One Night With The Billionaire. Sarah M. Anderson

gaze head on. She’d been blunt and insensitive—why not just keep on going?

      ‘I guess dying’s something we all have to do,’ Allie admitted. ‘But if you could squeeze in a couple more weeks of living and lend us your nephew while you did, we’d be very grateful. More than grateful. You’d be saving the circus. You’d be giving us—all of us—one last summer.’

      ‘The loan’s already called in,’ Mathew snapped.

      ‘Then call it out again,’ Margot snapped back and suddenly the old lady was pushing herself to her feet, unsteady, clinging to the arms of her chair but standing and looking from Mathew to Allie and back again.

      ‘Mathew is your ringmaster?’ she demanded as if she was clarifying details.

      ‘He is,’ Allie said.

      ‘I’m not,’ Mathew said, revolted.

      ‘If I eat,’ Margot said. ‘If I manage to eat my dinner and eat my breakfast … if I decide not to die … would you extend the loan for the two weeks Allie’s asking? You know I’ve never touched Bond’s money. You know I fought with my family. Apart from that one loan to Sparkles, I’ve never asked anything of you or your father or your grandfather. I’ve asked nothing but this, but I’m asking it now.’

      ‘Margot …’

      ‘I know,’ she said, and amazingly she grinned and Allie caught the glimpse of the old Margot, the Margot who’d been a friend of the circus forever, who’d sat and cheered and eaten hot dogs and popcorn and looked totally incongruous in her dignified tweeds but who now held the fate of the circus in her elderly, frail hands. ‘It’s blackmail,’ she admitted. ‘It’s something we women are good at. Something this Allie of yours seems to exemplify.’

      ‘She’s not my Allie,’ Mathew snapped.

      ‘She’s your leading lady,’ Margot said serenely. ‘Mathew, I’m happy to live for another two weeks, just to enjoy the circus.’

      ‘This is business, Margot.’

      ‘It’s probably not fair,’ Allie ventured. To say she was feeling gobsmacked would be an understatement. She’d come to plead for a two-week extension, not to negotiate a life. ‘Margot, you don’t have to do this.’

      ‘Don’t you want me to live?’ Margot demanded, and Allie felt flummoxed and looked at Mathew and he was looking flummoxed, too.

      ‘I came down to spend time with you,’ he managed.

      ‘And now you can,’ Margot retorted. ‘Only instead of immersing yourself in your financial dealings while I die, you can be a ringmaster while I watch. You’ve been a banker since the day you were born. Why not try something else?’

      What had she done? Allie thought faintly. She hadn’t just backed this man against the wall; she’d nailed him there. He was looking as if he had no choice at all.

      Which was a good thing, surely? It was the fate of the whole circus team she was fighting for here. She had no space to feel sorry for him.

      Besides, he was a big boy.

      And he was an awesome ringmaster.

      ‘I brought the scripts for the clown jokes for the week,’ she ventured, sort of cautiously. The room still felt as if it could explode any minute. ‘We swap them around because lots of families come more than once. If you could read them … even memorise them like you did today …’

      ‘He memorised his lines?’ Margot demanded.

      ‘He helped with the water cannon joke,’ Allie told her. ‘He timed it to perfection.’

      ‘My Mathew … a ringmaster …’

      ‘Worth living for?’ Allie asked and chuckled and glanced at Mathew and thought chuckling was about as far from this guy’s mindset as it was possible to get.

      ‘Yes,’ Margot said. ‘Yes, it is. Mathew, do you agree?’

      It felt as if the world held its breath. Allie had almost forgotten how to breathe. Breathing was unnecessary, she thought—unless the decision came down on her side.

      ‘Yes,’ Mathew said at last, seemingly goaded past endurance, and she couldn’t believe she’d heard right.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Give me the scripts.’

      ‘You mean it?’

      ‘I don’t,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘say anything I don’t mean. Ever.’

      ‘Oh, my …’ Her breath came out in a huge rush. ‘Oh, Mathew …’

      ‘You have what you want,’ he said. ‘Now leave.’

      ‘But I’d like crumpets,’ Margot interjected, suddenly thoughtful. ‘With butter and honey. Mathew, could you pop across to the store to get me some?’

      ‘Of course.’ Mathew sounded totally confused. ‘But …’

      ‘And leave Allie with me while you go,’ she said. ‘If I’m not dying I need company.’

      ‘I’ll get them for you,’ Allie offered but Margot suddenly reached out and took her hand. Firmly.

      ‘I’d like to talk to you. Without Mathew.’

      ‘Margot …’ Mathew said.

      ‘Women’s business,’ Margot said blandly. ‘Fifteen minutes, Mathew, then I’ll eat my crumpets and have a nap and you can go back to your work. But I need fifteen minutes’ private time with Allie.’

      ‘There’s nothing you need to discuss with Allie. Two weeks. That’s it, Margot. No more.’

      ‘That’s fine,’ Margot said serenely. ‘But I will talk to Allie first. Go.’

      He went. There didn’t seem a choice. He needed to buy what Margot required, leaving the women to … women’s business?

      He had no idea what Margot wanted to talk to Allie about, but he suspected trouble. Margot was a schemer to rival Machiavelli. For the last few months she’d slumped. He’d seen how much weight she’d lost, he’d watched her sink into apathy and he really believed she was dying.

      Did he need to fund a circus in perpetuity to keep her alive?

      It wouldn’t work, though, he thought, even if it made financial sense—which it didn’t. For the next two weeks, Sparkles would play in Fort Neptune, Margot would see him as the ringmaster and maybe she’d improve. But even if the circus was fully funded, it’d move on and she’d slump again.

      Meanwhile, two weeks with Allie …

      Allie.

      He gave himself a harsh mental shake, disturbed about where his thoughts were taking him. The last couple of days while he’d been here, watching Margot fade, he’d become … almost emotional.

      What was it about a girl in a pink leotard with sparkling stripes that made him more so?

      A man needed a beer, he thought, and glanced at his watch. Two minutes down, thirteen minutes to go. Women’s business. What were they talking about?

      A man might even need two beers.

      ‘You need to excuse my nephew.’ With the door safely closed behind Mathew, Margot lost no time getting to the point. ‘He doesn’t cope with emotion.’

      ‘Um …’ Allie was disconcerted. ‘I don’t think I need to excuse Mathew for anything. He’s just saved our circus.’

      ‘For two weeks and he foreclosed in the first place.’

      ‘Grandpa borrowed the money,’ she admitted, trying to be fair. ‘With seemingly no hope of repaying the capital. Bond’s is a bank, not a charity. It’s business.’