Page 5 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

Maybe that would turn Mr. Nash off, and I’d be saved from “servicing” him today. Or maybe he’d require me to bathe first. Fuck, what if he wanted to bathe with me?

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t…damn it. I was going to do whatever I needed to do…I think. My mother’s life depended on it.

Okay, fine. I had no idea what I was going to do. And that made me more uneasy, not only over what he’d require of me, but how I’d react to it.

Reaching the beginning of the lane, I cleared the pear trees, then more evergreens and—wow—beheld the beauty of the Nash homestead. Porter Hall. Never in my life had I been in a house so nice. I felt too filthy and poor to even stand here, looking at it. With another glance at the soggy note in my hand to make absolutely certain I was in the right place, I straightened my shoulders and marched toward the front door. Didn’t matter if I was freaking out inside; I would face whatever I had to face.

It occurred to me that maybe I should’ve found a side entrance—more of a servant door—to knock on just as this one opened. A woman in her forties smiled out at me. “Mr. Hollander?”

I nodded. “Um, yeah. That’s me.”

She smiled reassuringly. “Come in. I’m Constance, the housekeeper. Mr. Nash is expecting you in his study, if you’ll just follow me.”

“Sure.” After stepping inside, I peered up open-mouthed at the two-story foyer with a grand, curving staircase, a fountain in the center, and—

“This way,” Constance called, jerking my attention from what I swear was a fish tank inlaid into the freaking floor around the base of the fountain.

Hurrying my pace, I almost ran into a naked baby with wings, posing on a pedestal and holding a bow and arrow, because I was still so busy gaping at the goldfish swimming underfoot.

Grateful I hadn’t impaled myself on the statue’s arrowhead, I decided to actually watch where I was going. I followed Constance down the hallway, past more statues, half a dozen paintings, and around two corners until she came to a closed door—a door shaped like an arched cathedral entrance with scrolling metal designs on the wood. It looked like a freaking castle door.

She knocked.

“Come in,” I heard the muffled voice of Henry Nash inside.

Oh, God. Here we go.

Constance opened the door. “Mr. Hollander’s here, sir.”

“Good, good. Right on time. Let him in.”

Stepping aside, Constance waved me into the room, which turned out to be another office, but this one was more oak and carpet with a fireplace than the cold, marble and glass one he had in the Nash Corporation building in town. More paper and books and photos littered this workspace, and even Mr. Nash himself was more casually dressed. He wore khakis and a collared shirt that was nicer than anything I owned but still much less ostentatious than the suit and tie he’d been in yesterday.

“Looks like you found the place okay,” he greeted, waving me forward toward a chair to sit in. He didn’t rise to greet me but remained seated in front of the computer, intently studying something on the screen.

“Yeah. I, uh…sorry. I melted a little on the way over.” Wincing, I spread my arms to show off how much sweat I’d collected.

He fluttered an unconcerned hand, paying my appearance no attention. “No worries. I’m sure you’ll work up an even bigger sweat before the day’s over.”

I paused just before lowering myself into the chair, trying to picture what exactly he meant by that.

Noticing my frozen state and no-doubt panicked expression, he glanced up before his eyes grew. “Oh, hell. We never went into detail about what I wanted you to do, did we?”

I gave a small, silent shake of my head, dreading… This was the moment I’d learn—

“Well, with the rate of repairs we’ve been needing on this place lately, I had general handyman in mind for your official title. But today, I wanted you to work in the roses.”

I blinked, sure I’d misheard him. But did he say handyman?

A handyman, as in someone who did house repairs?

Holy shit, so he didn’t want me to perform any sexual favors for him?

My relief was so profound I almost passed out.

Mr. Nash kept watching me as if he expected a response. Hugging him probably wasn’t appropriate, so I cleared my throat and squinted. “Did you say roses?”

A proud smile bloomed across his face before he began to type something on his keyboard. “Yes. They’re my daughter’s prized possession—aside from her library—so I want her garden to be in tip-top shape.”

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