Three days after the boardroom, Marielle had called forty donors, and forty of them had said no.
The budget line on her clipboard still said zero, and the auction was five weeks away.
Benedict came in with a box of borrowed candles and set it down on the corner of her desk.
Marielle: Every door in Bellcrest is shut. I have nothing to sell but tickets.
Benedict: Then we sell tickets.
The door opened, and Lionel Pemberton came in with his coat over one arm and his smile already on.
Lionel: Miss Dunley. I hear you are going door to door with a hat in your hand.
Lionel: I have money. Enough to pay for the whole auction. Flowers, champagne, the band.
Marielle: Then give it to the conservatory like every other donor on my list.
Lionel: I do not give, Marielle. I buy.
He sat on the edge of her desk, close enough that she had to lean back in her chair.
Lionel: Here is my offer. Leave that husband of yours. Come to dinner with me, alone.
Lionel: Say yes, and the funding is in the account by morning.
The office door was still open, and Priscilla had stopped in the hall to listen. Veronica stood behind her.
Priscilla: Say it again, Mr. Pemberton. I want to hear the price out loud.
Lionel: Three years in bed with a man who carries trays. What is that worth?
Lionel: A wife who goes home to the hired help has no pride left.
Lionel: I can put a real man in your bed and real money on that desk.
Veronica: Answer him, Marielle. This family needs that money more than it needs your hurt feelings.
Priscilla: One dinner. Chew nicely. Smile. Then we all get paid.
Marielle stood up so fast that her chair rolled back and hit the wall.
Marielle: No. I am not for sale, and my husband is not for trade.
Marielle: Take your money and get out of my office.
Lionel's hand closed around her wrist and pulled her half across the desk.
His thumb pressed the thin skin until it went white, then red, then darker red.
Lionel: Do not say no to me in front of your family. I am not your handyman.
He stood and shoved her back against the wall, and the picture frame jumped on its nail.
Her shoulder hit the plaster and her teeth clicked together, and Priscilla laughed in the doorway.
Lionel: Look at you. Shaking like a cheap chair.
Lionel: Say no again and I make my own phone call.
Lionel: Your husband loses his little job, and then he loses his knees in an alley off Marrow Street.
Lionel: And you go out with him, and I will not ask twice.
She twisted her arm free, and the open desk drawer cut her forearm, and blood ran down to her fingers.
She believed him. Every word of it sat in her stomach like a cold stone.
Marielle: Get out.
Benedict was in the doorway with the candle box still in his hands, and he was looking at the blood on her arm.
Benedict: Who did that?
Lionel: The help has arrived. Good. Ask your wife what she is worth.
Lionel: Think about it, Marielle. You have until Friday.
He walked past Benedict without looking at him, and the door swung shut behind him.
Benedict put the box down and took her arm and turned the cut to the light.
Benedict: Anywhere else?
Marielle: My wrist. My shoulder. It is nothing, Benedict.
Her hands were shaking hard now, so she put them behind her back where he could not see them.
Benedict: I can see your hands, Marielle.
Marielle: Then look at the wall instead.
Veronica: You just threw away the only money in this city that was offered to you.
Priscilla: She will fail, and then she will go and beg him for that dinner.
They went down the hall together, and their heels sounded pleased.
Benedict: You said no to him with your family watching. That was the bravest thing I have seen in this building.
Marielle: He said he would hurt you. He said he would put you in an alley.
Benedict: He will try.
Benedict: Nobody touches my wife and keeps what he has. Remember that on Friday.
She nodded, and her hands were still shaking, and she hid them under the desk where nobody could see.
Benedict looked at the closed door, and there was no anger on his face at all, which was worse for Lionel Pemberton.