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  Meeting Munroe

  Munroe Series Book One

  Danelle Nelson

  Book Title Copyright © 2018 by Danelle Nelson. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Danelle Nelson

  Visit my website at www.danellenelson.com

  Other Titles by Danelle Nelson

  Bound Serie

  s

  Bound Through the Ashes

  The Bandolero’s Wife

  Munroe Series

  Meeting Munroe

  Loving Munroe

  CONTENTS

  Meeting Munroe

  Bound Series

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Loving Munroe is now available for pre-order!

  Thank you

  CHAPTER ONE

  The snow fell quietly around New York City, the usual hustle and bustle of the city had suddenly disappeared, leaving empty sidewalks and abandoned streets as everyone took cover from the bone chilling cold. Instead of people standing in lines for food vendors, families sat around fireplaces extracting warmth. They shared heartwarming stories and cuddled, keeping the outside where it belonged. I watched as the snowflakes danced below the flickering street lamps, their tantalizing moves keeping me forever engaged. I was envious of their freedom, and of their defiance of gravity. I was walking through the city after another long, exhausting day. I'd just left my third and final interview an hour prior with an ungodly feeling that I had letting myself down.

  I kicked the inch of freshly fallen snow that sat on the sidewalk at my feet and watched as the powder drifted upwards and outwards. It wasn't on a direct path; it fluttered wherever it felt. I wondered what that would be like to go about life without a plan - without a reason. I turned the corner of 84th Street and spotted a small café in the distance, The Hooligans Lounge, blinked wildly on the halogen sign, the neon pink was blinding through the falling snow. I needed something soul warming; coffee, I needed coffee.

  The café was empty, the small square tables lining the wall where bare. It was eerily quiet, something you rarely experienced in the heart of the city. The fireplace in the middle of the room roared, providing a much-needed warmth. "Hey," I said, walking up to the counter, "One latte, please."

  "Sure," the young woman behind the counter replied, her purple pixy cut bouncing with each word she spoke. "Name and five dollars."

  "Vanessa." I handed her my debit card and waited patiently. She handed me back the thin, flimsy plastic, and I took a seat next to the roaring flames. Outstretching my hands, I allowed the fire to bring them warmth, the tips of my fingers tingling from the unexpected heat. It reminded me faintly of a time when I was a child in Minnesota. I'd played outside for far too long in the dead of winter and my mother had to submerge my feet in warm water. It hurt like the dickens, the blood rushing into the constricted vessels, bringing life back into the cold extremity. Though this wasn't quite as bad.

  "Ma'am," the woman stated, holding out the cup.

  I stood, grabbing it, "Thanks!" I exclaimed, before sitting back down. There where twenty more blocks between the café and my apartment, I figured I'd better leave warm.

  I sat peering into the flames, which danced about magically in front of me. They were almost as captivating as the snowflakes, but fire had rhyme and reason. Fire was stuck, unable to move or go forward without a source. Fire was sort of like me. Finishing the coffee, I stood, throwing my empty cup into the trash bin before walking out of the door, back into the frigid cold. The usual scent of exhaust and food was absent, the fresh crisp air tasted almost sweet with moisture. I wrapped my purple scarf around my neck, placed my head downwards, and plowed towards my home.

  I seemed to make it back to my apartment building in record speed, for once not having to fight the crowded streets. I walked through the small, recently renovated lobby directly to the elevator. Getting off on the third floor, I opened my apartment door where I was greeted by my roommate, Nate, who was sitting on the couch with a tub of ice cream.

  "How'd the interviews go," he asked, sticking a spoonful of french vanilla into his mouth.

  "Not great," I replied, while removing my coat and scarf. I threw them over the barstool before plopping down beside him.

  "Do tell," he said, while his eyebrows raised in question. I couldn’t help but admire him, his lean, muscular frame screamed for attention while blue eyes shined brightly under his perfectly groomed eyebrows. He was model material, always had been. It was no wonder the news station snatched him up so quickly after college.

  "Same old stuff, really," I shrugged. I grabbed the spoon out of his hand and licked the ice cream off. "They want someone with more experience. So, I told the last lady, 'Why the hell did you call me for an interview?'"

  "You didn't!" Nate exclaimed, his hypnotizing blue eye's going wide, "You're insane, baby-cakes. Listen, I scored you an interview at a prestigious office building, the sky scraper off Newton. And before you do it, don't ask how. Just go. It's tomorrow at three." He grabbed the spoon back, planting it into the half-eaten pint. I couldn’t help but smile, the man loved him some ice cream.

  I had known Nate my entire life, we'd grown up together. Our parents bought the houses adjacent to each other before we were even born. We’d conquered daycare, elementary, middle, high school, and college together before he ran off to New York without me. Realizing I didn’t want to be without him I packed my things and moved to the city. To continue our adventures into adulthood. He'd gotten a job as a news personality while I bummed around off his newfound fame. "What type of job," I questioned. Not that it mattered, though. I’d take anything at this point. Anything that paid.

  "Ah, just administrative work, but there's room for growth. I made sure of that. I put in a great word for you, too, through Anastasia. She worked there for years before getting hired by the network," he replied. Anastasia was his co-host, a petite Russian bombshell, whom he was head over heels for.

  "Alright. I trust you," I grinned. "I'm going to bed, though. Before the exhaustion of the day fully catches up to me and I fall asleep here on the couch," I stood, walking towards the hallway. "Goodnight," I called out over my shoulder.

  "Goodnight, baby-cakes," Nate called back.

  We lived in a small two bedroom on the Upper East Side. It was an insanely expensive apartment for the amount of space we received, but nothing was cheap here in the city. My room was still littered with moving boxes, much to my dismay. I hated packing, but I despised unpacking. My clothes hung neatly within my closet though, and that I was proud of. Everything else was really unnecessary, and I contemplated numerous times over the past few months just throwing the boxes and their contents away.

  Maneuvering my way through the minefield, I laid down on my small twin sized bed, gently pushing the flowery comforter back and snuggling underneath it, looking for warmth. The sky scraper Nate was talking about was owned by a man named Timothy Munroe; an elusive bachelor.
He was talked about as a genius of the business world, a pavement layer of sorts. He'd came from nothing, building his empire with his bare hands in a short amount of time; he was only thirty. At my age, twenty-four, he'd already established his millions. Here I was, bumming off my roommate and hoping for a job. Eh, I figure we can't all be imperial geniuses.

  I was exhausted, but I wanted a closer look at Mr. Munroe. I typed his name into google, clicking the image tab and scrolling through the thousands of pictures. All of them where business shots, him standing with his arms crossed, staring menacingly at the camera. His blue eyes were cocky, his stance dominant. If a picture’s worth a thousand words, each photograph of him shouted confident asshole. Oddly enough none of the photographs were of him with women. There were a few shots from different galas around town, but he seemed to arrive and leave alone. He was insanely fuckable, though. So much that I couldn’t help but imagine myself with him. A man without want, without need. He had everything he could ever want, and if he didn’t I assumed he could purchase it. Anything could be purchased; even love. He kept his hair longer, slicking it back in a wavy tendril on top of his head. My hands could get lost in there, pulling and gripping as he pounded away at me mercilessly. Mm, what I’d do to live my fantasy. The pleasures of the mind taking me into sleep and releasing me from worry.

  Three o'clock came rather quickly the next day, and I found myself walking up to the large skyscraper at fifteen-till. I tipped my head back, following the line of building towards the clear bright blue sky. It was impressive, and unlike any of the other buildings around it. The steel glistened in the afternoon light, the sun reflecting off the pale glass windows. I walked to the entrance, today was my day!

  The lobby inside of the sleek black-framed revolving door was awe-inspiring, the marble floors glimmered with meticulous waxing. The security desk that sat adjacent to the door was made of sleek black aluminum. I slowly made my way across the expansive lobby, approaching the security desk without hesitation, "Hello!" I exclaimed happily, "I've got an interview at three, for an administrative job."

  The security guard, a gentleman of middle age, peered at me questionably from behind the desk. His bushy black eyebrows raised, "Right," he said slowly, "Here's your pass, it's floor fifty." He handed me a plain laminated white badge, the words 'guest pass 1' printed in black font on the front. “Don’t forget to swipe it on the way in, and the way out prior to giving it back.”

  "Thank yee, kind sir," I replied jokingly, while blowing my bangs out of my eyes before walking towards the turn tables. I swiped the badge and walked towards the elevators. I placed the badge onto my pink silk blouse and hit the sleek silver up button. I waited patiently, the elevator taking a while to come down to the lobby from the fifteenth floor. Ten, nine, eight, I counted the numbers as they flashed along, two, one, ding, the door opened before me. A group of finely dressed business men walked out, causing me to pause before I wiggled my way into the elevator. I pressed the button for the fiftieth floor and waited patiently for the doors to shut. Just as they were closing a hand shot between them, reopening the elevator. My mouth fell open as Mr. Timothy Munroe, dressed in a black Armani suit, walked into the elevator with me. I glanced over his tight frame before falling onto his freshly shaven face. My eye’s locked with his beautiful baby blues momentarily before he turned around. He placed his hands behind his back, waiting patiently. "Uh, do you need me to press a button for you," I questioned, unable to bear the silence.

  He turned and looked at me, eyebrows raised, "No," he replied simply.

  "Alrighty then," I mumbled, glancing downward. The elevator moved quickly upwards, floor after floor, until we reached the fiftieth. Tension flowed in the space between us, tension so strong you could hear it. I didn’t dare speak, and I didn’t dare look at him. As the doors opened I glanced up to find Timothy motioning for me to walk out ahead of him, while holding his other arm in the door frame, keeping the doors open. "Thank you," I expressed, while walking to the receptionist desk. That man was a sex-god, I was certain. "Good afternoon, I'm here for a three o'clock interview."

  "Perfect, please have a seat. I'll call you when Mr. Munroe's ready," the woman answered. I smiled at her before walking towards the lobby chairs. Crap, I hadn't realized I'd be interviewing with the man himself. I'd have worn something a little more stylish. While I wore my lucky blouse, which was made of silk, it was super worn out. I'd had it since high school; it was my good luck charm. I picked at the skin around my fingers as I waited, my foot drumming along to the elevator music playing overhead. "He's ready for you," the woman finally stated, ten minutes later.

  "Thanks!" I exclaimed, while standing and walking towards the double doors Mr. Munroe had gone through earlier. I opened them, the weight of the doors proving to be far less than I had anticipated. I catapulted forward and landed ungracefully upon my face. "Jesus almighty," I exclaimed, scampering to get up and onto my feet.

  "Mrs. Fox," Timothy exclaimed, suddenly at my side with his hand extended. I grabbed it, his unusually strong hold pulling me back onto my feet without effort.

  "Thank you," I whispered. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, the heat making me break out in a small sweat. "I'm so sorry."

  "Nonsense, are you alright?" he questioned. His hand fell to the small of my back, guiding me to the large arm chair sitting in front of his desk. The touch was electrifying, sending a small shock down towards my buttocks. I sat, watching him walk behind the desk to his own chair. I wondered if he felt the same electricity between us. "I apologize for my delay, I had an important business call come through just before I was to call you," he started, his voice straight business. The electricity must have been my imagination, "But let's begin. I've read over your resume, quite fascinating if I can say. A Harvard graduate, I'm impressed."

  "Thanks," I replied, picking at my nail, "you're not the first to notice."

  "Have you been on many interviews?" he questioned.

  I looked up, our eyes locking, "A few, yes."

  "I see," he started writing something on the paper before him, "And why are you interested in a job here at Munroe Incorporated?"

  Crap, I hadn't planned for this interview very well, "Can I be frank with you, Mr. Munroe?" Instead of stalking his online photos, I should have researched his company.

  "Of course," he replied while tilting his head slightly.

  "I've been job hunting for three months now, with numerous interviews. I haven't received one call back, because I'm either viewed as over-qualified for a job, or under-qualified due to lack of experience. While Harvard sounds like a great school to have on a resume, it does zilch when you're actually trying to get a job in this big bad world. So quite frankly, I'll take a job anywhere, here included," I winked, leaning inwards. The look on his face told me I maybe shouldn't have done that, and I sat up straight.

  "mmm-hmm," he replied, writing more on the paper before him. I had a small feeling pitted in the bottom of my stomach that this wasn't going to plan. "And are your plans to stay in New York permanent, Ms. Fox?"

  "As permanent as my job situation," I replied, flashing him a large smile. I thought I saw him grin back, momentarily, but I was unsure.

  "Alright, so let me make sure I understand this. You're in need of a job, and I've got one to offer - which is why you're here. You did no research into my company, nor who we are or what we're about. And you're unsure about staying in New York, so it may not be long term. Am I missing anything?" he finished rather bluntly. I was beginning to see why I hadn't received a job yet.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Munroe, I'm coming across as inconsiderate and unprepared, as I should. I am in desperate need of a job, I admit that. I'm good at filing, answering telephones, computers, and anything that could be asked of an administrative assistant. I can only tell you that I'd bring one-hundred percent each and every day, and that I'm painstakingly honest."

  He jotted a few more notes onto the paper before looking back up at me. "Thank you f
or your time, Ms. Fox, it was a pleasure meeting you," he said simply, before turning to his computer screen. He began typing away, paying me no attention. I stood, grabbing my small handbag and walking with my head held high out of the double doors towards the elevator. I pressed the down button and waited patiently. Just as the door opened the receptionist called out my name.

  "Ms. Fox," she exclaimed, "Can you please leave your contact information in case we need to get ahold of you for a second interview?"

  "Oh, yeah sure," I replied, walking back towards her desk. I took the outstretched pen and sticky note, jotting down my cellphone number before turning and leaving. The elevator was still waiting, and the doors opened as soon as I pressed the button. Stepping inside I took one last glance towards Timothy's office and found him staring at me through the glass doors. Out of impulse I winked, just as the doors to the elevator closed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The two weeks following my interview with Mr. Munroe where filled with numbing interviews, one after another, and no job offers. I was ready to give up, ship my already packed belongings and move back to Minnesota with my father. Today was Saturday, though, and I decided to use this day to do laundry before a night out on the town with Nate. We'd been planning a party weekend; a small celebration for a promotion he received at work.

  "I'll be home by dinner, hopefully," I said, holding my large sack of clothes in the air.

  "Why do you keep taking those things to the laundry mat, Ness?" Nate questioned, looking rather annoyed. "We've got a damn washer and dryer."

  "Until I can contribute to your monthly utilities, I'm not using those things," I replied. My father loaned me twenty dollars just to do my laundry, thankfully.