by Saxon, K. E.
Delilah chewed her lip. How was she supposed to explain why she couldn’t let him have control of her money? Even with all they’d shared these past hours, she still wasn’t sure enough of the strength of their bond to tell him about the Perrault fairy legacy. Even she’d thought it a myth until the creature showed up in her life. No rational human being truly believed in magic, charms, and the arcane world of the fey folk. It was the stuff of legends, that was all. She clenched her hands together in her lap where he couldn’t see them. “I know you’re right about everything you’ve said, but try to understand. I need to do this for me.” She sat forward. “I will be careful with my money, though. I promise.”
* * *
Chas sat back in his chair. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t force her to hand over her money. He guessed he’d have to go back to the proverbial drawing board and see if he could come up with some other means of persuasion. But the subject was spent for tonight, at least. Before he let it drop entirely, he tried one last tack. “Let me at least safeguard a small portion of it—say five million?—that way, if things don’t go the way you plan, you’ll still have a safety net working for you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just leave some aside in my bank account and let it draw interest. It won’t earn as much as it would under your glowing expertise, but I really feel the need to do this all by myself, okay?”
He had no choice but to say, “Okay.”
* * *
Delilah could tell she’d hurt Chas’s feelings. Or bruised his ego. But she couldn’t take the chance of losing the fortune and putting her family back in the weeds again financially. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t taking his words to heart. He was right: if she weren’t extremely careful and cunning, she could lose it all anyway with a bad investment or two.
Maybe she should keep the money in the bank a little longer while she took a few classes on investing. Yeah, that seemed like the best course of action.
With that decided, she gleefully took another bite of her pizza. How long, she wondered, before they could return to the bedroom?
* * *
Three nights later, Delilah swirled around the floor of the Regan family ballroom with John Regan, Chas’s father. Something wasn’t right between her and Chas. Hadn’t been since the morning after their night of love. He hadn’t called or come over since leaving her at six a.m. two mornings ago and tonight he’d barely said three words to her, except of course, when they were in the company of others. “Did you see where Chas went, Mr. Regan?” she asked, looking around.
He jerked his head in the direction of a set of sheer-curtained French doors. “I think he’s out on the balcony.”
She nodded. “Mmm.” With every new pass, her eyes drifted to the doors. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to scare him off—was it the domme thing? Maybe she’d gone too far by using the flogger on him. But he’d seemed to like it at the time, so she’d allowed herself a little indulgence. What a dummy she was to have done such a thing! No doubt, after he’d had time to think about it, he’d realized she was way too freaky for him. And what worried her now was that he might have spent the past couple of days trying to figure out how to break his engagement to her.
“It’s not you,” Chas’s father said. “It’s the blasted state of our business that’s got him so tied up in knots. He’s worried he won’t be able to get the funds by Monday.”
Her head flashed around. “What? What did you say?”
He looked like he’d swallowed a 20-carat gemstone. “I take it he hasn’t told you about our little problem?”
“No, he hasn’t,” she replied, too stunned to say more.
With a look of chagrin, he said, “I really put my foot in it this time, didn’t I?” He patted her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, I know my son. He’ll fix the whole mess in time. He’s been sweating bullets and pulling long hauls for the past two days trying to get his hands on the last of the liquid funds he needs to get them off our backs.”
Chas needed money? Chas? The finance guru extraordinaire? It didn’t seem plausible. But, clearly it was true. Which raised the question: Was it really her money he was interested in all along? Her throat closed up.
The waltz ended and Delilah excused herself. She made a beeline for the French doors. She found him leaning against the balcony rail, smoking a cigarette. She moved to stand beside him. “I thought you quit after your mother’s funeral.”
He started and swung his head around. “I did. This is my first and last one since.”
She slid her hand back and forth along the top of the railing and looked out into the twinkle-lights that illuminated the garden below them. “Your father told me about what’s going on with your business. Was that why you tried to persuade me to let you manage my money?”
He didn’t answer right away, as if he were weighing his response carefully. “Yes, but,” He turned his body toward her and placed his hand over hers, “I was going to pay you back every cent I borrowed. With interest, I swear it.”
“I believe you.” It took every ounce of courage she had in her to ask the next: “Is that why you asked me to marry you? To gain access to my money?”
The truth formed on Chas’s tongue before he swallowed it. It slid down his throat like a bitter tonic, but he just couldn’t hurt her that way, especially not after their night together, and certainly not now that he was sure he was in love with her. Had been, probably, for months now, but just too wrapped up in his problems to see it for what it was. The glow from the strung lights over their heads illuminated the soft beauty of her face, the fluid grace of her lovely lavender-silk encased form and he couldn’t catch his breath. He wanted her for himself. And if that meant adding one more lie to the heap, so be it. He’d tell her the truth on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. He pulled himself up straight, tucked his hands in his pockets, and gave her his best offended look, keeping his eyes focused on her furrowed brow. “How could you think that? I did not ask you to marry me to gain access to your money. Yes, I wanted to borrow some of your funds for a few months without telling you, but only because I was worried you would not want to marry me if you knew the straights I was in.” He captured her gaze. “Which, incidentally, I know I can swing back in my favor in a matter of mere months. But I’d never bind myself for life to someone just for their money, Delilah. Why should I, when I’m perfectly capable of making my own fortune?”
Delilah was quiet a moment. He could tell by the look on her face that she wanted to believe him, but was having to wrestle with her misgivings.
He hated like hell to do this, but she needed an extra nudge. “If I had not intended to ask you to marry me—why did I have a ring already picked out?”
A thrilled smile brightened her face and her hand gripped his arm. “Oh, Chas! I forgot!” She clucked. “Were you really worried that I wouldn’t want to marry you?”
He looked down, petulant. “Yes, I was.”
She gave him a hug, then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Silly boy.” He put his arm around her waist. They stood there in silence for a long moment. “Chas,” she said finally, “I’m going to give you the money you need, but before I do, there’s something you should know about it.”
He only heard the first part of what she said. His heart beat a happy Sousa march in his chest as he turned and grasped her shoulders. “Really? Are you sure? But, it’ll only be a loan—I won’t take your money otherwise, agreed?”
“Chas, listen first. You may not want it after I tell you this.”
That worried him. “What’s the problem?”
She nibbled her lip with her teeth.
He shook her a little. “What?”
“Do you believe in magic?”
“Huh?”
“Magic. You know, charms imposed by fey folk and the like?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well that’s a pity, because the money’s charmed. A gift from the Perrault family fairy.”
Oh, God, she’s legally insane. “The Perrault family fairy?” he said carefully.
“Chas, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the absolute truth—ask my stepmother, she’ll back me up on this.”
“Okay, let’s just say that I believe you. That the money’s charmed. How does that effect what I’m trying to do?”
“That’s just it. The fairy came to visit me the morning after you discovered me outside my friend’s dungeon. She told me I couldn’t allow you control of my money or it would vanish the moment you tried to use it. That’s why I told you I’d handle it myself. So you see—I don’t know whether it’s going to do you any good or not.”
She was right, this was crazy. But he needed her money too badly to deal with her mental state right now. And he damned well was going to talk to Eudora Perrault about this fairy business. He needed to know how long these fantasies had been going on. But first, he needed the money. He’d worry about his fiancée’s level of sanity later.
* * *
“Quite a night, huh?” Chas asked her outside her door later.
“Yes, quite.” The engagement party had been both a success and a bizarre disaster all at the same time. While most of the guests enjoyed themselves, the Perraults managed to become the butt of their social set’s jokes once more. Her sister had created a video memoire for her, yet it had turned out to be more of an exposé of Eudora’s determination to get Isadora wed to any one of their social set’s eligible bachelors. Why had Isadora made that video—and shown it to everyone? She hadn’t been herself in days, and Delilah was beginning to suspect that it was somehow the fairy’s doing. Eudora, of course, was beside herself. She’d hauled Isadora out of the ballroom by her arm amid sniggers and murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. That was the last Delilah had seen of either of them all evening. She assumed they were both home now, albeit Isadora with a little less skin after her tongue flaying by her mother. Luckily, Chas and his dad had a sense of humor and brushed it all off to the crowd as a planned joke.
As she turned the key and swung her door open, Delilah made a mental note to give her sister and stepmother a ring tomorrow to see how they were and tell them that Chas and his father saved the day. “Would you like some tea before bed?”
Chas’s lips pursed. “Listen, Dee, I’m not staying over tonight. I can’t. There’s too much I’ve got to put together in order to get that money wired to my creditors by Monday. Will you come by the office at ten a.m.? I’ll have the loan contract ready for you to sign by then.”
She deflated, but she understood. He needed to concentrate on putting out the fire at hand before he could give his full attention to fueling a blaze of their own. “Okay.” She kissed him goodnight and let him leave without an argument.
* * *
Chas relentlessly relived the events of the evening, of the past days, and even the past months. It didn’t make sense: Delilah wasn’t truly insane. She couldn’t be. Her inability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality would have shown up in other myriad ways, and they hadn’t. He still didn’t believe her about the fairy. In fact, now that he had more time to think about it, he realized it must have been some last minute, cooked up attempt to keep some control over her money. Maybe she thought that she could scare him into not taking it? Was she afraid he wouldn’t pay her back? No, he didn’t think so. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have offered to give it to him. Or had she? Maybe when she’d said give she’d really meant loan and he’d rightly assumed she meant the word literally.
She’d no doubt drop the fairy story line once she got her hands around a contract—substantial proof that he’d repay the loan.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sound of high-pitched trilling startled Chas awake. He glanced at his clock. Five-thirty-seven. He’d barely been asleep an hour, what with all the emails he’d composed. Stumbling out of bed, he moved toward the noise. It seemed to be coming from his living room. What the hell was that? It didn’t sound like anything he owned. Maybe it was a car alarm down on the street, the sound somehow thrown so that it seemed closer.
A little dizzy and off balance from so little rest the past few days, he rubbed the base of his palm into his eye.
The living room was dark and he stubbed his toe on the edge of the sofa as he passed a smidge too close to it. That woke him up. He cursed a blue streak, hopping on one foot and rubbing the abused member until the sharp pain subsided enough to stand on it again. The trilling had stopped in the midst of his outburst, but he turned the light on anyway, curious to see what it might have been.
“What the hell?” He blinked. Then blinked again. The image didn’t change. Perched on a lampshade, a yellow cockatoo stared back at him. Chas took a step toward it and it flapped its wings and hissed. “Okay, birdy, don’t have a tizzy.” How in hell had the bird gotten in here anyway? He did a quick scan of his door and windows. They were all shut tight. Crazy. Had it been in here when he got home, maybe hiding somewhere? Maybe one of the maids had left it here? It was a stretch, but they were the only ones with access to his hi-rise. He’d have to talk to management about it later in the day.
The bird started singing. He recognized the tune, but couldn’t understand the words at first. Then it came to him: Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend. A trickle of fear ran up his spine. That was just a little too coincidental and creepy for comfort. A loud pop! sounded followed by a pungently scented purple mist. He stumbled back, shouting, “Ohhh shit!” The hairs on his arms and neck stood straight up. He grabbed the first thing he could find to use for defense, a heavy brass candlestick off one of the end tables, and fled toward the door.
“Ooh. No need for such”—an inhaled breath—“dramatics, Chas daarling,” a familiar, sweet and smoky voice said.
He swung around. Marilyn Monroe?
“Come sit beside me and we’ll…ooh…have a little chat, shall we?” She dipped her lids and puckered her lips at him. Lounging with one knee on his sofa, she was dressed in the same billowy halter dress she’d worn in that movie where the breeze from the subway lifted her skirts so high, it nearly gave fifties moviegoers their first-ever famous celebrity beaver shot.
This is not happening. He scrubbed his eyes and opened them again, but she was still there. Okay, this is a dream. I’m dreaming. Dreaming is good. His heart rate calmed. This, I can handle.
Now that he knew what was going on, he decided to kick back and enjoy the ride. “Hey, Marilyn,” he said, sauntering back to the end table and placing the candlestick there. “What’s up?”
She smiled and patted the sofa cushion next to her.
He shrugged and plopped down. This was actually kind of fun. “Who was better in the sack, anyway, Robbie or Johnny-boy?” Hey, it was his dream, might as well see what his subconscious came up with. He twisted around and grabbed a pillow for his back.
“Listen close-ly, my fine gen-tle-man, I’ve got some-thing impor-tant to tell you.”
The voice had changed, become angry and sinister. He swiveled his head to look. Okay, the dream was turning weird. Now the Wicked Witch of the West sat next to him. Green face, long crooked nose, ugly yellow teeth. He scooted over several inches.
“I’m giv-ing you a choice and what-ever choice you make will de-cide your des-tiny.”
That sounded ominous. This is just a dream, remember. “Yeah, okay.”
Before his eyes, the witch morphed into a beautiful woman, a stranger to him, and one that was dressed in a clothing style reminiscent of Shakespeare plays and fairy tales. “Do you know who I am?” she asked.
His heart pounded, his palms began to sweat. Yes, he was afraid he did. “Delilah’s fairy?” His voice came out higher pitched than normal.
“Ahh, right on the—” she tapped his nose with her long-nailed finger. “Now, here is your choice. You can have Delilah or her fortune, but not both. You will have until midnight tomorrow—the night of your gala—to make your choice. I must warn you, however, that onc
e the choice is made, there is no turning back from it.”
“So the money really is charmed? It’s going to disappear if I use it, like Delilah said?”
“Not necessarily, it depends on the choice you make.”
All he could do was gape at her and shake his head. “This is not happening.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, dear, yes it is.” She leaned toward him and whispered. “And since you amuse me, I’ll give you a little hint: If you make the right choice, I’ll see you again in twenty or so years.” She patted him on the knee and with a couple of snaps of her fingers, disappeared in another puff of purple mist.
Chas sat on the couch for a full ten minutes, too numb to move. When he thought his legs could hold him, he got up and walked back to his bedroom. The time on the clock registered the same time as it had before. Surely he’d been dreaming. And to prove it, he was going back to bed right now and let the alarm clock wake him in two more hours.
It was in that twilight between wake and sleep that he heard the fairy whisper: “Make the right choice and you’ll reap more than you ever dreamed possible. Make the wrong one, and you’ll live with the regret of it unto your dying day.”
* * *
“Keeping the vultures at bay?” Chas’s father said a few hours later as he walked into Chas’s office and headed straight for the sofa, reclining on it as if he were about to have a free association session with Sigmund Freud.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about that very thing. There’s a chance I may lose the company, Dad.”
He sat up and leaned toward Chas with his arms on his knees. “What? You? I don’t believe it. That’s why I asked you to come back last year. If anyone can save it, you can. What about the loan from Delilah?”
