Filthy Beast (Filthy Fairy Tales #1)

by Vanessa Booke

  Grant leers at me from across his desk. “I’d hate to lose you, Evans. You’re a decent editor, and you’re a hard worker.” His eyes drop to my breasts. “And you’re not bad to look at. You’ve got the best tits in the office.”

  I gasp. “Excuse me?”

  He smirks, leaning forward. “Listen, I’ll let you keep your job. But it’s going to require certain... duties... above and beyond your job description.”

  Like I don’t already go above and beyond my duties. I huff. I gape at him. There is no way he just said that. That he’s implying... that.

  “Now, then,” he says, standing up and coming around the desk. He perches on the edge of the desk, his crotch in my face. One glance at the front of his pants tells me what he means by ‘certain duties.’

  I lean back, horrified. I look up at his face, and he’s watching me still with that greasy smirk on his face. I take a deep breath before getting to my feet. Grant leans in, and I catch a whiff of stale whiskey and some god-awful cologne.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Rumor around the office says you used to have the hots for me.”

  He reaches out a hand like he’s going to grab my breast, but I slap his hand away.

  “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  He sneers. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” He leans in with a predatory look in his eye. “I know you fucked Hart. It’s written all over your face whenever his name gets mentioned.” His expression turns dark. “I guess only rich guys get your pussy wet.”

  I grit my teeth. “No, only better men do.”

  Grant snorts. “Your loss, Evans. Just get the hell out of my office. Pack your shit and go. You’re fired.”

  I hold in my tears until I’m just out of the building. The cold city air hits me as I clutch my arms letting my tears fall to the pavement beneath my feet. It isn’t until I look up that I realize it’s started raining.

  * * *

  Cheryl, the volunteer at the front desk of Magnolia Assisted Living, greets me by name and with a blinding smile. “He’ll be happy to see you today,” she says.

  I shake my head, my heart feeling heavier than usual.

  “Actually, I need to see someone in billing.”

  She furrows her brow. “Okay, sweetie. Let me call over there.”

  A moment later, no less than the director of the nursing home comes striding into the lobby.

  “Olivia, how can we help you?” he says.

  “Well, Mr. —”

  “Just call me George.”

  “Well, George, it’s actually about my father’s account. Can I speak to you in private?”

  He leads me into his office, and I look around as I sink into a plush chair that feels like it’s made of clouds. The director’s office is chic and definitely not something I’d expect to see at an assisted living center. Is this where all my money’s going?

  “So, Olivia, how can I help you?”

  I take a deep breath. “I lost my job yesterday.”

  The director frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I nod my thanks.

  “So, I was wondering if you could put me on some sort of payment plan or something?” My eyes scan the room again. He didn’t get all these nice things letting people make payment plans. “I only have enough in savings to cover Dad’s care for another two months.”

  I lean forward, putting my hands on the desk, palms up, pleading with him. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to get another job, but I’ll do everything I can.”

  A fake smile spreads across his face.

  “Let’s look at your account.”

  George logs into his computer and pulls up a profile with details of my father’s care. He shakes his head in confusion. “Um, Ms. Evans, you don’t have to worry about paying for anything...”

  I frown. “I appreciate you working with me, sir, but I do intend to pay just as soon as I can.”

  He smiles. “No, you don’t seem to understand. Your father’s expenses have been paid in advance. It says here that bills are now to be forwarded to Declan Hart.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “I don’t...” I whisper, not understanding.

  Across from me, George nods, still smiling. “It says Mr. Hart also gave us a sizable donation.”

  My eyes flutter closed. “Of course, he did.”

  That stubborn, gruff, secretly big-hearted beast. I can’t believe he did this, but at the same time, it makes perfect sense.

  “We’ve reversed your last two payments at the request of Mr. Hart, as well. So is there anything else I can help you with, Olivia?”

  I look at him, a smile slowly spreading across my face.

  “No,” I tell him. “But I think I have somewhere to be.”

  He shoots me a knowing smile. “We’ll call you if anything changes with your father.”

  23

  DECLAN

  The End.

  I stare at the two words that sit taunting me on the page. I’m two chapters away from wrapping up the end of my novel, and I can’t seem to find the right words. I can’t seem to find the perfect resolution to Liz and Kent’s love story, and it’s all because of her. Olivia Evans. The irony of my predicament doesn’t escape me.

  Idiot. You can’t even find the perfect resolution to yours.

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her and each day is more unbearable than the last. I’ve buried myself in work, hoping to forget the raw ache in my chest, but it’s all been in vain. There’s not a single thing that doesn’t remind me of her. What’s worse is I find myself anticipating what her notes might be on a particular scene. She’s become an integral part of my life. And most of all my writing.

  I admit I’m not the only one affected by her absence. Even Adele and Louis seem at a loss for what to do with themselves. The other day, Adele had the misfortune of catching me at a really bad moment. I practically flipped the dining room table when she placed a setting in Olivia’s usual spot. It was just a pair of silverware, but it was enough to unleash the beast inside. The beast Olivia fought so hard to help. The man I thought I had put to rest.

  “The sooner you finish that, the sooner you can see her,” Adele says, her sad eyes watching me struggle as I sit silently at my desk.

  Her words both sting my soul and give me hope. Adele has been careful not to bother me today. She knows I’m teetering on the edge, and just one push could send me spiraling back down. Guilt hits me as she sets a cup of tea at my desk and takes in the mess that surrounds me. An empty bottle of whiskey here, a half eaten sandwich there. Life has just lost what little luster it had for me. I’ve lost what little purpose Olivia gave me. I used to wake up in the morning knowing I would soon get to see her beautiful, smiling face and kiss those beautiful, perfect lips.

  “She wouldn’t want to see you sulking.”

  I scoff. “She doesn’t seem to care what I’m doing.”

  “Says who?” Adele snaps.

  “She hasn’t called or emailed,” I add quietly.

  My eyes burn from staring at the computer screen, waiting for some kind of message from her. The longer I stare, the more impossible finishing this book seems. I nearly jump as Adele leans in and squeezes my shoulder. The gesture somehow soothes me.

  “She left because of her father.”

  Her words wash over me with a bitter sweetness. She didn’t leave because I drove her away, but she left just the same.

  “I know. I just thought she would come back…for me.”

  “You haven’t spoken with her,” Adele adds. “And you seem intent on not calling.”

  “She didn’t tell me when she’d be back.”

  “So you’re going to give up on her and your writing? This is the last extension they gave you, remember?”

  “I know.”

  I poured all my pain, all my longing, and all my love, into this novel. I cut open my chest and bled all over the goddamn thing. I know it’s the best thing I’ve done in years. All because
of her. How can I get through this without her? This wouldn’t exist without her.

  Adele chuckles as I press delete on the blank page in front of me.

  “I know I’m old, but I’m pretty sure you have to write something before you delete it.”

  I grimace. “It doesn’t even fucking matter.”

  She tuts. “Language, Declan.”

  “I don't care about my language.”

  She glares at me. “Declan, I have had about enough of this behavior. Just call her already.”

  Adele’s eyes light up as I get up to take a breather from my writing.

  “I am not going to call her. She left. It was her decision.” I run my hands through my hair. “I am not going to beg her to come back like some lovesick fool.”

  She sighs. “You are a lovesick fool,” she says shaking her head in amusement. “And you're miserable without her.”

  I grunt. She's not wrong, but I'm not going to admit it to her.

  I feel lost without Olivia. It's like I don't know how to function anymore—like she took my heart and my brain and my fucking will to live when she left. I miss her so much it's like my skin is on fire, like I'm still in that car, burning to death.

  “So what, I should fly to New York and demand to see her?” I scoff.

  Obviously, my attachment to her was stronger than hers to me. The thought of her back home happy with her father both hurts and delights me.

  “I think that’s exactly what you should do,” Adele says, walking over to my closet. I watch as she pulls an old suitcase out and begins tossing clothes inside of it.

  “Adele, I can’t. I— Look at me. I’m— My face.”

  “Declan, I’ve been looking at you for nearly seven years. I’ve watched you rise and fall, but I’ve never seen you fly like when you’re with her.”

  I smile. “She told you about the skydiving?”

  “She did, but it didn’t take me long to figure out where you two went that day.” She smiles. “Don’t throw it all away now.”

  I smile, exhaling my pain. Whether I want to admit it or not, Adele has been the mother I needed. That’s a strange thing to say at thirty-two, but it’s true. She’s been there for my failures and successes.

  “You never do give up on me,” I say.

  “No, I don’t.” She laughs as if remembering all of the times I’ve annoyed the shit out of her.

  “Why did you stay?” I ask. “After the accident, I mean.”

  Adele’s hands pause mid-packing. She looks down with a bright blush on her cheeks.

  “I guess you don’t know… You’re the son I never had.”

  24

  OLIVIA

  My heart aches as I reread the pages of Declan’s book Twilight Kiss. Over the past few days, I’ve been binge-reading all of his books. One after another. Each one has taken on a whole different meaning for me now that I know him. Each word reads a little clearer, a little sweeter, and a little deeper. God, I miss him.

  I miss him the way you miss a fictional character at the end of a book. All consuming. It’s the only thing I’ve thought about these past few days. I miss him the way you miss that flutter in your stomach when you read a good book. The kind that leaves you breathless for more. I want more of him. I want to go back to the moment that I was his and he was mine. I want to go back to the moment where the most complicated thing about our day was how we would spend it.

  Beneath candle light or star light.

  If I wasn’t already in love with Declan, I would’ve been the moment I found out he paid for my father’s living expenses. The thought was too generous. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay him, but I don’t mind spending the rest of my life trying to. I’m going back to Las Vegas. I’m going back to Declan’s secluded manor, and I’m going to tell him that I love him. I can only hope that he still wants me afterward.

  My phone vibrates pulling me from my thoughts as I make way towards my apartment. I spot a familiar area code as I peer down at my touch screen. The day after you get fired, the last person you expect to get a call from is work. Even more surprising is the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

  “Ms. Evans?”

  “Yes, this is her.”

  “This is Nicholas StoneHaven…”

  To say that his voice leaves my nerves a wreck would be an understatement. Mr. StoneHaven is intimidating even over the phone. He’s probably calling to tell me how I’ve fucked everything up with Hart. He entrusted me to step it up and help Hart get his manuscript completed. Not almost done.

  “Oh, uh, hello,” I say.

  “I understand Richard Grant recently fired you…”

  Is he just calling to rub it in my face? From the moment Richard fired me, I wanted to go up to higher management and tell them everything, but that wouldn’t change anything. I still would’ve been fired, and even worse, I would’ve been blackballed from working in the publishing industry. I’m not fully trained to do Richard’s job. Sure, I know how to edit, but these clients are expecting someone with years of experience under their belt. Not a lightly season editor.

  “Um, well, yes,” I begin to say.

  “Ms. Evans, I’d like you to come in and speak with me. Are you available to meet today?”

  “Come in and meet?”

  Shock reverberates through me at his invitation. Come meet with him?

  “Yes,” he says.

  His words come out more like a demand than a request. A demand I curiously accept with the hope that somehow I can salvage my job. While I hate the thought of working with Richard Grant again, I’m not too proud to ask for my job back. I love my job. I just didn’t love working for a man who used me to do his work and neglected to give me credit for any of it.

  Swallow your pride, Olivia. You need this job. They’re not easy to find these days.

  “Yes, I can meet you,” I say.

  “Good, meet me in conference room one on the 7th floor.”

  A flutter of hope fills my chest. Maybe there is a way to go back and change things. Maybe there’s still time to tell Declan that I love him. That everything has felt so different without him.

  * * *

  “Welcome back, Olivia.”

  Mary, the receptionist in the lobby, looks at me with a smile on her lips that can only be described as polite, but wicked. She’s the last person you’d expect to be up to no good, but something tells me Mary has some secrets of her own. I smile as she taps her finger on the sign-in sheet at her desk, having me sign it before directing me toward the elevator.

  “Mr. StoneHaven is waiting for you.”

  Several minutes later, I find myself staring at the stocky figure of Richard Grant. My cheeks flush in embarrassment. Why the hell is he here? I huff, short of breath from running my way up the stairs. Why is this starting to feel like an intervention? Richard Grant looks up, waiting in the same conference room the receptionist had directed me to.

  Shit.

  “What the fuck are you doing back here?” Richard Grant says, sneering at me with contempt. I step into the conference room just as confused to see him. He’s just about to stride over toward me but to both our surprises, a Nicholas StoneHaven arrives. He walks in the conference room with a file in hand. The sight of it causes Richard to shrink back in his seat. I don’t blame him. I would shrink back at the mere sight of Nicholas’s broad shoulders and stern face too. Aside from Declan, I’ve never seen a man perfect the human scowl as much as this one.

  “What is this?” Richard asks, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

  I watch the blond Adonis walk over to Richard and slap down a heavy folder inches from his nose. Several loose sheets fly out, immediately pulling my eyes to them.

  “You tell me.”

  I silently watch, completely confused by this turn of events. Richard eyes the folder in front of him, before quickly pushing it away from him. It’s as if the thing is soiled with some infectious disease. I feel a crack of tension ricochet in the ai
r. You can definitely slice it with a knife.

  “I don’t know what that is,” Richard denies.

  “Oh, you don’t? Let me enlighten you.”

  I watch as Nicholas pulls out a loose leaflet of paper with familiar writing scribbled across it. It isn’t until he slides me over a copy of the files that I realize the gig is up. Nicholas’s gaze wavers toward me as he studies my face with the most serious expression.

  “So, Olivia, can you enlighten us as to what this is?”

  There’s no point in denying my work. Here’s my chance to finally claim what’s always been mine.

  “Those are my edits on Declan Hart’s book, Twilight Kiss.”

  “She’s lying,” Richard barks.

  He rears his ugly face at me, nearly flying across the table to attack me. The only thing containing him is the mere fact that there are six feet of muscle standing between him and me. All of this time, I’ve been doing Richard’s work and justifying it because of my love for editing. I should’ve been editing my own clients from the beginning. Not hiding behind Richard’s name.

  “Mr. StoneHaven…”

  “Please, call me Nicholas,” he says, watching me with a sincere smile.

  “Those are my edits.”

  “Are they?”

  A devious smile spreads across his lips as if I’ve just told him he’s won the pussy lottery. Something tells me he knew my secret all along. I watch as Nicholas picks up the folder of my edits and then places it in my hands.

  “I have to say I’m impressed.”

  “Impressed?

  He nods his head and then glances back at Richard Grant. There’s a silent exchange between them before Nicholas’s attention lands back to me. The smile on his face is infectious. I find myself smiling despite the fact that I thought I was getting fired again today.

  “Ms. Evans, congratulations. You are now our youngest Senior Editor.”

  What?

  What did he just say?

  “You can’t possibly mean that,” I balk. “I didn’t complete my work with Declan.”