Stalked: An Enchanted Bedtime Story, #1

By Michel Prince

Life can turn on the flip of a coin.

Once upon a time, in a shiny, gilded palace high in the sky, Madison Harper used the magic of song to soothe a temperamental giant, Drake Titan. While Drake owns most of the world, his need for more meant he could never capture the fair Madison's heart.

For Jackson Tiller a stranger's offer of a lucky coin in trade for Jackson's mother's old car seems like the answer to his every prayer. The exchange sends him off to a job he doesn't want, but is exactly what he needs. A mailroom clerk at The Palace, he has the freedom to roam within the building, including the top-floor penthouse where a woman's voice draws him in.

Could a second flip of the coin win him her heart?

Madison may be the unofficial queen of the palace, but after meeting Jackson, she realizes there is more to life than the security of money. Will Jackson be able to overcome the Giant and take all he possesses for his own? Or will the giant discover the most precious commodity is love, leaving Jackson to his own demise as Drake finally captures the woman Jackson could only covet from afar.

Stalked - A Jack and The Beanstalk retelling, one of many Enchanted Bedtime Stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michel Prince
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393395034

Michel Prince

USA Today Bestselling author, Michel Prince, graduated with a bachelor degree in History and Political Science.  Michel writes new adult and adult paranormal romance as well as contemporary romance. With characters yelling "It's my turn damn it!!!" She tries to explain to them that alas, she can only type a hundred and twenty words a minute and they will have wait their turn.  She knows eventually they find their way out of her head and to her fingertips and she looks forward to sharing them with you.   When Michel can suppress the voices in her head she can be found cheering for her son in a variety of sports.  She would like to thank her family for always being in her corner and especially her husband for supporting her every dream and never letting her give up. Michel has been awarded Elite Status with Rebel Ink Press in 2013, the service award for her local RWA chapter Midwest Fiction Writers in 2013 and 2014, won Sweetest Romance at IRAE 2015 and is a PAN member of RWA.  She lives in the Twin Cities with her husband, son, and dogs. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

It wasn’t once upon a time that connections were the one thing everyone needed to succeed. There was no end date when it came to needing a link to someone bigger, smarter, more successful. Even when you reached the top floor with the right hand extended to you somehow you were able to rise even higher.

Jackson Tiller’s small family did not possess said connections. Not only did they not have the plug, but the cord was also too short and any power running through it was likely to electrocute you.

That had never stopped him from trying. Get rich quick schemes ran through his neighborhood like roaches after pizza. Bold at first until the light shines in their faces, and they scatter with the bit of food they wanted. Leaving you with an inedible pizza, that has to be tossed out as you struggle to find money for something else to eat. Vitamins, calling cards, soaps, makeup, cars bought at auction. All pyramids where the many enrich those at the top.

Jackson only knew about these things because his dumb ass had tried them all. Each time receiving the ‘boy’ glare from his mother. Followed by the ‘fool, I told you there is no get rich quick option in the world’ speech.

Actors, athletes, rappers all took years to get where they were in the world, his mother would snap on him. Look at me, I started as a cleaning lady and worked my way up to supervisor.

She had, he admitted to himself. But in close to twenty-five years of cleaning houses, the little pittance she got to tell the others underneath her which rooms they were responsible for wasn’t worth the hassle. Though he respected her work ethic, and loved his mother, he wanted more than the two-bedroom house with a dilapidated detached garage the city was threatening to condemn.

Let them tear it down, his mother said from the kitchen one morning.

The light shuffling from her slippers across the linoleum had been, and would always be soothing to him—a morning ritual occurring most days before the sun rose. It wasn’t the loud banging of pots or heavy footfalls running through the house like when he was visiting his friends. The quiet nature of waking each morning lulled him into a sense of calm before the day began. It was better than the year he didn’t want to go to school and slept until well past the alarm. That’s when his mother’s slippers were weaponized, and he made the decision to enjoy the shuffle in the kitchen instead of the beatdown in the bedroom.

Mom, what are we going to have then—an open backyard?

It’s not like we use the thing; what’s the point of having it?

Tightening the belt of her yellow, terry cloth robe, she glanced out the kitchen window and sighed. Her hair was still hidden under the bonnet she wore each night to keep her natural afro from getting, as she called it, ‘a wild hair.’ Unless she would pick it out, she could keep the perfectly round shape in a three-inch halo around her head.

Property value, having a garage in the north is kinda a big deal.

He glanced down at his uncalloused hands ready to suggest he’d like to convert it to a studio, or better yet, build a whole new one and start producing albums. All he needed was sound-proofing and his laptop. The industry had changed so much. A mixer and equalizer would be amazing or a mixing board to balance out the sounds; but now, he could do all that in post with the right program.

One, can you put a car in it, no? she questioned as she sipped on her coffee and placed a box of cereal in front of him.

Jackson may be twenty-four, but he was still her child, and she demanded he eat something in the mornings. If they tear it down, then I won’t have to pay for it.

Yes, you will, he pointed out while scanning the letter. Demolition fees, trash haul away, and landfill. Mama, it’ll cost us more to have them take it down, then for us to do it and build a new garage that functions."

Oh, I didn’t realize my son was a carpenter; well, Jackson, get to it. Lord knows you don’t have any other things to do today.

Jackson glanced out their kitchen window to the rickety structure in total disrepair. Tear down would be required, but it would be an investment in something big. Only he knew better than to suggest another investment. ‘A gambler’s dream,’ his mother would say, but he knew he’d never be satisfied working for someone other than himself. His hard work lining the pockets of a man, so he could buy a new sports car at the end of a fiscal quarter. What his mother couldn’t see was that every job was a pyramid scheme, with the workers at the bottom benefitting the man in the penthouse.

His mother rinsed out her coffee mug and set it in the dishwasher before padding her way to her bedroom. Taking care of the house was the least he could do seeing as his mother never even asked for so much as twenty bucks on the light bill, but a full-on project that was a bit much.

Tossing on his sneakers, he made his way to the garage and figured he would at least clean the place out. If the city was going to tear it down anyway, maybe there was something inside of value. Shifting boxes off an old lawnmower, he rolled it out into the yard to see if it still started. A flash in the back of the garage caught his eye, and he maneuvered his way through the clutter to find an older style bicycle. A little grease on the chain and he could use it to get around town.

By the time his mother had gotten dressed, and headed to her car, he had a pile going in the yard.

Great, now they’re going to cite me for hoarding or worse in my backyard, she sniped at him. Get this all cleaned up, Jackson. We both know you’re going to start this project and never finish it. Put everything back, let them destroy the place, and I’ll try my best to pay it off.

If you don’t, they will take the house, he said. Come on, Mom, I could have a rummage sale and get rid of some of this stuff. Hopefully, raise enough money to get a new garage put in place.

She crossed her arms and glanced over the collection of junk he’d already amassed.

What you’ll do is get it started and leave me to run the sale. What happens when you get distracted by the latest thing blowing in the wind? Then what? I’ll be stuck negotiating with people over fifty cents on a broke-down tire pump. No thank you. For once could you not add to my day?

Getting into her car Jackson stared at the mess he’d created. He wanted to prove to his mother that his ideas were good. If they replaced the garage, it would add value to the house and save her from a huge bill. One she’d never get out from under. He’d already cost her so much by avoiding cutting the lawn one summer, and the city not only cited her, it charged her to come out and cut it.

The hard clicking of his mother’s car trying to turn over made him pause. It was dead. Like, dead, dead. There was no recovery at this point. It barely choked it’s way alive in the morning and now the starter was out. Bill upon, bill upon, bill, and now, his mother was going to be late to work.

Damn it, she growled, slamming the door to her car. Want to do something? Get this car to the junkyard. Maybe I can get a few hundred bucks from the scrap. I’ve got to race if I’m going to make the train.

She quickly walked away leaving the keys to the car on the hood. The damn Civic had been on its last legs this week. He would miss the old beast but knew if he didn’t get it started, he’d have to pay for towing. Why did the world have to cost so damn much?

Popping the hood he looked at the Jerry-rigged engine he’d cobbled together thanks to YouTube videos over the years. Pulling up his phone he searched, hoping to find at least a temporary fix.

Madison Harper stared out the glassed-in palace where she lived—palace only in name, not reality. Yes, it was worth millions, but there were no moats or dragons in the basement to protect her. There were the mutants guarding the elevator. Not many men with his fortune would live where they work, but Drake Titan wasn’t a usual man.

He’d built an empire from nothing; one where the Titan name was on most of the buildings. Most, but not all. Not his Palace. The pinnacle of his empire that overlooked the entire city, formed and built by him.

This is where she stayed, trapped because of his insane fear of her leaving. She was the trophy he brought out to shine, then tucked away to gather dust until he needed her again. Only she found herself being brought out less and less. Madison at first didn’t mind the arrangement. Who would? There were twelve rooms at the top of the skyscraper. She was allowed to one-click her way through any home decorating scheme she wanted. All items delivered with haste to the mutant thugs in the vestibule of the penthouse.

Although the men had names, she was not expected or encouraged to interact with them in any way, so learning their name was a waste of valuable space in her brain. Instead, she used the time to work on her music. The grand piano was at the corner of the living room in the penthouse. She could play music by the masters, discover her own harmony or melody. All in an attempt to hold on to the little bit of freedom she possessed.

Trapped financially, she refused to go back to the squalor she’d been raised in, not once she’d tasted the riches provided by her silence to the man everyone feared. Impotence plagued Drake, and she had to say it was a wonderful affliction. She accepted her place standing next to him, giving up her dreams of becoming a singer, playing pretend in thousand-dollar dresses and diamonds, and saving her voice for him and him alone.

Deep woofs echoed through the penthouse as her very pregnant Tibetan Mastiff lumbered in search of food. It seemed to be the only reason she ventured out in the apartment these days. Food or the occasional balcony walk where they had a patch of grass installed so