Monroe: The Dynastic Collection: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Cynthia Dane

  “Better me than you.” Monroe gently kissed her lips, hand curled around hers. “When you come home, I want you to only think of things that give you comfort. You have to separate work and home more than you ever have before. I’ve dragged you into this stressful mess. Promise me I didn’t make a mistake. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I caused this.”

  “I could have walked away.”

  “You didn’t. I will forever be grateful for that.” Monroe rubbed her back, a gesture that was more relieving than romantic. “Yet you need to take care of yourself. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

  “Just stay here for a few minutes.”

  He stayed longer than that. Monroe stayed with her for a whole hour, forgetting his own shower in favor of calming Alice down from the panic attack that gripped her heart and soul.

  Don’t leave me. Don’t betray me. Don’t let me believe that this was all a mistake.

  If she thought that hard enough, she may begin to adhere to it.

  Chapter 7

  A good night’s sleep helped Alice reorient herself the next day. She knew it was a fleeting reprieve, but she would take it. It helped that shortly after lunch she met up with Candice and went shopping for a new phone since her old one was laughably slow in comparison to her husband’s and even her assistant’s. To think, that thing was considered the greatest ever back in 2010. Yeah. Back in 2010. What year was it now, again?

  It also helped that Alice had her own personal driver. New driver, new start. That’s what Alice told herself as she sat in the back of Monroe’s Lincoln Town Car, now designated as hers to use as she pleased. He had Ms. Clayborn shopping for a Bentley or a BMW or something that started with a B. I’m sure it’s hilariously expensive and with all the trimmings. Whatever he got, Alice hoped they could take a spin in it sooner rather than later.

  Candice helped Alice unbox the new phone in the backseat. She was always the more technologically savvy of the two, and without her, Alice was liable to completely fuck up her new phone that was the size of both fists put together. Weren’t phones supposed to get smaller as time went on? When did they suddenly get bigger?

  “Alice Cul… Monroe. Shit.” Alice deleted the voicemail greeting she had begun recording. “I’m still not used to this.”

  “Welcome to the patriarchy, sister.” Candice took the phone back and synced it to her own. Well, damn. Someone could do that? Alice probably knew that, she just never looked into it. I’ll have to try that with Monroe’s phone later! Better than trying to remember his number off the top of her head. Or, worse, inputting the wrong one. Watch her call someone in Oklahoma and start talking about stocks and shares and handcuffs. “You don’t get a choice in your last name anymore. I bet that wasn’t even negotiable.”

  “Not really.” Monroe had made it clear that she was a, well, Monroe now. She was marrying into an empire the size of millionaires’ portfolios. There was no room for Culvers when she was representing her husband’s vast legacy. Not that Alice was attached to her last name. Alice Monroe sounded as sexy as Alice Culver. Maybe sexier. Because Monroe was sexy.

  “Ah, well.” Candice laughed uneasily. Someone wanted to say something snarky, but refrained. “I’d change my name too if I married a guy like that. By the way, does he have a brother?”

  “Yeah.” Alice almost didn’t continue. “A dead one.”

  “Oh. Ouch.”

  Alice was grateful that the car turned down a private lane. Good enough distraction from the bullshit she was sharing about her husband’s family life.

  “Holy crap. Check out the landscaping of this place!”

  This was more along the lines of what Alice expected when she entered a world of wealth and prestige, let alone a family almost as old as Monroe’s. The Warrens were the closest thing to equals the Monroes had in the whole region. Old, stinking rich money and a reputation that commanded people to invest in them and ask for investments in return. The only real difference was the Monroes were city-dwellers at heart and the Warrens kept to their more secluded estates on the outskirt of the city.

  Alice’s brief research into the family and home estate said that the horseshoe-shaped mansion and the surrounding properties had belonged to the Warrens for generations. The enormity of the complex suggested that the original intention was to have multiple branches of the same genealogical tree living under the same roof. I would die to live in a place like this. Alice wasn’t sure if she meant that in a good way or bad. It certainly played into her visions of what old money really bought.

  Perfectly trimmed hedges, trees, and beds of flowers arranged in intricate designs made her wonder if she could convince Monroe to buy their own estate for their family. The man may have been used to living in penthouses his whole life, but with marrying Alice came a few more changes. Who wants to raise kids in a penthouse? Alice took one look at the open yards and imagined her own children playing.

  The car entered the center of the horseshoe, where a magnanimous main entrance lurked behind a large fountain topped with dancing cherubs. A butler came out to meet the car.

  “Glad I dressed up,” Candice mumbled. She had worn her nicest day dress, both her and Alice hoping that it would pass muster. Particularly when one compared it to the floral stretch-crepe dress from Dolce & Gabbana that Alice wore. I hope it’s air-conditioned in there.

  Of course it was!

  “Holy. Shit.” Candice craned her head back to stare at the vaulted ceilings streaming with sunlight. “Why don’t you live in a place like this?”

  “Because my husband doesn’t appreciate regal living, for all his talk of legacies and empires.”

  “You gotta fix that. Then invite me to live with you.”

  “Perhaps so.”

  The butler approached from behind, a white-gloved hand appearing before the two guests. “The Lady Warren awaits you in the East Wing parlor.” There were wings? “You may either follow the crimson carpets or allow me to escort you.” The butler clipped any further words as Alice and Candice began walking toward the large grand staircase. “That was the East Wing, Madams.”

  After some sheepish apologies, Alice bade the butler to lead the way down another hall. Servants crawled the whole place. Servants in matching uniforms, no less. How many maids had the run of the mansion? Alice had felt out of her element employing one full-time servant. This many, of varying ages? Did whole generations work for the Warrens? I feel like I’m in a Victorian hotel! So many people. So many rooms. Was there a conference going on at this hotel? Even in her Dolce & Gabbana dress, Alice felt woefully underdressed. Now she knew how Candice felt the day before at the office.

  The parlor wasn’t too far into the wing, which both relieved and saddened Alice. I don’t want to further intrude on this place, but I’m also super curious to see how it’s laid out! The scent of roses lured Alice and Candice into a brightly lit room with flung open windows bringing in the summer breeze. Monica Warren sat at a table next to a large planter filled with blooming orange and yellow flowers. Her Saint Laurent paisley dress blended in with its surroundings as if the lady dressed based on which room she would be occupying for most of her day.

  Aside from one servant on standby, the only person in the parlor was Mrs. Warren, whose grace put Alice to shame when she attempted to shake hands and sit down at the table. Candice was even more without grace, but that was to be expected. Was she the wife of the Warrens’ rival family? No? Then I’ll take the brunt of this embarrassment. Alice maintained a smile as she sat and accepted a cup of tea from the servant lurking in the room.

  “So good to see you again, Mrs. Monroe,” Monica said, although she had more eyes for Candice than Alice. “Also a pleasure to meet your friend.”

  Candice giggled at the hibiscus blooming in her teacup. “Can you believe this shit?” her visage asked. Alice agreed that it was stellar. To Monica, she said, “Please, call me Alice. I’m still not used to the whole Mrs. Monroe thing.”

  �
�I’m sure.” There was neither judgment nor comradery in Monica’s tone. “Even so, you certainly shouldn’t be ashamed of it. Very few women get to have names like ours.”

  Candice Holt, on the other hand, was perfectly content to poke her blooming hibiscus with her spoon. At least she was preoccupied. “I’m sure plenty of women desire names like ours,” Alice said.

  “Absolutely. Plenty of men, too. More than a few hearts were broken with the news of your marriage to Damon Monroe. Half of my employees cried on command.”

  “That so?” Didn’t this woman run some tenuously legal brothel? Wait... had Monroe ever gone there? He said something about some woman named Judith the last time he spoke with Monica. “I’d say I’m jealous, but…”

  “Seriously. Look at this thing!” Candice poked the flower until some of the petals started dropping off. “Um…”

  Monica Warren was the politest woman Alice had ever encountered. Not once did she turn her nose at Candice or say something to imply the uncouth woman was not welcomed there. Which was a feat, considering Alice hadn’t even called to announce her friend’s arrival until the last minute. Monica had no reason to allow Candice into her home. Perhaps this is a chance to bridge some gaps between our families? Oh, no. There went Alice, putting pressure on herself. Who said it was her duty to bring the Monroes and Warrens together? Next I’ll be trying to arrange a marriage between our kids. What’s happening to me?

  Oh, God. If she and Damon were into that, then nothing was sacred anymore.

  Monica caught the plots burning behind Alice’s eyes. “You have a look of business about you, Alice.” She said her name with such sophistication. “Here I was under the impression you came to speak of more personal matters with me.” The lady of the estate sipped her tea, her black collar glittering against her throat. Alice had her own wrapped around the high collar of her dress. Bless Monroe and his fashion foresight. This collar went with almost anything. The bracelets, on the other hand… those stayed home most of the time now.

  “I’ve been in a very business oriented state of mind since joining my husband’s company,” Alice explained. “My interests were especially piqued after you and Mrs. Andrews came to my office with your proposal.”

  “Oh? Have you thought about it? We were very interested in you joining.”

  “I’m sure, considering how many of you own shares in my husband’s company.”

  What was that look on Monica’s face? Was she shocked that Alice was quick to bring that up? Or was she impressed that Alice was going straight for the financial jugular? Had she underestimated Alice by assuming, like most did, that she was fumbling her way along? (Okay, so she was, but people didn’t need to know that!)

  “We have an interest. Yes.” Monica poured herself more tea. To Candice’s disappointment, it was not the fancy kind. “But it goes beyond what we own of your company. We are always looking for new members who can gel with us. There aren’t many married women at our level who can hold their financial own against their husbands.”

  “I’m not sure how much I qualify for that yet. I’m getting started in many ways.”

  “While there is an expectation for you to make some investments in each other’s endeavors, it is not solely about money. We also offer referrals and personal support in domestic matters such as property purchasing and remodeling, hiring staff, and…” she glanced at Alice’s midsection, “childrearing and all that entails.”

  As if on cue, the pitiful wails of an abandoned baby started up in the adjacent room. Monica turned in her seat, the servant stepping ahead to tend to the baby. Nevertheless, Monica did not relax until she saw the infant coming toward her, swaddled in the servant’s arms.

  “What is your issue now?” Monica sent her guests an apologetic look as she took her daughter into her embrace. “I just fed you…”

  Candice openly stared at the baby. I forgot how much she loves kids. One would not assume that Candice Holt, pornographer and general bad girl, was all over babies and kids. Except this was the woman who invited her nieces and nephews over whenever possible, no matter how much sleep Alice had been trying to get. “Oh my God, that is the most adorable baby,” Candice said, melting at the sight of tiny hands flailing in the air. “What’s her name?”

  Alice was glad she already knew the baby was a girl. Candice probably guessed from all the lace and pink ribbons spilling from the blankets.

  “Abigail. I’m sorry, she’s only a few weeks old and still fussy.”

  “Only a few weeks?” Candice’s eyes widened. “That’s a big baby.”

  Alice knew nothing about baby sizes and what was considered small or tiny. Then again, one look at Abigail Warren and she was not assuming the Warren heir was closer to being a newborn than originally thought.

  The heir, hm? What had Monica said about this club? Help with domestic matters? If I have a son first…

  No, no! What was she doing?

  Monica was definitely more observant than Alice gave her credit for. “Is there a reason you are mercilessly glaring at my baby, Mrs. Monroe?”

  “Don’t mind her!” Candice said, happily taking the child after Monica offered to let her hold it. I should be taking notes on how to handle a baby, but my brain is elsewhere. “She’s been vicious ever since becoming Mrs. Monroe. Hasn’t she?” The way Candice cooed to the baby went so against her image. “Alice is thinking about which of her imaginary children to marry you off to, huh?”

  Alice tried not to sneer. “I am not.”

  “Here.” Candice attempted to pass the thrashing baby. “You need to practice. You’re having a baker’s dozen, right?”

  The baby remained between friends as mother looked on. “A baker’s dozen? Really?”

  Candice shrugged innocently. “Fine. A healthy seven kids for you and the tycoon.”

  Grumbling, Alice accepted the baby into her arms. Not that she had held an infant since her little brother, but so much of it was instinct, right? Mother’s instinct? Inherent biology?

  “Whoa!” Candice lunged forward to keep the baby’s head from dive-bombing over Alice’s arm. “You gotta hold her head up!”

  Monica was already out of her chair. “You don’t want to marry your kid off to mine! You want to kill her!” That’s what that look said, anyway. “I invite you into my house…”

  “Sorry!” Alice couldn’t figure out where to put her other hand. There was so much stuffing between baby and Alice and she was afraid to accidentally grab the blankets and nothing else. They thought it was bad she forgot to support the head? Well, how about a baby slipping right out of its swaddling and smacking on the floor? Does that count as corporate assassination?

  “All right.” Monica plucked her daughter out of Alice’s arms and held the big baby against her chest. “That’s enough excitement for now.” As bad as Alice felt about the catastrophe that almost happened, she had to appreciate getting a reaction of some kind out of the infamously impenetrable Monica Warren.

  The servant returned to take the baby back to her bed. Monica sat down in her seat with a heavy breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice repeated. “I didn’t mean…”

  “No harm done.” Calm was restored to the table. Some tea had splattered against the white finish, but as Monica said, no harm done. “I needed to wake up anyway.”

  “Well!” How this table had turned. Now Alice was embarrassed, and Candice was the one who had everything under control. “You have a beautiful daughter, Mrs. Warren. If Alice is plotting a familial alliance in her womb, it’s guaranteed the grandkids would be the best looking.”

  “I… thank you?”

  “I am not plotting anything!”

  “Are you gestating anything?”

  Alice shot her friend the hardest look she could muster. Really? In present company? Candice took the hint from Mrs. Monroe and went back to being silent.

  “So,” Monica said, most of her carefully controlled demeanor now obliterated, “I don’t claim to know muc
h about you, Alice, but from the sounds of it you’ve become quite the changed woman since marrying your husband.”

  Well, that certainly was a topic change. “Suppose you could say I’ve gone through some changes since meeting him.”

  “Yes.” Monica grinned. “You used to work at his club, as I recall.”

  Alice blushed.

  “There’s no shame in it. That kind of place makes a woman feel certain things.”

  “I’m sure.” Alice knew. She knew what Monica was talking about, and it had nothing to do with the sexual atmosphere that claimed a person once they entered The Dark Hour. Alice hadn’t worked there long enough to find out more about the yearly demonstration the club hosted and made millions of dollars off of. Monica and her Dom were last year’s star couple, breaking monetary records with one very public display of affection. They fucked in front of the whole club. There. I put it out there in the universe. Alice died thinking about it. But if anyone had the disposition to handle that kind of display, it was Monica Warren, a woman who – by all accounts – thrived on the submissive lifestyle and even exhibitionism. There’s a tale for her kids.

  Monica was not perturbed by what anyone at the table thought. “Your husband implied that you wanted advice about certain lifestyles. Is that your real wish as well?”

  Alice didn’t look at her. She looked at Candice, who knew what was going on, but was definitely a third-wheel for such a personal discussion.

  “Real quick,” Candice interjected. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”

  The servant stepped forward to escort Candice down the hall. Alice’s friend went, taking her purse with her. She was already reaching for her makeup case. Good. She would be a few minutes, as Alice had hoped.

  “Yes,” She continued the ongoing conversation, staring into her cooling tea, “it was my husband’s suggestion, but I’m following through out of my own interest.”

  “I see. You are new to the lifestyle, yes?”

  “I suppose it’s obvious.”

  “Just because you’re new to the lifestyle doesn’t mean you haven’t harbored the ability to enjoy it for much longer.”