Chapter 7 7

"Eve, listen to me," Silas tried again, desperate. "Do you remember Andre? Andre Wilcox?"

Eve blinked, her expression blank. "Andre? The guy who delivers the paintings to the gallery? The one with the greasy hair?"

Silas gasped. "Greasy hair? You used to say he had the soul of a poet! You were in love with him yesterday!"

"Ew," Eve wrinkled her nose. "Silas, stop joking. He's not my type. He looks... cheap."

She looked past Silas, locking eyes with Charls again. "My type is standing right there."

Huldah walked in at that moment, followed by Franklin, Eve's father. They stopped, sensing the strange energy in the room.

"What is going on?" Huldah demanded.

"Mother," Eve said happily. "Charls is here. I was just telling Silas that we don't need to hide it anymore. The crash... it made me realize life is too short."

Huldah looked from Eve to Charls. Her eyes narrowed. She saw the confusion on Charls's face, the panic on Silas's, and the absolute conviction on Eve's.

She was a shark. She smelled blood in the water. And opportunity.

"Is that so?" Huldah said slowly.

"Mrs. Franks," Charls stepped forward, panic rising in his chest. "I need to speak with you outside. Now."

"Charls?" Eve asked, her voice faltering. "Why are you leaving?"

Charls looked at her. He felt a strange tightening in his chest. "I... I have to ask your mother for her blessing. Officially."

Eve gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! Go! Go now!"

Charls grabbed Huldah's arm with his good hand and practically dragged her into the hallway. Franklin followed, looking confused.

"She has amnesia," Charls hissed the moment the door closed. "She thinks we're engaged. You have to tell her the truth."

"Why?" Huldah asked calmly, smoothing her jacket.

"Because it's insane! We are competitors! I despise her!"

"Do you?" Huldah raised an eyebrow. "You saved her life last night. You've been pacing this hallway for six hours."

"That's basic human decency," Charls argued, though his ears turned red. "Look, tell her the truth. Or I will."

"If you tell her the truth now," Huldah said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "the shock could cause a setback. The doctor said no stress. And besides... think about the optics. I've already leaked the engagement rumors to the Journal. Wiley stock is up 4% this morning because people think a merger is coming. If you announce it was just a drunken mistake and dump her while she's in a hospital bed with brain damage... you will be the most hated man in America. The villain who broke the amnesiac heiress's heart."

Charls opened his mouth, then closed it. She was right. The PR would be a bloodbath.

"And," Huldah added, stepping closer, "if you play along... just until she recovers... Franks Enterprises might be willing to reconsider our position on the Midtown zoning dispute."

Charls went still. That was a fifty-million-dollar concession.

"You want me to lie to your daughter for profit?" Charls asked, disgusted.

"I want you to help her heal," Huldah corrected. "And if it helps us both... why not? Plus, it keeps her away from that artist loser."

Charls looked through the glass window of the door. Eve was sitting up, telling her father something with a bright, animated smile. She looked happy. Happier than he had ever seen her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," Charls growled. "But only until she gets her memory back. Then I'm out."

"Deal." Huldah smiled.

They walked back in. Eve looked up expectantly.

"Well?" she asked.

Charls forced a smile. It felt tight and unnatural on his face. He walked to the bedside.

"She said yes," Charls lied.

Eve squealed. She reached out and grabbed his hand-the one connected to his broken arm.

"Careful," Charls hissed in pain.

"Sorry, sorry!" Eve kissed his knuckles. "I'm just so happy, Hubby."

Charls choked on his own saliva. "Don't... don't call me that."

"Why not?" Eve teased.

"It's... unprofessional," Charls managed.

"We're getting married, silly. We don't have to be professional." She pulled his hand against her cheek.

Charls stood there, trapped by his own lie, feeling the warmth of her skin against his hand. He should pull away. He should hate this.

But as he looked down at her, he realized with a jolt that for the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about business. He was thinking about how soft her skin was.