Inspired Read online

  Inspired

  JESSICA FLORENCE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events, and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of those terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Jessica Florence© 2019

  Editing by Jovana at Unforeseen Editing©

  Proofreading by Virginia Tesi Carey & Autumn Beauty

  Cover by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations©

  I started this book for me because I needed it. But I finished for you all, because you guys might need it too. This book is for us.

  Chapter One

  Mia

  In case of death …

  Why was I doing this?

  My eyes narrowed at the questionnaire and information documents that had been sent to me yesterday via bicycle messenger, as I tried to figure out why the hell I’d said I wanted to do this.

  Because you need it?

  Maybe. Although, right now, everything was feeling like a lost cause.

  It’d all started two nights ago during a commercial while I was having trouble sleeping.

  I was sitting in bed, looking over the layout of the new wedding barn we were adding to my favorite hotel that I owned, The Grande Belezza. It was my idea to pump up our wedding appeal since it was a gold mine already at the hotel. The two ballrooms were booked out almost a year in advance, so this more upscale barn would attract people who wanted a rustic yet elegant venue instead of a ballroom for their reception. I wanted to love this project. I wanted to feel passion for it like I had when I first came up with the idea. But passion was lacking in my life. I honestly felt neutral about everything, which sounded as bad as it was.

  Nevertheless, my brain just wouldn’t shut off enough so that I could fall asleep, so I gave up and started working while the TV was on for background noise.

  “Are you feeling uninspired?”

  My head jerked up to look at the commercial that had suddenly caught my attention.

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  “Have you lost your passion for life?”

  I might have wiggled in my bed a little, trying to straighten up more so that I could hear and see the TV better. Definitely feeling a loss of passion.

  “Has food lost its appeal? Has the sun dimmed on your everyday routine?”

  My head nodded vigorously. I hated this feeling, and this commercial was acknowledging it. Made me feel like this was a normal thing that people went through.

  “Then, you are ready for Inspired! A six-week life-changing experience!”

  I listened with complete attention as the commercial man told me about a program where you signed up to have a constant life coach for six weeks, who was supposed to help you turn your life around. All you needed to do was call now to request the paperwork and sign up. A life coach would come and assess you, and—boom—you’d be back to kicking ass and feeling inspired by life again.

  My fingers were dialing the phone number as soon as I could.

  Clearly, it’d been the madness of a desperate woman because, sitting here now with these papers before me, I wondered if I had truly lost it.

  You essentially were signing up for someone to come in and tell you what to do to help fix your life. You had to do everything they said, too. If that life coach thought you needed to lay off the cookies and candy at night, well, guess what you’d be doing?

  I was a bit of a control freak who even had problems handing off tasks to my assistant and others who worked for me because I knew I could do the best job out of all of them. I was the youngest CEO in the hotel brand industry, with eight properties under my belt.

  I’d gone to good schools and had a real proper internship with a guest speaker who had seen that fire, that passion, I had for the hotel trade. He’d retired and sold me my first hotel. Two years after, I’d completely paid off my loan for the business, and then four years after that, I’d managed to turn his once-very-nice hotel into a mega-million machine. Combine that with seven other properties—three I’d bought and turned into magic and four built to my specifications—I was doing pretty good.

  Until last August.

  I had no logical explanation for my decreasing mood and feelings of life. I was successful, I had money, and I had family who loved me. I had everything I could want right now. But I still felt like I just wanted to throw it all away even though that was a stupid thought.

  Screw it. I was tired of this feeling, and I was ready to fix it.

  My rushed hand scribbled my perfected signature across the line at the bottom and then put the papers into an envelope.

  Once the envelope was licked sealed, I called the number for the messenger to retrieve the documents from the front desk below. My ever-waiting assistant took it down to the desk, and I trudged back into my office to work.

  Six hours later, I was sitting in my personal suite in the very same hotel where I had my main office at my hotel The Grande Belezza in Tampa, Florida. I loved this hotel so much that I wanted to live in it.

  I stared at the empty contents of my fridge despite having a staff that would keep everything in my house stocked and tidy. I hadn’t found the will to give them control over everything. So, I was gazing into the evidence that I needed to call someone because I couldn’t even take the time to go grocery shopping.

  “Let’s see, Mia. Shall we have week-old takeout? Molding cheese on the end piece of bread I have left? Oh, I spy some yogurt!”

  I reached to the back of my giant fridge and grabbed ahold of my salvation. Then, my eyes descended on the expiration date, and my shoulders fell.

  I’d hit a new low.

  Two months past being expired.

  A knock on my door did little to take me out of my dive down the rabbit hole of self-loathing, but I threw the expired food away and walked to see who it was anyway.

  Chapter Two

  Mia

  “Open up. I come with food!”

  I figured the pity party would be put on hold until I was alone again because the sound of my sister’s voice reverberated through the door.

  As soon as I opened a path for her, she waltzed right in with two bags in her hands.

  Her gray eyes scanned me in a way that was so much like our overbearing mother. Then, she went about setting the table with whatever food she’d brought over.

  Sushi. I could do sushi.

  “Any better today?” she asked.

  I shook my head but then noticed she wasn’t looking at me, so I answered, “Nope.”

  Until recently, I’d ignored whatever mental issue I had going on—denial at its finest. Family was worried, coworkers had mentioned something a few times, and … well, if I had friends, I’d bet they’d care that I was acting weird too.

  “You should really see my therapist. Michelle would help you so much, like she did for me.”

  Gia and I were only two years apart. She was younger than me, and despite the similar appearance of being five foot six with caramel-colored hair, gray eyes, and tan skin, we were quite opposites. I had been set on taking over the hotel corporate world. She wanted a husband and babies. Although, for a brief moment in my life a few years ago, we’d wanted the same thing. However, that’d ended, and she had gone on, living her dream. She’d fallen into postpartum depression after her third kid and managed to get out of it via help from a therapist.

  “Maybe I will.” I stood slightly taller, although it didn’t help me feel any more confident tha
t I’d follow through with my statement.

  “I think my plan to kidnap you and drop you off at her office has a higher chance of probability than you going yourself.” She motioned for me to sit in front of the many trays of food.

  We were Italian. Our parents had come straight from Mantua, Northern Italy. So, one thing that had been drilled into us from conception was family and food. Whenever we had issues, we ate, and we bitched to our family. My mother loved to hear everyone’s problems, be in everyone’s lives, and stuff them up like an Italian sausage.

  How I’d managed not to gain so much weight was beyond me.

  Maybe it was because I tried not to be around my parents as much as I could. The whole family got together every Sunday to celebrate life and eat. I worked, much to their dismay.

  Maybe you had to actually remember to eat in order to gain weight?

  “Thanks for bringing this over, Gia.”

  She was stubborn, refusing to give up on me, even with my darkened moods.

  “That’s what family does.” She sat in the chair next to mine and dug in. “So, what’s new?” She scooped up a piece of sushi with expert chopstick skills and waited for me to talk.

  My eyes threatened to water with overwhelming emotions. She was here because I wasn’t okay, and she knew I needed help. I’d been refusing help for so long, and I was tired. I was so tired of feeling this … whatever the hell I was feeling. I just wanted happiness. I wanted to smile and feel joy. I wanted it so badly that I finally broke right there over raw tuna, cucumber, avocado, and rice.

  “I’m sorry I’m so messed up right now. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me to fix it. I want to though. I signed up for some program with a life coach today, that might help me today. I’m sorry I’m a grande sacco di pazzi Italiano.”

  Sometimes, when I got emotional, my language bounced between English and Italian.

  “You’re not a big bag of Italian crazy, Mia. You’re just going through something, and I know it’s hard, believe me. But saying it out loud is a big deal. I’m so proud of you. Now, tell me about this life coach program.”

  I did. I spilled everything the commercial had said and the documents I’d read in obscene detail. I even mentioned the in case of death part. Gia did not gasp or shake her head like I’d thought she would. Maybe we were both crazy. I’d debated for a while that my family was nuts.

  “I think it’s a good idea. Anything is better than this.” She gestured to me and then the world around me.

  I was dressed like a businesswoman, wearing a pantsuit in fact. But I knew what she meant. My hair had split ends and was dull; my face was void of makeup, clearly showing the bags under my eyes; and I might or might not look like a hobo dressed for business.

  I didn’t argue with her there. I’d really let myself go the last few months.

  “Hope so.” That was the honest truth.

  I was ready to get my shit together. Depression or burnout or early menopause be damned! The internet had said I was dying of cancer, so why not live my last moments, trying to be happy, right?

  We ate our sushi, and she changed the subject from my upcoming life coach situation to the family. Which, of course, only made me miss them. I’d bet that was her purpose—to guilt me into coming around more.

  I missed them so much.

  But I just couldn’t be around them right now, having food shoved in my face, someone telling me I wasn’t fat enough and that I needed a man to make grandbabies with. I could barely take care of myself, let alone someone else.

  Hell, I had been married once and screwed that up. He’d said I wasn’t around much and that I pushed him to sleep with my secretary, Hollis. Not that I believed that. I hadn’t pushed his dick into her vagina on our couch, but still, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, if I’d been home more with him or had sex more, the two of them wouldn’t have happened.

  After dinner, Gia had to go back to her happy home with her husband, who she’d screw into oblivion, and babies, who she’d kiss asleep.

  Me? I had a stuffed Baymax my niece Jenna had given me because, apparently, even a nine-year-old thought I needed a personal healthcare companion.

  I quickly took a shower to get clean. Then, I dried off and dressed in some sweats and a baggy shirt. Baymax and I had a night to remember as we watched reruns of Scrubs. Then, I fell asleep, only to dream of some drill sergeant telling me to eat my veggies and do push-ups.

  Chapter Three

  Logan

  The bright sign said The Grande Belezza, my target stop for the day. It was time to scope out my next potential client, Mia Moretti, CEO of Moretti Hotels.

  I liked to handle high-profile clients myself. I had a team of five who worked for me as skilled life coaches. My company, Inspired, had a one hundred percent success rate. The number one rule to working with a client was, they had to want it. Truly, deep down in their soul, they wanted change. Everyone said they wanted to change, to be better. But, until they had the desire to make the switch to happiness, they wouldn’t. Everyone knew how to lose weight. Everyone could look up steps to alleviate depression, go to a therapist, or a doctor. But people wouldn’t.

  I’d learned a long time ago that people liked being miserable, that it was easier than facing the truth inside themselves. Facing those demons and patterns that held them hostage.

  Hopefully, Mia fell into the first category of someone who truly wanted change. Her answers to the questionnaire in the documents sent to my place this morning were those of a desperate woman. I would see what she was all about and if she was a good fit for the Inspired program.

  The male valet took one look at my old purple Jeep and frowned before opening my door and then grasping the keys.

  “Don’t get too attached now. Oh, and she gets a little tricky in second gear.” I winked at the man and turned toward the entrance of the very upscale hotel.

  “Oh, hell yes,” I heard the valet moan at the purr of the engine. He pushed on the gas pedal of my feisty Jeep and then sped off.

  She might not be much to look at, but the insides made the package worth it. I’d be fighting that man off my vehicle when it was time to go.

  “Excuse me. Can I help you, sir?” A woman in a standard concierge uniform and heels approached me with an unreadable look on her perfectly applied makeup-covered face. Not a single blonde hair was out of place on her round head.

  “Yes. I am here to see Mia Moretti. We have a business meeting.”

  The woman looked me up and down—something I got a lot from the opposite sex.

  One, I looked like a surfer god—or so I’d been told. Blond hair, tan skin, blue eyes. There was that wildness women like this one saw in me—a promise of a great one-night stand, but not someone they’d settle down with. Fine with me. I was not in the market for a wife again.

  The other reason I got this typical once-over by people was because my chosen style was indeed laid-back. Not the type that screamed successful or businessman. My program didn’t rely on business attire, such as suits or dress shirts. Most of the time, that particular set of tools only intimidated people, which was the last thing I wanted to do. I needed people to feel comfortable around me.

  “Right this way, Mr. …” She turned to lead me toward the elevator but stopped, wanting my name.

  “Logan.”

  “Mr. Logan.”

  I was surprised a sneer didn’t grace her lips as she said my name. Her mask of indifference was on point—perfect lady to play poker with. But my job was reading people. I could tell she thought I was nothing more than dirt under her polished shoe.

  I prayed Mia Moretti would be more interesting than this broad.

  The elevator music was nice as we rode up to the ninth floor, out of the fifteen. Interesting. Businessmen I knew wanted their office at the top. King-of-the-world type of mind-set. Maybe a woman on top cared about something else.

  The ninth floor was home to quite a few offices, as I’d found out in passing by. But th
en we came to a stop in front of a beautiful set of rustic barn doors with a secretary sitting out front.

  “Mr. Howard. I have here a Mr. Logan who says he has a meeting with Ms. Moretti. I’ll leave him with you now.” The woman turned and left without another word. Very professional.

  “She’s kinda scary sometimes.” The man, Mr. Howard, watched the woman walk away before she made a sharp turn out of sight. He shivered out of his thoughts and looked up at me from his neat desk. “Sorry. I’m Jay Howard, executive assistant to Ms. Moretti. We don’t have you on the schedule, but since Linda brought you all the way up here instead of calling, I’ll just check with Mia to see if she was expecting you and forgot to mention it.” The brown-haired man gave me a sympathetic smile and went about dialing four digits on his desk phone.

  His words held no shock that she might have forgotten an appointment with me, not that I had one. I liked to surprise my potential clients; it helped me read them better. She must have been forgetful lately. Intriguing.

  “Mr. Logan is here to see you. Says you have an appointment.” His eyes met mine, trying to see if there was any sign pinned on me, giving him a hint as to what company I was from.

  “I’m from Inspired. She’ll know what that is.”

  Two seconds later, he was hanging up the phone, standing up from his seat, and walking me toward those rustic doors.

  “Good luck,” Jay whispered as he held one door open.

  I skirted past him into a very open room, which had all but one curtain drawn.

  Was the great Mia Moretti a vampire?

  No.

  She was not a vampire at all.

  In fact, the gorgeous woman with caramel-colored hair, gray eyes, and perfect hand-grabbing hips, sitting against her wood desk, was something out of a magazine. A pure bombshell.

  Except for what lay behind those eyes, the look on her face, and that smile that didn’t seem genuine.

  There was a darkness around her, and under her eyes from lack of sleep.