Unacceptable (Interracial Romance), page 1
Unacceptable
Tressie Lockwood
Unacceptable
Copyright © October 2019, Tressie Lockwood
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No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
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This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story line are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
Contents
Also by Tressie Lockwood
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Also by Tressie Lockwood
Also by Tressie Lockwood
For Other Clean Works Try:
* * *
The Sartoris
Accepting His Name
Raising His Baby
Reaching His Heart
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Standalone
Involuntary Daddy
* * *
For Hotter Works Try:
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The Marquette Family Series
* * *
Creed
Damen
Stefan
Duke
* * *
www.tressielockwood.com
1
Jazelle turned onto the cobblestone street and braced herself against the bump bump bump from her tires. The slight headache she woke up to that morning hadn’t dissipated with meds yet. God, she shouldn’t have drunk so much, but what other choice did she have? It had taken all her strength to keep on going.
Her eyes went straight to the huge potted plant to the right of the shop’s door. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew two ceramic frogs lived in the pot. One looked like junk. The other showed off the talent and skill of its artist. Tears filled her eyes, but she brushed them away.
Even as she opened the car door and stepped out, she gazed up at her shop’s window, wondering if she could actually go in there.
You can, girl. You’re strong and powerful.
But why should she? Min Ki wasn’t there. Her heart constricted, and her tummy did crazy acrobatics. She jammed thoughts of her best friend from her mind. That was the only way to keep her sanity.
As soon as she unlocked the front door and shoved it open, the smell of paint assaulted her nose. She breathed in the familiar scent, welcoming it. Pinewood followed, along with a number of aromas that always permeated the home décor shop. Darkness entombed the front display floor, broken only by the moonlight shining through the door. She’d come out early, long before sunrise. It was the only way to be alone—and silent.
As she shut the door, it squeaked. She made a mental note to find where she put the oil she had purchased from Amazon to grease the hinges. Weeks passed since she made the purchase. Talk about procrastination.
Something bumped, and she froze where she stood. Scanning the dark room, she tried to figure out where the noise had come from. A chill raced up her spine, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. Don’t let it be a mouse, or she’d scream enough to wake the dead.
Poor choice of words, Jazelle.
As she worked her way around the white furry couch Min Ki fell in love with and insisted they buy—and no one bought—the door to the back office and their storage area came into view. She spotted the light that she hadn’t been able to see from the front entrance, not with all the furniture in the way.
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Someone had broken into the shop. No one but her had access. Regret washed over her, along with fear. This was because she had convinced Min Ki that they should cancel with the security company. Sales had gone down in the last year, and they had to pinch pennies where they could.
She pulled her cell phone out, ready to dial the police. “Wait, it’s not just paperwork back there,” she whispered. Her heart dumped into her toes. “Min Ki’s special pieces!”
Her phone slipped from her fingers, and she dashed for the door. It would kill her if someone stole his best works. She didn’t intend to sell them no matter how bad things got. They were going in her private collection, the paintings a memorial to Min Ki.
Anger drove fear to the farthest recesses of her mind. She thrust the door wide, and as she did, the light clicked off. The entire back area fell into darkness. Another bump, and her office chair squeaked. Her fingers curled around the block of wood to her right. She didn’t need to see it. Min Ki had planned to carve it into something, a present for her he’d said for her upcoming birthday.
Letting out a war cry, she charged in the direction she knew her desk lay in and swung as hard as she could. The heavy block of wood met with something solid. A male grunt of pain satisfied her. “That’s for breaking into places you don’t belong, creep.”
She swung again and missed. The momentum unsteadied her on her feet, and she fell forward. The intruder grabbed her arm. She screamed and tried to shake him off. Strong fingers encircled her arm and jerked her closer. She tried to hit him with the wood again, but he blocked it with his shoulder.
“Get your hands off me!” She kicked him and impacted with the air. A twirl and a hand twist, and her fingers went limp. The wood clunked to the floor. The man spun her and slammed her back against his chest. She gasped, shocked to her core that he was this skilled. The idiot should make better use of his life rather than stealing. Whatever his issues, she wasn’t going out without DNA from his skin under her fingernails.
She bent her knees, surprising him, and came up hard. Her head jammed into his chin. His hold loosened. She whirled around, raising her hand with fingers clawed. He caught her wrist in the dark, and spun her until she was trapped again. This time he made sure to keep his chin out of the way. His cheek touched hers. Her stomach rolled in disgust. She wriggled and fought hard.
“Aissi! Stop it, Jazelle,” he ordered.
She froze.
“I haven’t broken in.”
“Wha—?”
“Stop fighting me, and I’ll turn the light on.”
“I don’t know who you are. You have three seconds to get your hands off me.” While she didn’t recognize the person’s voice, she knew the Korean accent. For that matter, she recognized the exclamation of frustration Koreans used. Min Ki had said it plenty in the years she had known him.
The man let go, and she assumed he backed away. She stumbled to her desk and clicked the lamp there. For a moment light blinded her and then he came into view—Min Ki’s cousin. She didn’t remember his name, or never cared to.
“You’re…”
“Joon, Min Ki’s cousin. We met once before.”
“Did we?”
The first day she met Joon he wore a suit, and the first impression she got was that he was stuffy, never cracked a smile, and thought he was better than everyone else. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hot. Oh he was hot with those dark good looks, almost black eyes, midnight black hair, and sharp strong jawline. Not to mention the sardonic curl to his lips.
Although he was just average height at about five foot eleven, he had presence, she remembered thinking. He was larger than life, confident, and even a little dangerous. She’d thought when she first saw him he could probably kick a guy’s butt no matter what size his opponent. And he proved as much with his handling of her attack on him. Admitting it to herself burned her up.
All of these traits meant nothing to Jazelle when she met Joon, and they meant less meeting him in a dark shop at just after five in the morning.
“I don’t remember you, and I don’t give a good crap whether I did or didn’t. You have no business being in my shop.” She rested her hands on her hips and waited for him to make up an excuse that would stop her from calling the cops.
His shoulders relaxed, and he stuffed both hands into his pockets. The movement called her attention to the fact that just like last time, he wore a suit. Gray never suited a man so much, and the crisp white shirt without a tie to mar it stood out almost like it glowed. There went the curl to his lip, and she bristled.
“I have as much right to be here as you do.” His words held no heat or offense. He spoke calmly. Only the slightest hint of an accent graced his perfect English. Joon spent most of his time in Korea, Min Ki told her. He ran the family’s corporation as the president or something.
“How you figa?”
“My cousin passed and—”
“That’s right,” she snapped. Over the last few days she didn’t have much patience. Today was the first day she felt strong enough to open the shop, and here was this fool interfering with her progress. “I lost my best friend, the person I loved with all—”
She bit her tongue. Of course there was nothing wrong with her loving her best friend, but it was more than that. She couldn’t say it out loud or someone could tell how broken she was.
“Anyway.” She blew out a heavy breath. “He’s gone, and I need to straighten up some things here and open in a few hours. Your job is to explain to the police how you broke in here and go quietly in handcuffs.”
She could imagine the headlines in the Korean newspapers, maybe even in America: Corporate mogul blah blah blah…
Joon moved to pick up the receiver for the landline and held it out to her. “You can call the police, but you will be humiliated.”
“Excuse me? Look, this is my shop, and—”
“Our.”
Her teeth clicked together. She stared at him. He took his time moving closer, like he wanted to drag out her torture. In that instant her indifference to him went from resentment to dislike. She raised her chin just a hair when he reached her, standing too close. Refusing to back down despite how he had easily manipulated her body during their fight, she stared him in the eyes.
“Our,” he repeated and looked around the small office. “This is our shop, Jazelle. Min Ki left his portion to me.”
2
She couldn’t speak or think. The words resounded in her head. No, it wasn’t possible and yet, she recalled the original papers she and Min Ki drew up together. They’d laughed, talking about inheritances going to their kids when they hadn’t yet made a dime. Upon death, the business would pass on to their next of kin.
“I-it should go to his mom,” she muttered, dumbfounded.
“Unless he had a will, which he did. He named me.”
Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away. “You cold bastard, what do you care about Min Ki or his business? You run a corporation. We’re small time. This rinky dink shop on a back street doesn’t interest you.”
“Hmm.” He strolled away from her, rubbing his chin. “I thought you didn’t remember me.”
“Whatever. I’ll buy you out.”
“No.”
“What?”
“My portion isn’t for sale.”
She let out a small screech of frustration. “You can’t be serious. You don’t even live in America. You hardly ever come here.” Hope rose in her chest. What she said was true. Min Ki enjoyed the fact that most of his family still lived in Korea. He’d never gotten along with them. They didn’t understand him, so he kept his distance.
If Joon lived in Korea that meant even if he owned half the shop he wouldn’t be around to interfere with how she ran it. She could follow through with her plans, whatever those plans were. Right now, she wasn’t sure what to do to make up for Min Ki’s loss.
“Okay, look, we got off on the wrong foot, Joon. Why don’t I call you next week after I get back into the flow of things? I’ll give you the run down of where the finances are and later report on how things are going. Is that cool? We don’t have to be enemies.”
His black eyes glittered as he studied her face. She felt like squirming but resisted. He could be intimidating without saying a word, but she wouldn’t allow him to see that it worked on her. Neither would she give in to it.
“Aniyo.”
She frowned. “What do you mean no?”
“I’ll be here as long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?” She saw her hope of doing things her way dissolving.
“To learn everything there is about my cousin’s business.”
“Maybe you think the used furniture business is something exotic and different. It’s not. God, I don’t know how many piles of junk we had to climb through to find awesome pieces. The artwork we do to the restored furniture and on canvas isn’t something anyone can do, certainly not off the street. You’re wasting your time, and I’m sure not going to teach you. So you can go back to your office and look down on us mortals all you want. Good-bye.”
She turned away from him and walked over to the desk. As she rifled through some papers left there a few days ago, she hoped he got the message and would just leave. Her emotions were all over the place. One minute she felt devastated, the next confused, and the next she wanted to fight. There wasn’t any room in her head or her life for Joon and his ‘I want to learn everything’ BS.
Movement from the corner of her eye called her attention. She felt him step up behind her and whirled around. Once again, he stood too close. Maybe that’s how they did it in his country, invading people’s space to talk, but she didn’t like it. She raised her hands to push him away and curled her fingers into her palms. The last thing she wanted was to touch him again.
“You seem to think you’re the only one who has lost someone special to you. You’re wrong.” His jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving.”
Her heart softened just a little, thinking of his loss, but she remembered all too well the reason Joon visited America that first time. “Stay here for all I care, but you’re not getting in the way of this shop. I don’t care what you think you own.”
She thought about threatening to take him to court, but who was she fooling? Not only didn’t she have the funds for a lawyer, she didn’t have the grounds. Plus, Joon was rich. He probably had a team of lawyers on retainer. The possibility of him forcing her out of ownership of Crazy Little Treasures made her heart pound.
Joon strode to the doorway leading to Min Ki’s treasure room. She almost had a heart attack watching him. After clicking the light on in that area, he picked up one of the paintings. The very one he chose was her favorite, a portrait Min Ki had done of her. The painting was more abstract than anything, but Min Ki still managed to capture her essence with warm colors. She had told herself the work was done with love, a love she had dreamed of receiving from him. Not as a friend but as a lover.
“Leave that alone,” she shrieked and ran to him. She reached for the painting, but he turned away, still examining it.
“This is you.”
“It doesn’t matter. Min Ki wasn’t selling these things. They’re his private collection and—”
“As such are mine now.”
“You can’t want… I don’t believe…” Her throat closed, and she swallowed. “You never gave a crap about what he did, certainly not about his art. None of you did. His family did everything they could to discourage Min Ki from pursuing his art.”
He wasn’t listening.
“Joon!” She reached for the painting again. He picked her wrist out of the air the same way he had done in the dark. Her heart caught in her throat. She struggled for a moment, but it didn’t matter. He would release her when he was good and ready.
A simple movement made her stumble toward him. She wasn’t going for it and caught herself with the free hand against the wall. They had a stare off, neither looking away. She tried to read his mind but failed. Who could discern this stubborn man’s thoughts from his expression? Not her.
He held all the power, and she knew it. But it didn’t mean she would refuse to fight. For Min Ki, she would always fight—until the bitter end. “You’re not selling that painting, not now, not ever. I don’t care if I have to break the law to keep it.”
He released her, and she rubbed her wrist. The heat from his fingers still warmed her skin. She tried rubbing away the memory as well as the feel. Joon looked around the shop and found the spot where she wrapped paintings for transport. While she watched helpless, he covered the portrait of her and tucked the painting negligently beneath his arm afterward.
“Leave it,” she demanded.
“I’ll need to put some things in order at his apartment, and then I’ll be here longer,” he explained.
“Why are you taking the portrait?”
“Occasionally, I might need to fly back home, but I cleared my schedule pretty well.”
