Linda Monroe Novels & Stories

Alonso says as he crushes Monica into a hug and she scrunches her nose. "So did she ask me to do that just to distract everyone here?" I ask Linda and she laughs as she shakes her head. "She has a knack for being the one in the center of attraction. She loves having all heads turned and all eyes on her. She loves it," Linda says and I see Monica in a different light now.

Linda’s voice purred on the recording. The ballroom, filled with the world’s most powerful investors, the Al-Hamad delegates, and the cream of New York society, went deathly silent. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were glued to the screen as Linda appeared in the frame, draped over Marcus Thorne. She wasn't the grieving sister or the concerned bridesmaid. She looked like a predator.

“Nothing. I was just—” Linda’s hand slammed against the table, cutting her off. “Don’t play dumb with me!” she snapped, her tone venomous. “You’ve been hovering like a rat all morning. What are you trying to see?” Monica swallowed, keeping her face neutral. “I was only checking if you needed anything.” Linda let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, please. Spare me the act.” She took a step closer, her presence suffocating. “You think I don’t notice when you spy on me? When you peek at my phone like some nosy little servant?”

Monica practically bounced to the door and ushered a woman inside. "Dad, I want you to meet someone," she said brightly. "This is Linda Calcraft. I ran into some trouble at work a while back, and she really helped me out. I invited her over today so I could properly thank her." I looked at her carefully It was her. Linda. The woman who had died alongside me in my previous life. She appeared to be in her mid-40s, wearing a tasteful dress that complemented her elegant, refined presence. She'd clearly taken good care of herself over the years.

Linda always found a way to get me out of a funk. Linda told Luther, the bartender, "Let my friend Monica sit behind the bar. Do not let anyone bother her. When am I up, Luther?" "I got your girl Linda. You're up next. Good crowd, they're giving money away." "Good to know. Monica, watch and learn."

Linda certainly had the look of a mother who would do anything as long as their child was fine. "I thought I could pretend nothing ever happened as long as you understood you made a mistake—" "How are you this good? Hollywood really owes you an Oscar." Tina smirked in disdain, cutting her short impatiently. "Also, are you done? Like I said—where's your proof?" Since she did not do it, she doubted that Linda could show any proof at all.

Linda Collins. She stood beside him, the actress and writer who had quietly slipped into the crowd as though she owned it. People had already begun to recognize her. The low hum of excitement swirled around the room, and just like that, all of the effort I’d put into making myself the focal point of the evening felt… deflated.

Linda smoothed her dress and flashed her sweetest, practiced smile. She sidled up, her neckline daringly low. "Mr. Canfield, my hero, do I owe you my hand for saving me?" Before she could bat an eyelash, Simon's secretary whisked her away by the collar. Simon slouched in his chair, his voice dripping with boredom. "You think you're in my league?" Linda's face soured. She was not a knockout like Jessica, but she was no slouch in the looks department. How could Simon dismiss her so easily?