If The Shoe Fits

by Laurie LeClair

  “I’m grateful for your help and theirs.”

  They’d taken on some of the responsibilities, but ultimately she’d been conferred with for the last-minute details or glitches.

  “Mayday, mayday, Charlie, come quick!” her assistant, Peg, cried from the doorway.

  “Disaster?” she asked as she rushed to her, handing her back her phone.

  “Holy Mamma Mia! Level four.”

  Groaning, she followed through the crowd of women at the makeup counter. “Fill me in as we go, Peg.”

  “Some woman has infiltrated the window display and is desperately trying to take your dress you wore at the party the grandparents threw for you and Alex. She thinks if she can look like you, she can get a man like yours.”

  This time Charlie cussed under her breath.

  “Excuse me!” A nearby woman pulled back to look at her in horror.

  “Fudge, ma’am. We’re thinking of developing our own line of fudge and baked goodies to offer to our lovely customers.” Pain shot through her cheeks at the effort it took her to paste on a phony grin.

  The woman didn’t seem convinced and, at the moment, Charlie didn’t truly give a flying fig. She just wished this day would end and she could get some much needed rest.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have been so difficult if Alex could have made it. She sighed loudly.

  He’d been gone all week long. The few phone calls hadn’t been as impersonal as the first ones, but the bantering and warmth in his voice hadn’t eased the ache in her heart.

  The call she’d just hung up on made it so much worse. They both were highly aware of the problems they faced. She missed him terribly.

  If what little bit of information she’d gathered this week were true, Alex would be spending more and more time away so he could focus on getting Royale Enterprises back on its feet and not be prey for a bigger company to swoop in for a takeover.

  And with each day that passed, a sliver of reality sank in as well. The end was near for King’s, for their employees, and for her hopes and dreams of keeping her father’s legacy intact and thriving.

  What would all of it do to Alex and her?

  Chapter 19

  “You can drop me off here,” Charlie said, leaning over the back seat to pay the taxicab driver.

  “You sure, lady? I can bring you right to the doorstep.”

  She patted his shoulder. “No, thanks, I’ll walk the last few yards.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Hey, thanks for the tip.”

  She barely heard the last as she shut the back door. He sped away. Standing on the corner, she gazed at the house she’d once called home. It didn’t seem to harbor any wistful emotions this time. She walked the short distance, wondering when over the last few weeks she’d lost that connection.

  This was her father’s house. The house she’d grown up in with him, her mother, Dolly, and then her step-family. But, for once, she didn’t long for everything to be turned back in time to relive those wonderful memories with him.

  In a flash, she knew why. She’d found Alex. She’d found love.

  Knocking on the door, she hoped her stepmother was home.

  The big, wooden door opened effortlessly. A man she’d never met before looked down his nose. The short, older, perfectly groomed butler stood before her. “Yes?” His bored tone had Charlie biting her lip to keep from laughing.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Charlotte King to see Mrs. King, please.”

  He stretched out his long neck and raised his eyebrows, reminding her of a turtle. “Don’t you mean Charlotte King Royale, ma’am?”

  She bowed slightly. “Duly corrected, sir.”

  In the next few minutes, he ushered her into the foyer. She stood there until he could confirm if the mistress of the house was receiving any guests this evening.

  While waiting, Charlie glanced around the big area. She never noticed how cold it seemed, even under all the faux gold. Her gaze landed on the doorway to the darkened dining room. That’s where she’d met Alex, colliding into his arms. Had it only been a few weeks ago? She shook her head in wonder.

  So much had changed. She had changed.

  “Mrs. King will see you now.”

  Summoned, Charlie thought. She entered the parlor. The room hadn’t changed a bit, but to Charlotte, she was a stranger viewing a familiar place.

  “Charlotte, I’m surprised you would grace us with your presence. And on a Saturday night, at that!” Her stepmother’s words were slightly slurred. She’d obviously been having a nip or two tonight.

  “Yes, it’s been quite some time.” She didn’t care to elaborate, so she changed the subject. “Did you enjoy the reception last week?”

  She swore her stepmother’s cheeks pinkened at the question. “Yes, yes.”

  Nothing more to say, huh? “I understand you met a gentleman there.”

  The older woman fidgeted with her pearl necklace. “I met several lovely people.”

  Refusing to be drawn into another charade, Charlie decided she’d ask what she came here to ask and be done with it. She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve come to ask a favor, Stepmother.”

  “A favor?” She raised her brows and patted her neatly styled hair. “From me?”

  Yes, it was unheard of, wasn’t it? “I need you to stop the sale of King’s—”

  “Too late. It’s done.”

  Her heart sank. She’d assumed as much, but tried anyway.

  Her stepmother waved a hand in the air. “That was signed and completed weeks ago. Your husband has a team of crackerjack lawyers. They got things wrapped up rather quickly. At lightning speed, as a matter of fact. I’d imagine your husband would have mentioned that small detail to you by the way you grilled him when you found us in my office.” If possible, her right eyebrow went even higher, nearly touching her hairline.

  Certain her face would crack into tiny pieces if she attempted a smile, Charlie gathered her thoughts. “Can you buy it back?”

  The older woman sputtered. “B-buy, it back?! Of all the ridiculous notions you’ve come up with over the years, Charlotte.”

  Desperation took hold and escalated. “What about my trust fund? Will you release it to me?”

  The woman avoided looking at her. “No, of course not. You are not capable of handling that sum of money. Your father knew that.”

  For the first time she could recall, she grew angry with the man. “Why would he tie up my money with you?”

  She made a noise in the back of her throat. “Charlotte King, who do you think created those trust funds and kept King’s afloat for all these years? Me, that’s who.”

  “The last twenty or so,” she said aloud, “since Father died.”

  “Hah! Before that. Long before that. He was a great salesman, a genius when it came to people. Why they just fell in love with him the moment they met him-same thing with you.”

  “Me?” All she could do was blink at this woman who’d given her a compliment. Back-handed, but a compliment nonetheless, she noted.

  Her stepmother rose and went to the drink cabinet. “Any for you?”

  She pressed her hand to her flip-flopping belly. “No, thank you.”

  The woman gulped back one and poured the next. Turning toward Charlie, she said, “Yes, you have that same charisma as your father did. I worked for him, in the accounting department, soon after he opened the store.”

  Charlotte never knew that fact.

  “Oh, what a charmer. He made everyone feel as if he was only interested in them.” She sat down beside Charlie and visibly shivered. “Electricity.”

  “I’m not sure I need to hear this part,” Charlie chimed in, not wanting to see that visual.

  “I was young, impressionable. I thought he’d leave your mother for me.”

  Charlie sucked in a sharp breath.

  The older woman reached out and touched her arm uncomfortably, and then drew back. “I didn’t steal him. I left King’s. Business was booming then. But a fe
w years later, after you were born, and your mother was dying, he was beside himself. Doctor after doctor, bills after bills. He would have done anything for her.” She choked out the last. “The company was near bankruptcy.”

  “No,” Charlie gasped, stunned at the insight.

  “He may have watched his pennies as you girls like to say, but if there are no pennies, then there’s nothing to watch, is there?” She gazed down at the amber liquid in her glass. “I’d already been married, had the girls, and was no longer married. Your father asked me to come back. He needed me to help him with the business.”

  “So you went.”

  She sighed heavily. “Yes. Soon after your mother passed away. That’s all he had left. You and King’s. He held on dear to both. And I,” she bit her lip, “I was relentless in comforting him.”

  The news didn’t surprise her at all. Her stepmother was ruthless when she wanted something.

  Getting up from the sofa, the older woman turned away sharply. “I loved him,” she said without a hint of excuse in her tone. “I built up that company by his side. I was the one who saved it then. I brought it back from the brink.”

  Confused, Charlie asked, “So why refuse these last few years? Didn’t you want to see it thrive? We could still do it. Time is still on our side.” She stopped just short of begging.

  Her stepmother whirled around. “Well, time is not still on my side. I want a life. For once I want what I want, not someone else’s dream. King’s Department Store died a long time ago, Charlotte; you refuse to see that fact.”

  If she’d had a dagger, it couldn’t have cut Charlie to the quick any faster than her words had. “Then let me do it. My trust fund—”

  “Isn’t enough.”

  “What about mine?” Francine asked, coming into the room.

  Priscilla was close on her heels. “And mine.”

  “Girls!” Their mother’s shocked voice reverberated in the room.

  Charlotte stood and went to her stepsisters, hugging both of them. When she released them, she said, “Thank you, but I can’t ask you to do it.”

  “You’re not and we want to,” Priscilla said matter-of-factly.

  “Over my dead body,” the older woman warned, gaining their full attention. “Absolutely not. I will have complete control of your trust funds, even after I die; it’s in my will.”

  “Mother!” Francine’s horror-filled voice seemed to echo all of their feelings.

  “But, but,” Priscilla sputtered. “You swore we could do what we wanted with it. After we’re thirty.”

  Her eyebrow rose again and her lips became even more pinched. “I lied.”

  The gasps that surrounded Charlie caused her to reach out and grab hold of her swaying stepsisters. The truth was too ugly to bear.

  “Why, Mother? Why would you say such a thing when it wasn’t true?”

  The older woman refused to answer.

  “Why the trust funds, then? Why create them when you had no intention of honoring them?” Charlie asked in confusion. A wave of understanding took hold. “Father would never have allowed you to have all the money after he died. So you convinced him this was for the best. He agreed. You’re the executrix. You get paid for maintaining them.”

  “And don’t forget she doesn’t have to pay taxes on the money this way either,” Priscilla chimed in.

  Charlie continued, “Yes, the girls get an allowance—”

  “A pittance,” Francie pointed out.

  “You, Stepmother, manipulated everything.” Charlie’s

  words tumbled out as the thoughts rushed in her mind. “And still do.”

  This time, the woman seemed to shrink right before their very eyes. She sank down into a nearby chair. Tears welled. “I had to keep you close.” She waved a hand in Charlie’s direction. “I knew she’d never accept me. I didn’t care, not as long as I still had you two.”

  “So you controlled their every move by dangling the money over their heads,” Charlie said softly, cringing at that.

  Feeling her stepsisters shake, she gently led them to the sofa to sit. She planted herself between the pair. Grasping their hands, she asked, “And what about marrying them off?”

  Waving at them as if to dismiss that question, she said, “I’ll choose the husbands they need. Rich, yet malleable. In the meantime, I’ll still have them to do as I say and I’ll be able to arrange their marriages to my liking. And to top it all off, once they’re married or by the time they’re thirty, I’ll have more control of the bulk of the funds. Why else would I hunt for spouses for them now?”

  “Dictate to them and their husbands to get your hands on the money?” Even Charlie had a difficult time believing the absurdity of that concept.

  “But Alex won’t allow that,” Priscilla pointed out.

  “No,” her mother sighed heavily, “but then I could never control Charlotte, now could I?” She halted for a moment. “That’s why she doesn’t have a trust fund.”

  “What?!” Charlie and her sisters asked in unison.

  “Nothing. Not a dime for you, Charlotte King.”

  Charlie felt the color drain from her face. Her stepmother tricked her father and now her. Did her stepmother hate her that much? Or did she love money more?

  “It’s her family’s money,” Francie protested.

  Dawning hit Charlie then. “That’s why you agreed to my marriage to Alex. There was no trust fund, but he was rich. Rich enough to buy the store. You really did sell me off.”

  “The girls had no prospects in sight. So, yes, he did have the money I needed to retire.”

  “Royale Enterprises, you mean,” Charlie muttered under her breath.

  Beside her, Francine shook even more. “Mother, how could you do this to Charlie, to us? You treat us nothing like real women. We have thoughts, ideas—”

  “Feelings,” Priscilla added.

  “Hopes and dreams,” Charlie tacked on.

  “You?” the older woman snapped back. “Hah! You’re so busy trying to chase a dead man’s dreams. Far-fetched, ridiculous dreams, he couldn’t even achieve. You think I have no life? Well, look at your own, Charlotte. You had nothing but back-breaking day in and day out work before I stepped in and arranged your marriage. Now, at least you have a future.”

  Charlie saw clearly now. There was some truth in what the woman said. Her stepmother’s crushed hopes, sense of rejection, loneliness, anger, hurt, greed, and jealousy all clung to her like a second skin. She paid the highest price of all. Love.

  She’d never had the love she’d wanted. No, she’d had to compete with King’s Department Store, her father’s obsession with making it a success, her mother, Charlotte, and even her own two daughters.

  With this new discovery, Charlotte gazed long and hard at her stepmother. She saw herself in thirty years. Oh, maybe not the bitter, cold woman sitting across from her, but the loss of herself. For what? Pushing people away? The drive, the ambition, and the success? Money? Would they be her only companions late at night? Would she always sacrifice herself?

  A secondhand life? Is that what she wanted for herself?

  A cold shiver raked her body.

  Francine stood. On shaky legs, Charlie joined her and so did Priscilla. “I won’t stand for this a moment longer.” She turned to Charlie. “Do you still have your apartment? You haven’t sublet it yet, have you?”

  “No, it’s still available.”

  “We’ll take it,” Priscilla said, strength growing in her voice.

  Charlie could only imagine the two women in a cramped loft.

  “I won’t let you,” their mother exclaimed.

  “You can’t stop us.” Francine, with fisted hands on her hips, faced her mother.

  “You have no money. Your disobedience warrants me to discontinue your allowance. It’s in the will.”

  “You’ll cut us off? So be it,” Priscilla said, folding her arms over her chest. “I would rather be broke than living the miserable life you’ve created f
or us. Piano lessons, please! I stink at the piano. And I hate wearing black dresses all the time.”

  Francine said, “Well, it’s going to be easy to pack, now won’t it?”

  Less than an hour later, Charlotte and her stepsisters, dragging a suitcase each, closed the door behind them.

  In the background, she could still hear her stepmother shouting, “Girls, girls! I demand you stop this nonsense immediately.”

  Climbing into the back of the awaiting taxicab, Charlotte turned to each one. “Are you sure about this?” She was certain there was no turning back now.

  “Hell, yes!” the twosome shouted with joy.

  Charlie was afraid of that. Just what in the world was she doing? For all intents and purposes, the girls needed tutoring. Living independently didn’t come naturally to women who were used to be taken care of all their lives. And Charlie knew she would be the one to assist them. Some example she’d be. How could she help them when she couldn’t even save herself or, most likely, her marriage?

  Chapter 20

  Much later that night, in the shadowed store, Charlie wandered through each department, lovingly trailing her hands over the display cases. In the linen department, she sunk down on the edge of the perfectly made double bed and rested her face in her hands, her elbows digging into her knees.

  “All this,” she whispered, “will be gone in just a few days.” Six weeks had flown by and now it was time to face facts. “The cold, hard facts.” Tears smarted her eyes. “King’s no more.”

  “Miss Charlie, that you? You all right?” Bruno’s voice yanked her from her pity party.

  She sat up, dropping her hands to her lap. “No date for you?”

  “Wife’s out with the girls tonight.” He pointed to a spot by her. “Mind?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Pull up a seat and sit a spell, my friend.”

  He dropped down, his weight shifting the bed. Their shoulders bumped briefly. He let out a heavy sigh.

  “Tired?”

  “And then some.”

  She hated to see him like this. “I thought you were going to retire a few years back.”