Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Regina interrupts, her voice edged with the kind of politeness reserved for predators: “If you wish to rescind your bid, Miss McEnroe, the penalty is ten percent of the winning amount, payable before midnight tonight. Of course, everyone will know what happened, and I have to say that Minnesota society and the children’s charity fund, specifically, will be very disappointed. Your parents, too. I know how Victoria and Henry like to keep up appearances.”
My breath comes short and sharp. Ten percent is still more than I make in three years at The Fig Leaf, even with overtime during prom season.
“I—maybe we could—” My mind is empty. No rescue presents itself, no deus ex machina, not even the option to fake my own death and run for the state line.
Regina waits.
My hand slides into my purse, finds nothing but a stick of gum and the edges of my phone. I could text my mom, but Victoria is probably chatting with guests, and besides, she doesn’t have a spare hundred thousand dollars lying around. Even if she did, she would never forgive me for the humiliation.
The room is very still. My pulse is so loud I can hear it in my ears.
I look at Stella. She looks back, and for a second I see real concern in her eyes—not the usual drama, but the hard white of actual fear.
And then, the air in the room shifts.
It’s immediate, like the atoms of the room are rearranging themselves. There’s the faintest scent of cedar, whiskey, and a familiar male cologne that I know well already. I turn quickly as the air whooshes from my lungs.
Trevor is standing behind me, right at my shoulder. No one heard him enter, but he’s here, tall and handsome and commanding. His tuxedo is perfect, but the first button of his shirt is undone, and the bow tie hangs unspooled around his neck, like the aftermath of a story he won’t ever tell. His face is absolutely still, his eyes so blue that for a second I don’t recognize him.
He puts his hand on my lower back, comforting and warm. My shoulders relax and my lungs expand. Had I not been breathing? But his warm touch relieves me, and I glance with him with grateful eyes. A corner of his mouth quirks up, and he leans forward so his mouth is almost at my ear. “Sweetheart,” he says, pitched low enough that only I hear, “take a breath.”
I do. The room comes back into focus. I can see the veins in Regina’s hands, the way her nails are trimmed to perfect half-moons. I can see the digital glare of the tablet, the way Stella’s toe taps up and down at the speed of a sewing machine.
“Mr. Cahill,” Regina says, all smiles suddenly. “What an unexpected surprise!”
“Ms. Board Chair,” Trevor replies, his voice cool and amused, “forgive the confusion. I wanted to make sure the charity cleaned house tonight, so Kayleigh and I agreed she would bid aggressively to keep things competitive. We’ll handle the transfer using my funds, of course, just like last year. No need to ding my stepsister for any reason, she’s just working for me. A million will look good in the press release, don’t you agree? Who’s writing it this year? Arcade PR or the team at Surefire?”
Regina’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker behind her eyes—calculating, then resigned. She gives a little nod. “Of course, Mr. Cahill. As long as the funds clear tonight, the rest is administrative. And we hired a new PR firm for the event- Marcy Witherington and her team. They’ll draft something up within the hour, I’m sure.”
He smiles. “Of course.”
I am aware of the warmth of Trevor’s hand through the back of my dress, the way it anchors me even though my entire skeleton has liquefied. I try to look nonchalant, as if I’m in on the game, as if this is all a lark and not the most humiliating moment of my adult life.
Trevor steps forward, produces a black credit card with a matte finish, and lays it on the desk with a single flick of his thumb. The motion is final, a guillotine stroke. Regina picks it up, runs it through the reader, and the terminal beeps once, loud and cold as a gunshot.
I force a smile.
Regina taps the tablet, rotates it so it can be signed, and Trevor scrawls his name in a brief flourish.
“There,” Trevor says. “All settled. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to take my little sister home. It’s past her bedtime.”
The room, which has been so tense it could shatter, relaxes marginally. Regina smiles, thin and still a bit cold. But she’s polite. “Thank you for your generosity, both of you. The board will be thrilled.”
Stella’s hand finally lets go of my wrist. She sags a bit, then retreats with an apologetic “I need the ladies’ room,” and disappears.