate new pieces from close friends, whom are also well-known artists, into the gallery every few months to keep things fresh. I spend more time in my studio, office, and gallery, which are all in one huge fancy white building, than I do at home. I practically live at work. My house is of modern build and decor; two story, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, open kitchen, two full living rooms, den, rec room, fully furnished basement, four car garage, pool, deck. It's a shame that I can hardly spend time there.

  I'm a workaholic; all of my friends will let that be known. Being taught to earn what I want in life stuck with me to say the least. With my mother moving to Paris after dad's passing, I haven't had anyone to make me slow down or break from my work. Mom was always the one trying to get dad to rest, she was the same with me when she was around. Now she tells me on the phone and over Skype, but it doesn't have the same effect. I'm just glad she is happy living out her dreams of being in France. I'm perfectly content here in Dallas utilizing my passion for art to make others happy while earning my way in life.

  My best friend, Jenna, on the other hand believes in 'Work Hard, Play Hard', with emphasis on the play. I tease her with nicknames, 'Playmate' is my favorite. She is a replica of what I envision of the Playmates, living in those oversized mansions getting money handed to them on a silver platter just for being flawlessly beautiful. Plus, she likes to play. It's fitting. Regard
less, her looks are what she uses to get what she wants, she even admits it.

  "You're running late this morning, Ronni." Jenna points out the obvious with a smirk on her face, showing she is proud to beat the boss to work, one day out of... ever. Jenna is known for never being on time, for anything. Hey, that look takes time, I understand. I may look that gorgeous if I was able to invest as much effort, energy, and my every waking moment to perfecting it too. However, my time to my career is more valuable than my looks. On the other hand, it explains why I'm lonely at night while Jen can have any man she desires at the wink of her eye in her bed any night she feels like. Ronni is her nickname for me, she says it's too much work to say my full name, Veronica. Hah! It's too much work for Jenna to spell work.

  "Good morning to you too, Playmate." I chuckle as I close the front door of the gallery behind me. "I see you have a head start on filing those... nails?" I roll my eyes playfully, Jenna and I have always been straight-forward and open with one another. We joke around a lot. She tends to be an easy target. We have been best friends since high school, we have the sort of relationship that is tight but distant at times. I'm always working, she's always begging me to come out. I couldn't imagine not having her though, she's there for me in ways none of my other friends are. We talk about everything, usually at work, but she's the one I can confide in and vice versa. I think if we could ask one another of anything, she would want me to party more and I would want her to work harder. It's a simple personality difference though, and we don't let it get in between our friendship.

  "Jen, you're supposed to be filing the new clients' requests so I can catch up by this afternoon, not filing your nails. Do I need to make you another manicure appointment so you can have that done out of the office? I really need you focused while you're here, I've got a big month coming up." I tell her this with sincerity, but still playing it off as though I'm nudging a joke her way. It's not as fun as it sounds to have friends working for you. It can be at times, but when you really need the work done, you risk hurting feelings by being stern, and it becomes difficult.

  She pushes her short blonde hair back from her face. "Ronni, are you okay?" Oh no. She can sense the fact that I'm not too satisfied with her work, or lack thereof. I hate feeling like I'm being too demanding, but I am the boss, and I need things done in a timely matter. Is that too much to ask?

  "I mean, you're never late. Is everything alright?" She asks, and I quickly realize she is genuinely concerned for me, which makes me feel awful.

  I shrug my shoulders, "I'm good. Just had a rough time getting to sleep last night, and I ended up sleeping past my alarm this morning. I've had a lot on my mind lately. With all the client meetings, and the triple R's hitting all at once, it's that time of year again." She squints a bit, like it pinched her to hear that.

  The triple R is dreaded for me. Reveals, Reviews, Releases. It's where all my biggest clients that have yearly projects done for their major events, come together to see the reveal of the finished products and review them, to judge if they will use them. Which then entails the release of a piece of my art to the public through the form of their high-end businesses and companies. Unless they decide against it, that's where the anxiety of it all kicks in. I can't afford to lose any of these clients, they are a big deal to the keeping of my gallery in good standing as far as reputation goes. I prefer to keep them returning year after year. It's top-of-the-line marketing for my sake if they are pleased and use what I create for them. They are quite specific of what they want. My nerves kick in hardcore just thinking about it.

  "Ronni, you'll do awesome, you always do!" Jenna smiles a comforting smile at me. "I know you will kill it. Don't worry so much. Is there anything I can do to ease your stress?"

  "It's ok, Jen, you know how I get overwhelmed sometimes. Sorry if I took it out on you when I came in this morning. I think I need to grab a glass of wine, turn my music up in the studio, and just do what I do best... paint." I sigh, trying to let out any built up anxiousness.

  "I know, sweetie, I don't blame you for being tense about everything, I would be too. But you definitely need to let out that tension before it takes over you. Go get some masterpieces started, I'll hold it down out here." She insists.

  Jenna running the front desk, helping those that come in to browse, taking calls, setting up meetings and making appointments has been a huge help. How dare I think of her as if she doesn't do enough, she's here to handle the extra things that would drive me insane if I had to take care of them on top of everything I already do. I'm too hard on her, and myself. Damn I need to relax.

  Without hesitation, I gather my duffle bag full of supplies and head down the hall. "Thanks babe, you're the best. If anyone calls, just take a message, I'll get to them when I'm done playing in my paint!" I shout as I near the back of the gallery, where my art studio is located. This is where I can let go, be myself. I have complete control and unrestricted freedom within these four walls. It's my escape.

  I pull out the paints from my bag and begin lining them up on the tall black stand next to the easel that holds a canvas waiting to feel the strokes of my paint brushes. The piece I need to start working on is for a client that wants a portrait of his family to display in the foyer of his office. Mind you, his office foyer looks like gold vomited over every item in the room. He displays fancy pieces that he has collected over the years, all done in gold. It's a bit overdone, in my opinion, but some rich people have nothing better to do with their money I suppose. He wants a painting that represents his family, done to scale of him and his wife and children, sitting properly in perfection. It will be framed in gold. How fitting. I do what my clients request though, no matter their reason for wanting what they want.

  Jenna knows that when I'm in my studio, no interruptions are allowed. I lose focus rather easily, and sometimes it's hard for me to get back into my flow if I'm disrupted. It is best is I just work my way through a project until it's completed. I refuse to start something and not finish it. Luck be it, in the middle of getting set up to begin Mr. Ross' project, a knock sound at my door. A knock loud enough to splice through my bass-boosted speaker system. I like my music loud in the studio, surrounding me. Enveloping me in melodies, beats, and lyrics. 'You Earned It' by The Weekend is playing when the knock cuts through again. Flustered, I throw my smock to the floor. Right when I was getting set up and in the mode to begin, really? Muttering profane insults to the unknown person behind the knock, I fling the door open and shout, "Seriously?!"

  I freeze.

  Oh. my.

  "I'm sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?"

  I believe that I have lost my ability to speak. My salivating drool mechanism seems to be in working order however. I close my mouth and force an awkward smile, feeling ridiculous.

  "You are Mrs. Thorne, correct?" He asks confused from my awkwardness I suppose.

  "Ms. Thorne, not a Mrs." I spill out, feeling like I may have just come off either pathetic or desperate, neither one of them being my intention. What a first impression. I clear my throat, "And you are?"

  "Sorry, Ms. Thorne..."

  "Just Veronica is fine, no need to be formal at this point, I think I've made enough of a fool of myself for you to know that I'm not as professional as one would expect." I chuckle while invisibly kicking myself in my ass. "What did you say your name is?" I ask, trying to regain what little composure I have left.

  "I didn't." He smiles. Wow. What a heaven sent smile. "Adrian Montez." He reaches out to shake my hand. Damn, his touch sends tingles down my spine. "I was sent to deliver the materials you requested from Blank Canvas." That would be my art supply store. I had Jenna place an order for me to make sure that I had all that I need to finish these projects due without having to order last minute.

  "Right, right... ok, do you mind bringing them in here and setting them by the supply closet just over there?" I point in the direction of the closet, noticing I have red paint on my finger. I quickly tuck my finger into my fist
. I must have touched an open tube of the paints I was laying out on the tray before the knock at the door. Oh no, I probably have it all over me. "Excuse me just a sec." I dash to my purse and grab my compact mirror.

  As suspected, a big smudge of red paint on the tip of my nose. I grab a wipe and frantically rub the paint off, only making my skin itself turn red from friction. Mortified, I turn back to see Adrian with his hand over his mouth trying to stifle his laughter. I throw my face into the palms of my hands, trying to disguise my complete and utter embarrassment at this point. If only I could just start this all back over. I slowly pull my hands from my face, which is most likely beet red.

  "I looked like a clown when I answered the door, didn't I?" I shyly raise my eyes to meet his.

  "No, not at all, Ms. Thorne. I thought you looked like you should, an artist beautifully hard at work." He answers with what I can tell is pure honesty.

  "Beautifully? I don't know about that." I laugh. "And I told you, Veronica is fine. Hell, skip the formalities." I put my hand on my forehead trying to collect myself.

  "Well, Veronica, I say beautifully because to me there is nothing more beautiful in this world than a woman that is in her full glory, working diligently to create what is inside of her mind and heart, exposing her true colors of passion for the world to see."

  Ok, and where has 'Mr. Just Right' been all my life? Hello!

  "Smooth." I say, regretting it. Who knew I could be so corny?

  He chuckles, "Not smooth, just truthful. If I was trying to be smooth, I would have complimented you on how the red on your nose made you cute when you angrily swung open the door. But that, Veronica, would be a cheeseball line. I just tell it how it is. Whether you accept it or not. I've always seen beauty in a woman's passion for her work."

  Well I sure feel stupid.

  He clears his throat a bit, "What makes you think that I was attempting to be smooth?"

  "I don't know, it just slipped out. I suppose I don't know how to react to such a real compliment. You know, I get the normal 'Great work' and 'Amazing talent' that most people use quite freely in this field of work, but you're comments are one of a kind. I thought maybe it was too good to be real, I have never been told something so deep." I try to explain without putting my foot any further in my mouth, there was no room for that left.