The Beast in a Suit (A Contemporary Tale) Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Elena Kincaid

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-834-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I would like to dedicate this book to the members of my Sinfully More Erotic Street Team, aka, SME, especially to three very lovely ladies, Rhonda, DeAnne, and Christina, whose names appear throughout the book. To Maia Dylan and Sarah Marsh, my two writing partners and who, along with myself, make up SME, I love you girls. To many more projects together!

  THE BEAST IN A SUIT

  A Contemporary Tale, 1

  Elena Kincaid

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  “Once there lived a boy in a castle. He was all alone with no parents or friends to speak of, trapped inside the confines of the property. He could hear the cackles of the witch who cursed him echoing in the hallways almost every night. And every time, the little boy would run to an open window, place his hands over his ears, and scream. Only when it was over did he finally go to bed. ‘Good night, Mama. Goodnight, Papa,’ he’d say to their framed portraits hanging on the wall directly in front of his bed. In the winter months, when the winds picked up and howled, he’d pretend it was his mother singing him to sleep.”

  “Marguerite, isn’t there a more pleasant story you can tell our child at bedtime?” Emeline’s father asked, pausing in the doorway of her bedroom. He looked almost comical with his round, rimless glasses sitting at the tip of his nose as he peered over them at his wife, his curly mop of brown hair wildly disheveled, more than likely from running his hands through it as he often did.

  “But I love this story, Papa,” Emeline said in French. “And it has a happy ending.” She glanced at her mother, who gave her a surreptitious wink. They both knew how to play her father. She switched to English. “And furthermore, I would think as a literary professor, you would appreciate the importance of the feminist undertone. The male protagonist is essentially rescued by a damsel, and he is the one in distress.”

  Her father barked out a laugh as he stepped into her room. “Are you absolutely certain, Mama, that she is only eight?” he asked her mother.

  “You were there when she was born, dear.” Marguerite shook her head.

  Being the daughter of a French-born father and an Italian-born mother, while residing in the United States, resulted in Emeline being fluent in three languages, and long before she had any understanding of what being trilingual meant. They sometimes bantered back and forth in three different languages, though her father, when not teaching, often favored French.

  “A changeling, then,” her father continued teasingly. He sat on the bed and began to tickle her mercilessly. “They switched our daughter out for this forty year old stuck in a child’s body.”

  Emeline’s peals of laughter were from both being tickled and her father’s theories about her. She let her imagination run wild, picturing herself as this changeling child and living in a far-off land where magic lived and thrived. Perhaps she would be the one to save the boy from the evil witch.

  Her mother poked her father in the ribs. “Stop it, Edmund, or she will never go to sleep.”

  “But he’s right, Mama,” Emeline said as soon as her father had ceased his tickling. “I’m a fairy princess, ancient and wise, and if you ever want to see your real daughter again, you must pay me with a thousand chocolate bars.”

  This time both her parents went in for the attack. A few giggle fits later, her strength as well as the strength of her parents had waned. She wouldn’t get the end of the story tonight. No matter, though. She had memorized it all, but she would have begged her mother to finish it in her beautifully melodious Italian accent had she known her mother would never have the chance to tell it to her again.

  Her father kissed her sweetly on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, mon ange.” Her mother followed suit, then tucked her daughter in before standing up. Emeline, however, had one more kiss she wanted to deliver. She touched her mother’s rounded belly before closing her eyes and kissing it softly. She silently promised to be the best big sister ever.

  When Emeline opened her eyes again, she found herself alone. Darkness surrounded her. The only sound she heard was that of a baby crying. She ran blindly, trying to get to it, but every time she came close enough to expect to find the source of the crying, the sound once again carried from a distance. “Where are you?” Emeline yelled. “Please … where are you?” she ended on a whisper.

  “Wake up.”

  Her body shook, and then she heard the voice again telling her to “Wake up.”

  Chapter One

  Emeline bolted into a seated position, dislodging the hand she felt on her shoulder. “What … where?” Confusion set in as she took in her surroundings. The smell of dirt and grass, as well as a woodsy male cologne, penetrated her nostrils.

  A man stood up from his crouched position, towering over her, the sun behind him obscuring her vision, making her squint. He was huge, well over six feet, and very muscular. A sudden fear settled into her, mixing with her current state of disorientation.

  “Do you often sleep in cemeteries?” the deep, velvety voice asked her. He had an English accent, though not very pronounced. “Do you know how dangerous it is?” He continued chastising her without waiting for a response to his first question. “Anyone could have…” He gestured around him with his hand instead of finishing his sentence.

  “And you’re not dangerous?” Emeline asked as she stood up and brushed herself off. His questioning finally permeated her brain, snapping her out of her haze. She was in a cemetery, only now it was broad daylight. She’d had trouble sleeping last night, tossing and turning, knowing what a hard day today would be for her and her father, until she gave up on sleep altogether. She got in her car, the one she pretty much only used on weekends when she drove from her apartment in Manhattan to her father’s house in Long Island, and arrived at the cemetery where her mother and stillborn brother were buried. It had still been dark out.

  “I could be dangerous,” the stranger replied.

  He stepped closer to her, blocking out the sun and allowing her to finally see his face clearly. Striking emerald eyes peered down at her, momentarily holding her in place. Long black lashes encircled his piercing gaze, framed by thick, dark-blond expressive eyebrows. They were furrowed at the moment. He looked almost wild with his thick mass of long, wavy locks—reaching past his shoulders—and full beard. The hair and beard both had an array of colors in it, ranging from light to dark blond, and even a bit of gold. She had guessed right about his size from her vantage point on the ground and now standing, she surmised that he must be somewhere between six foot three or four.

  “Whether I am dangerous or not, you shouldn’t take my word for it.”

  Emeline gulped loudly, taking a step back as he took one forward. She saw him reach into his pocket. Fear overtook her once again. “What are you doing?”

  The stranger took out his wallet and reached in to grab some bills. “So you can get cleaned up and maybe get some food,” he explained while holding the cash out to her.

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; “What?” She didn’t know whether to be offended—she looked down at the holey gray shirt she liked to sleep in as well as her dirt-stained sweatpants—or to admire the kind gesture. She put her hand out in front of her, palm facing him. “Thank you, but I’m good.” Embarrassed, and feeling slightly foolish and dejected, she turned away from him and began walking toward her sporty little silver Mazda parked several yards away, and only when she reached the driver’s side did she dare turn around. She found him staring at her, and she couldn’t help return his gaze for a moment, before finally getting into her car.

  “Ugh!” What Emeline saw in her rearview mirror horrified her. Her hair was a complete disheveled mess, with some of it sticking out on the right side, which she had slept on. Smears of dirt stained her cheek, and her eyes were a bit bloodshot with dark circles underneath. She definitely needed to get herself together before her father got a good look at her, not wanting to add to the stress of today. She decided she would pull over a few blocks from the house to change and put some make-up on, but for now, she just needed to get away from here. Without looking back at him, she could still feel the stranger’s gaze on her as she drove away.

  Several miles later, she still saw his eyes vividly in her mind. They hadn’t been judging, but shrewdly assessing, and she had no idea why that brief encounter kept replaying itself over and over. Perhaps because he had seen her at her most vulnerable, unguarded and mourning the loss of what was and could have been. Twenty years later, and the hole inside her soul only got bigger.

  ****

  As she drove to her father’s house, Emeline let her mind wander—anything to distract her from images of the stranger’s eyes. She hadn’t been good at letting people in over the years, but she was working on that, cherishing a few close friendships with some of her coworkers. Relationships, however, were a whole other story. None to speak of in the last two years, and none to write home about before that. Her current situation was an unwanted one. What Jarod called a relationship, Emeline called stalking.

  They had gone out on two dates after being introduced by a friend of a friend. She figured out that she had nothing in common with him on date one, but he had been charming, giddy even when he told her that they were not only celebrating their first date, but the fact that he had just been made partner at the corporate law firm he worked for. Date number two did not go so well. Jarod had talked mostly about himself, rarely asking Emeline any questions, and his egocentric colors came out. She was bored and she was done, though she politely sat through the date, grudgingly acquiesced to let him walk her home as he did after their first date, and then firmly declined his offer to invite him upstairs as well as his request for date number three. The texts and calls were only sporadic at first, until they became almost daily and she was forced to change her number. He even had the nerve to invite himself to join her and a few of her coworkers for lunch one day and the gall to call it date number three later. He had pulled up a chair and sat himself down, managing to charm her friends, who were ignorant of the situation at the time.

  And who could blame them for their reaction? He was gorgeous, although a little too metrosexual for her taste, especially with his manicured nails, perfectly coiffed black hair, and no five o’clock shadow to speak of. Her tastes leaned towards the more rugged men who never dared wax their eyebrows. Besides caking on the charm, Jarod was also very successful and rich, and probably not a lot of people said no to him, but Emeline did, and as it turned out, he wasn’t someone who liked to take no for an answer.

  “Just imagine what our children would look like,” he had said to her one day when he followed her from the coffee shop to the lobby of her work across the street. “Would you deny them such beauty?”

  Perhaps he had thought he was being cute, but Emeline did not. “I’m not having children with you.” She had turned to face him, balling her hands into fists. “This is where I work, Jarod. You can’t just follow me in here.” She pursed her lips and added, “And next time, don’t invite yourself over to sit with me and my friends. It’s rude!”

  She had turned to go, but he grabbed her hand. “I’ll be expecting an invitation soon then.” With that, he had left, and she had fumed all the way to her office.

  Emeline shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. She pulled her car over next to her childhood home. There would be no dwelling on her pest problem today. She put drops in her eyes to clear the redness, concealed her dark circles, and added color to her cheeks, and then after taking out a clean shirt and jeans from her overnight bag, she ducked low to rid herself of her dirty clothes. “I’m going to burn these,” she said aloud, remembering the look on the stranger’s face as he perused her attire. “Maybe finally invest in some sexy lingerie.”

  When she deemed herself presentable, she restarted the car and drove another few blocks down to the house her father had bought three years after the death of her mother and brother. Selfishly, she had wished that her father had never sold their home so she could always walk in the footsteps of her happy memories, but unselfishly, it was what was best for him. He didn’t need the physical reminders to add to the anguish of the mental ones.

  “You are early, mon ange,” he said to her when she walked into the kitchen to find him drinking coffee and reading the paper.

  “Oui, Papa, I wanted to get an early start.” She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter, and then kissed her father on the top of his head before pouring herself a large cup of coffee. She took a section of his newspaper and joined him at the kitchen table.

  They wouldn’t talk about what today was, nor would they reminisce about the past. Instead, they’d sit at the kitchen table in companionable silence, drinking their coffees, and then, a short while later, they’d drive over to the cemetery, place flowers on the grave where mother and son were buried together, and then stand there, holding on tightly to one another as they cried silently.

  Chapter Two

  Emeline was odd. She was probably one of the rarest of people who looked forward to work on Monday mornings, but then again, according to her, that’s what happened when you had a job you adored and the first day of the work week signified the start of some exciting new project. This Monday, however, was different, and a sense of dread had filled her from the moment she had woken up.

  Publishing Enchanted, where she worked as a Senior Marketing Director, had been her home away from home for the last decade. Once a job she loved, it became a job she feared for, ever since she began to see the publishing company’s steady decline in revenue. And then came the announcement from her mentor and boss, Andrea Moore, that she was taking early retirement and selling the company she had built from scratch.

  “Is he in yet?” Emeline asked her assistant Christina when she walked into the office.

  “I heard he’s been in since the crack of dawn,” she replied. Christina followed Emeline to her office. “There was one message for you this morning, and I took care of that.”

  There was no need for Christina to elaborate. Emeline already knew the message had to do with Jarod, and she appreciated her handling him as she had been for the past few months. Though Christina Wagner was normally quiet and a bit shy, she also knew how to be firm. Push her too far, and she bit. Emeline threw her assistant a grateful look and then hung up her sweater on her coatrack. The weather had suddenly shifted this morning, signifying that fall was fast approaching.

  “So, what’s he like?” Emeline asked her. She sat down at her computer, already powered up for her by Christina, and entered her password. Several messages were waiting for her.

  “Dunno,” Christina said. “He hasn’t been out of his office yet, but there’s a memo.”

  “Ah!” Emeline noticed said memo in her inbox. “Senior staff meeting at 10 AM,” she read aloud. He detailed some key points to be discussed at the meeting and then she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her when she read his sign off. “Sincerely, The New Head Honcho, Adam Charmont.”

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p; Christina snorted. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “I mean, it would be a great way to break the ice.” In truth, Emeline had no idea what to make of this new head honcho. She had done her research, or so she thought, when she first began looking into the potential buyer. She learned that Adam Charmont was a master at hostile takeovers, and naturally wondered about his interest in simply buying a small publishing company. He had his hands in multiple large corporate investments as well, both in North America and Europe. And on a bit of a personal level, the sixty-seven-year-old was not only known as a philanderer, but he had stopped his charitable donations almost two decades ago, including the charities he had started. Seems like a swell guy, Emeline had thought. After hours of poring over the companies he had taken over and mostly dismantled, selling them for parts like a cheap used vehicle, she had hit a bit of a snafu.

  Deceased.

  Dead men don’t buy companies, but Adam Charmont Jr., as it turned out, though he had dropped the suffix, was the actual buyer. This man had inherited an empire, and although he had been crucial in some of his father’s earlier dealings, he pretty much went off the grid for a number of years until his father’s death eighteen months ago. Instead of resuming Senior’s work however, Junior took a different approach. He flipped dying businesses and turned them into gold before he sold them off for a profit. These businesses were often innovative ventures, rather than just giant conglomerates, but still, they dealt with products and bottom lines, nothing related to art, and the selling off of these companies was a major red flag for her. She wondered what the continuous change of ownership would mean for their little brand and the people who worked hard at maintaining it. Would she still even have a job at the end of this? She may not have had an office on a corner, but it was a nice size, roomy enough for not only her desk and chair, but also for a small couch and a coffee table, and a killer view of Midtown. Along with loving her actual work, and the relationships she had built along the way, her job wasn’t something she wanted to easily part with. Skeptical as she was of this new boss, however, she held out hope that he could be the company’s saving grace.