Page 1 of Royal Beast
1
DARCY
The bell above the door jingles as I step into Maeve’s cafe, the rich, familiar scent of coffee greeting me like a warm hug.
As I step to the counter and order my usual nonfat, skinny vanilla latte, something prickles at the back of my neck. I glance around and notice a pale-faced figure in a nondescript, faded hoodie sitting in the back corner, nearly hidden in the shadows.
I shift my weight, adjusting my bag as I glance back. The man’s dark eyes follow me, and I feel tension creeping up my shoulders. If this is connected to my father, I don’t have time for it.
I take a slow breath, willing myself to stay calm, to not let the familiar dread take over.
It’s always the same—he’s good for a while, then the signs creep in. Little things, like the one currently following me as I walk to work, pretending I can’t see him stalking me.
I pay for my coffee and exit the shop. Cars honk in the distance while people hurry around me, the shuffling of feet on the pavement pulling me toward the hustle and bustle of downtown Thornville. By the time I reach the sleek, toweringbuilding that houses Enchanted Dreams Publishing, I’ve forgotten all about the pale-faced man. I head inside, my heels clacking against the marble tile as I walk to the bank of elevators in the lobby.
I flash my badge at the security guard then head up to the thirty-ninth floor, where my intern, Jessa, is waiting for me with a stack of manuscripts and a nervous look.
“What’s on the agenda today, Jessa?” I ask, plucking the manuscripts from her hands and ignoring her nervous expression.
“Miranda wants to see you,” Jessa mutters. I nod, heading into my office to drop off my coffee and the manuscripts I need to review.
Miranda is seated at her desk when I enter her office. She looks up at me with a beam on her face. She and I have been working together for the last eight years after she took a chance on a fresh-faced graduate and saw my potential.
“Morning, Miranda,” I say, leaning against the door. Miranda’s office is decorated in soft, neutral tones with gold accents. The walls are white-paneled, floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcases taking up most of the space. An ornate glass chandelier hangs above her modern, black-and-gold desk as she sits in a plush, tufted cream chair. I settle into the soft, lavender armchair across from her.
“Good morning, Darcy,” Miranda says, impeccably styled, as usual. She surveys me briefly before her lips turn upward into a smile and she leans forward.
“What can I do for you this morning, Miranda?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing one leg over the other. Miranda removes her glasses, fixing me with that familiar look—a peculiar mix of patience and pressure.
“When are you going to give me your manuscript?” she asks, her soft voice carrying a hint of steel. The question hits like a dart in my chest and my leg starts jiggling.
“Ah. I see.” The words come out smoother than I feel, the practiced deflection coating my rising anxiety.
Miranda’s been pushing me hard on this for the last year. “I don’t have anything yet,” I say, forcing a smile that feels too tight. “I have a couple of drafts, but nothing good enough to give you yet.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, as though she can see right through me. “I don’t know why that is,” she says, her gaze sweeping over me carefully. “You have such a great imagination and a real passion for children’s stories. I wish you could see yourself the way others see you.”
She shakes her head, the motion slow and deliberate. “When you’re ready to take on the role of author, I want to be the one to put your books out into the world.”
A warmth blooms in my chest, but it’s quickly replaced by the familiarity of doubt. “I appreciate it,” I manage, the words careful and polite. “We can talk later. I’ve got a meeting with Clement Hobbs in fifteen,” I say, shifting the conversation. Clement, the Indie author we’ve been courting, is a safe topic, something I can control.
Miranda raises an eyebrow. “How’s that going?”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “I think we’re nearly there. She’s holding tight to the film rights for theMorpheustrilogy, though.”
“I trust you to handle things,” Miranda says, waving me off.
An hour later, Clement and I are shaking hands and saying goodbye when I catch a glimpse of someone staring at me.
“Things went well, I take it?” a voice calls out after she walks away.
Guy Maddox stands in the doorway to his office holding a cup of coffee, a sly grin on his face. I return it with a polite smile, but inside, I’m holding back annoyance.
“It did, thanks.”
“Congrats.” He saunters over, almost bumping into Jessa who is carrying a stack of folders. He runs a hand through his greasy mop of tangled curls. “Free for dinner tonight, Darce? You promised, remember?”
I shrug, knowing I did no such thing. “Can’t, sorry. Busy with the kiddo, you know how it is. And you know I don’t date, Guy.”
