Page 90 of Witch You Would
Mr. Jones smiled without showing his teeth. “I’m glad to hear that. I represent an anonymous donor who is interested in offeringyou a sizable contribution.”
“That would be amazing!” Tone it down, Gil. “What are you—or your donor—thinking?”
“We’re prepared to hand you a check for fifty thousand dollars tonight.”
Did he hear me inhale and forget to let it out? If not, my shocked face probably said it all.
“That’s extremely generous,” I said. “Thank you so, so much.”
“Of course. Anything for the children.” Mr. Jones shifted, the candle’s flame reflected in his glasses. “There is one smallproviso, but I don’t think you’ll find it particularly objectionable.”
For fifty grand, I’d strip off my tux and dance on the table. “Sure, what is it?”
“Given that the show’s prize is double what we’re offering, I’m sure you understand that we want to ensure our donation goesto a truly needy cause.”
“Right.” What was he saying?
“If you were to win the competition, you wouldn’t need us.”
Was he implying . . . “So this only happens if my team loses?”
Jones didn’t answer. He just smiled.
This was a bribe. He was trying to bribe me to lose on purpose. Holy shit.
“Who did you say was your donor?” I asked.
“Anonymous. But if you’re amenable, I’ll hand over this little slip of paper here.” He pulled a check out of an inner pocketof his suit jacket and showed it to me. It was made out to the charity, and the amount was what he’d promised.
“If I say I need to think about it?”
“I’m afraid this is a onetime offer. Now or never.” He held the check over the candle’s flame, high enough for it to be safe,but the threat was clear.
“What if I take that now and win the next round?”
“We’ll stop funds. The charity might even be accused of fraud, which would be quite the scandal.”
Fucking fucker. “And if I say no?”
“I walk away, and you won’t hear from me again.” Jones pushed his glasses up his nose. “I cannot promise there won’t be otherrepercussions. Quiet gossip reaching influential ears. Perhaps even bad press. Donors can be fickle.”
Blackmail, too, huh? Great. Part of me was scared, but the rest was pissed off. A lot of people busted their asses for thecharity, and this douchebag sinvergüenza wanted to wreck it over a TV show competition?
Not to mention that Penelope was counting on me. I’d come into this figuring I wouldn’t get far, wouldn’t win the grand prize,would take the minimum and be glad. Penelope, though? All that money and a year to cast whatever she wanted? It would changeher life.
We still might lose in the next round, but if I took this deal, itwould be a guarantee. Clearly someone thought we were a threat, or they wouldn’t be trying to bribe me. Probably.
Definite money now, or possible money later? Sell out or stay in? Why did it feel like I was back in the casino, trying todecide whether to put chips down on red or black?
What would Grandpa Fred tell me to do?
“Do you honestly think you have a chance to win?” Jones asked, letting the check drift closer to the candle. “Be reasonable,Mr. Presto. Let’s not make this difficult.”
Was he reading my mind? Nah. But he did make my choice easier for me.
“I’ll take it,” I said, holding out my hand.
Mr. Jones passed me the check. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
