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

MONSTER AMONG

THE ROSES

A Beauty and the Beast Story

LINDA KAGE

Monster Among the Roses

Copyright © 2017 by Linda Kage

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book—except in the case of brief quotations in reviews—may be used, reproduced, or TRANSLATED without written permission of the author.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Publishing History

Linda Kage, July 2017

ISBN-13: 978-1546573678

ISBN-10: 1546573674

Credits

Cover Artist: Kage Covers

Editor: Stephanie Parent

Proofreader: Judy and Shelley

chapter

ONE

I nervously twisted my ball cap between my hands, the frayed bill skimming across my calloused knuckles with each pass. The room where I waited was bigger than my entire apartment, and the seat on which I gingerly perched myself probably cost more than everything I owned.

It smelled rich in here. Like money. Like the walls had been papered in fresh, crisp hundred-dollar bills straight from the bank. I glanced between my knees to my shoes, hoping I hadn’t knocked any dirt onto the opaque marble floor, only to discover a small clump of dried mud did rest by my right sneaker. Shit. I quickly kicked it under the chair to hide the evidence just as the door beside me opened.

A gray-headed woman in a blue pantsuit—the same one I’d spoken to, announcing myself when I’d arrived twenty minutes earlier—peered out. “Mr. Nash is ready to meet with you.”

Feeling caught in the act, I stopped messing with the dirt clod and jerked to my feet, my face flushing hotly. I started to slide my hat back on to hide what must be a nasty case of hat hair, only to wonder if it would appear more respectful to keep a hat off when meeting a man such as Henry Nash. After hesitating a good five seconds, unsure of what to do, I pulled the hat on. This was who I was. Putting on airs felt deceitful.

Nodding to the secretary to let her know I was ready, I followed her inside the lion’s den, only to slow to an intimidated stop just inside the doorway. If I’d been daunted by the opulence of the waiting room, the interior of Henry Nash’s office blew me away. Huge mural-sized paintings would’ve given the museum effect if the slate-gray chairs in front of a colossal black granite and silver desk hadn’t screamed corporate office. I was afraid to move and track more mud across the floor. Hell, breathing in this place felt taboo.

I didn’t belong here. What had I been thinking to schedule a meeting with the Henry Nash? He was going to laugh me from his museum office before I could even start begging.

The massive chair behind the desk revolved to face me just as the man planted in it hung up the phone on which he’d been talking. Then he stood.

“Ah, Mr. Hollander.” Rounding his desk, he strode toward me where I stood petrified in the doorway. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mother’s said only good things.”

The mention of my mom caused the ball of dread in my throat to harden and cut off my air.

“How is she?” he asked as he held out a hand for me to shake. The question was pleasant and polite. The look in his eyes was kind and interested. The entire way he’d come to me, not made me approach him, was just—I wanted to shake my head, confused.

I’d built this man up in my mind as a rich, heartless beast who ate baby kittens for breakfast and flambéed the weak and needy for dinner. He stomped on dreams and mocked the poor, gaining power with each tear he forced to fall. The overdue notices that littered our mail with increasing regularity, demanding money, only seemed to enhance my impression of him.

---