Page 9 of Toxic Kiss

To this day, we don’t know where the bear came from. That was it. The name stuck. And, of course, the photo he snapped that night lives on in eternal, mortifying glory.

But not even a phone call from Charles can keep the storm clouds from rolling in black and wild, flipping the world from sunshine to chaos in under a mile. My wipers shriek to life, fighting sheets of rain. Lightning splits the sky, and Dad’s name flashes on my phone.

“Hey, Dad.”

“My little rock star,” he booms, voice loud as thunder.

I smile despite the storm. That nickname has followed me since I was four with a hairbrush microphone in hand.

We talk weather, hotels, and his overprotective demands for a four-star minimum. Then, his voice shifts to that serious timbre that always means bad news.

“So, listen…” Dad starts.

“Oh no. What is it?”

“Who says it’s going to be bad?”

“Dad, you’ve been using that same line on me my entire life whenever you’re about to drop something I don’t want to hear. Just spit it out already.”

He chuckles, the deep sound wrapping around me the way it always has. My dad is my hero. He’s not perfect—we clash, we butt heads, we burn each other out—but at the end of the day, he’s the kind of man you’re proud to call family. Proud to call Dad.

His taste in women, on the other hand, is…questionable. Mom excluded. God rest her soul.

“Fine,” he says, sighing in surrender. “You’re right. There is something I need to mention before you get here. You won’t be working with Jeremy.”

Shit. My excitement deflates a bit.

“I thought I could learn from him until he retires.”

“I know, but I need you on another task. One that’s more important right now. You’ll be in social media and PR. Managing…a band. Well…specifically managing just the social media, not the band, but you’ll work in tandem with the manager.”

My stomach drops. I know what he’s going to say. I can feel it in my bones.

“No,” I blurt out as my body trembles. I feel as out of control as a weathervane spinning wildly in a storm. “I’m not working with him.”

He chuckles nervously.

“Come on, who better to keep Venomous in line? You’ve always been the only one who can get Cyrus to listen.”

The car shudders as thunder cracks, and I nearly slam the brakes in disbelief.

“Hell no. Dad, I would rather scrub toilets with a toothbrush and then use the toothbrush.”

“That can be arranged,” Anita’s voice cuts in from the background.

I snap. “Am I on speaker?”

Click. Dad picks up his phone.

“Don’t be dramatic. This is a great opportunity, and you have full sway on creativity, what is posted, and everything else.”

“Sure, I just need to reign in the King of chaos. You know Cyrus and I would rather shoot one another than work together. Dad, please don’t make me do this.”

I hate that I sound as if I’m begging. But he doesn’t understand how working with Cyrus is as dangerous as playing Russian roulette with my sanity.

“Haven, listen to me. Prove yourself, and by next year, I’ll move you up to the position you really want. You’re going to take my seat when I retire, but you need to earn respect in the company first. I need to see you can handle…well…you know what Cyrus is like.”

My jaw aches from clenching. Fuck. He’s right. I know he’s right—but the thought of seeing Cyrus again, of reliving every cruel word, every smirk, every time he made me feel like less than nothing…it guts me.