Page 66 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
“I’m going to make you an offer.”
“Oh my god, let me guess. One I can't refuse, right?”
Regine reached into her desk and withdrew what looked suspiciously like a checkbook. Charlotte hadn't seen one since she was a kid, and wasn't certain at first, but yep, definitely a checkbook.
“The deal is contingent. I'm prepared to make you a comfortable girl if you will leave my son and never show your face around here again.”
Charlotte stared at Regine, feeling her eyebrow inch up her forehead. “What about your grandchild?”
“I'll consider that problem at a later date.” Regine gave her a shark’s smile. “You're going to be a busy woman, Charlotte. An internationally renown dancer, an entrepreneur. . .you may not have time for a child in your life.”
“I mean, my future husband’s parents are rich. He can hire help.”
Regine was talented at ignoring logic when it suited her. “Orclings are stressful. They. . .how do you kids say it. . .crimp your style.”
This was so cringe. Charlotte didn't believe in getting mad at people, even when they were insulting. What was the point? You either accepted people as they were, or you didn't be around them. She was certain Regine had other redeeming qualities. Samesh fucked her, one assumed, so she must. But then. . .they had been married for thirty years, so maybe not.
“What's the offer?” Charlotte asked.
Regine scrawled something on the check, then handed it to Charlotte. “If you leave my son by the end of the week, you can cash this. Free and clear.”
“You’re offering me $50,000 to leave the father of my child?” Charlotte said in disgust and tore up the check. She let the pieces flutter to the floor. “Please, you could easily quadruple that.”
Regine paused, narrowed her eyes, then scrawled out a second check.
Charlotte took it. “Is there a way to make this a recurring donation? Because in some states 200K a year isn't even middle class, I’m just saying. I've become highly accustomed to living in obscene wealth.”
When she saw Regine’s cheeks start to go dark, Charlotte relented. She didn't want to explain to Brahnt his mother had a heart attack because Charlotte was goading her. “Fine. 200k now, 200k after I pull a runner and the kid is born.”
“Brahnt can’t know where you go, or he’ll come after you.”
“Yeah, whatever. Are you allowed to do this now that I’m in the clan?”
Regine snorted. “Do we have a deal?”
Charlotte shrugged. Technically, a shrug could simply indicate her understanding of the offer. But she figured Regine would believe what Regine wanted to believe.
The Orcess sat back in her chair, folding her fingers over her knee with a satisfied look. “I knew you were a smart brownie.”
“Oh, I'm smart alright.” Charlotte grinned. “It was nice doing business with you.” She tucked the check into her pocket, stood and waddled out of the office because, of course, she couldn't manage a jaunty saunter.
God, she couldn't wait till this kid was out. It was terrible being so graceless, like normal people. How did they live with themselves clodding around on their hooves all day long?
Thankfully, Charlotte didn't have to go looking for Brahnt. The Orc was already searching the house for her. As soon as he spotted Charlotte, he charged forward.
“Where have you been? My mother is missing too.”
And clearly, that meant something to Brahnt.
Charlotte waved a hand. “We had a nice little chat in her office. Come on, let's go somewhere private to talk.”
Brahnt gave her a suspicious look but put his hand on Charlotte’s back and gently nudged her halfway down the hall, opening the door to reveal a library.
Charlotte took two steps in, stopped, and turned in a slow circle, looking up and down at the floor to ceiling shelves. “If I had time to read more, this would be a real Belle moment.”
Brahnt shut the door and leaned on it, crossing his arms over his chest. “What did my mother say to you?”
Charlotte laughed, fished the check out of her pocket and unfolded it, waving it in front of Brahnt's nose. “Look what I did! I totally conned your mom out of $200,000.” She chortled.
