Page 14 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“Why should I care?”

“Well, because I need to get this cleared up.”

“Send an e-transfer. The email address is on the invoice.”

“No.” I straightened my spine. “I wish to speak with someone who can help me understand what’s going on. Because I didn’t?—”

“You wish?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“What?”

“Youwishto speak to someone?”

“Erm…yes?”

“Oprah!” I turned at the sound of my legal first name. A small, hidden door had swung open beside the gold one behind the witch’s desk. It had blended in like a true secret passage, and I immediately wanted one for the apartment.

A stick-straight, tall woman with beautifully shaped brows and flaming red hair that was cut into a sharp, perfect, shoulder-brushing bob, strode toward us. She wore black leather pants, a flowing white blouse and strappy red stilettos with black detailing. Her arms extended wide as if she planned to hug me even though she was still several feet away.

“Sorry.” She gave her head a little shake, every strand of her hair falling right back into the perfect bob. “You go by Char, don’t you?”

She pronounced it like the burned wood rather than with a sh sound, but before I could say anything, she corrected her pronunciation.

“A white girl named Oprah?” The witch snickered, eyes gleaming as her gaze scraped down my curves.

I flicked her a dirty look, and she smirked. I decided right then and there that I didn’t like her, and never-ever would. Not even if she was an amazing and generous baker who tried to buy my affection with chocolate cake or brownies.

Instead of hugging me, the woman with the bob gripped my upper arms and took me in, her slashingly bright red lipstick almost disappearing as she grinned so widely. “At long last we meet.”

This definitely wasn’t a prank being played by my friends. They were creative, but not this creative.

Which, sadly, still left us with identity theft or some form of scam.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Me?” The woman placed her hands on her chest and studied me for a beat. “I’m your fairy godmother.” She swivelled her hips to the side and extended her arms dramatically, showcasing herself. I could have sworn pale pink sparkles rained down from her French manicured fingertips. But before I could confirm the sparkles, she whirled and entered the hidden room as though expecting me to follow.

Fairy godmother? Was that what they called people running identity theft scams these days? The label did have a certain ring to it and, deciding I had no other feasible option, I followed her.

“Next time you call, leave a message,” the witch cackled after me. “You’ve been ticking me off.”

The secret passage door closed behind me with a soft clack. The room beyond resembled an office bullpen with rows of cubicles, but all done in pink with some pale blue accents. It was like Mattel’s Barbie designers had gone wild in here. Plush pink carpet, pink walls, powder blue desks and pink leather office chairs. Many of the desks were empty, but some had dainty women working at them, their perfect hair sporting some sort of pink hair accessory. Too much pink. And it clashed horribly with the lady I was following, and for some reason, that made me adore her just a little bit for being a fashion outlier.

She led me into a small meeting room. A mahogany table was pressed against the beige wall and two black leather chairs were positioned on either side of it. No pink in sight. I sat, noticing a long, narrow window several feet up the wall to my right that overlooked the bullpen. A woman with delicate features was watching us. Unlike the woman I was with, her hair was blond like the others, and its perfect waves were held back by—you guessed it—a wide pink hairband. She was dainty and looked…well, sort of fairylike.

As soon as the woman claiming to be my fairy godmother looked toward the window, the pink lady dropped out of sight.

“I expect you have questions?” she asked me, one eye still on the window.

I nodded, perching on the edge of the seat, at the ready to bolt if need be.

“Tea?” she asked, her attention returning to me.

I shook my head. I was managing tonotfreak out over the weird changing door and strangeness of this place, but I needed immediate answers. Not after water boiled and tea steeped.

“Right, no tea.” She studied me. “Whiskey?”

I shook my head again.

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