Page 3 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

He nodded back to me. “Then I think I’d be very interested to hear it.”

“A trade,” I said, without thinking.

Mr. Nash lifted his eyebrows. “A trade? What kind of trade?”

“My mother’s debt,” I said, pausing before I added, “For me.”

With a squint, the other man slowly began to shake his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I swear, I’ll be at your service, do whatever you want me to do, for the rest of my life, if…if you wipe away her debts.” I said it this way in the hopes he’d take care of all her debt, not just the one she owed him.

“At my service,” he repeated, cocking his head to the side as if trying to understand what I really meant. “In what way?”

I shrugged. “Any way you want. I’ll do anything.” When he simply blinked at me, I more emphatically added, “Anything.”

I wasn’t stupid. I knew men as powerful and rich as Henry Nash had to have gotten to this point by doing a little bit of dirty work. I was fully prepared to be one of his dirty men, deliver illegal supplies, break kneecaps, help him cover up his dark deeds, whatever he required of me. It made me feel sick and slimy every time my mind wandered in that direction, but to save Mom, I would cope.

He repeated, “Anything?” as if an idea had started to brew in his head.

I nodded and eagerly sat forward. “If you would help my mother, I’d give you my life.”

I could tell my passion impressed him. His raised eyebrows yet considering gaze said as much. But he kept the rest of his thoughts close. Drawing his clasped hands up to his chin, he measured me pensively.

“Tell me this, son. If I clear your mother’s debt in exchange for your servitude, how do you foresee her taking care of herself after that? I mean, with no bakery to bring money in, a broken hip to prevent her from seeking work elsewhere, and a son who will no longer be there to help—as he will then belong to me—what do you think will happen to her?”

I gulped, not quite able to ask the bold, daring thing I really wanted to ask.

But Mr. Nash must’ve read the plea on my face. “Oh, I see. You don’t want me to just help her out of her debt to me. You’re actually asking for more financial assistance. I’m assuming you want me to set her up for the rest of her life, then?”

I couldn’t speak. My voice box had frozen over with fear, anxiety, and hope. So I merely nodded humbly before I bowed my head, bracing to be forcibly removed from his office for my brazen request.

He drew in a deep breath, and for the longest time that was the only sound he made. He waited until I looked up before he exhaled. “You must think very highly of your ability to serve, Mr. Hollander.”

“I…” I flushed. Honestly, I didn’t think I was worth the lavish chair I sat on. But my pride was the first thing to go when it was my mother’s future on the line.

“I’ll do anything,” I whispered.

Mr. Nash ran his gaze over me, from head to toe. It was such a personal scrutiny I almost felt violated. A new thought struck. Oh hell, what if his idea of service meant something more…carnal? I gulped, wondering if maybe there were a few things I wouldn’t do after all.

Then the old man made it worse by asking, “How old are you…Shaw’s your given name, isn’t it?”

My skin crawled and my stomach churned. “What?”

He made an amused sound. “I inquired about your age.”

“I…I’m twenty-eight,” I confessed, hoping maybe I was too old for his taste.

But then I thought about all twenty-eight of those years—all that time I’d had to make something of myself—and a swell of shame consumed me. So many people I’d attended school with had gone on to become successful and accomplished. I felt as if I was still drowning under bills and trying to keep my mother from losing everything.

“Do you not have employment elsewhere?”

More humiliation coated me. Ducking my head, I cleared my throat and admitted, “The, uh, the factory where I worked went out of business about six months ago.”

I’d been approached by other factory owners almost immediately; word had gotten around I was an honest, dependable, and hard worker. But Mom had already been having trouble at her shop. She’d been forced to let go of all her employees and the bank had just foreclosed on her house, so I’d moved her into my one-bedroom apartment, sold my truck to pay off one of her loans, and tried to salvage her business.

“I started helping my mother at the bakery, but…” I shook my head.

By the time I’d become involved, there was no saving it. Mom never should’ve been allowed to run her own business. Always the bleeding heart and more concerned with helping others than making a profit, she’d only accumulated more debt instead of paying any off. She’d never charged what she should to customers, oftentimes giving away her food for free to people in need. Then she’d trusted the wrong people, er, person, her own daughter to be exact.

---